ESSENTIAL EXPERIENCE 20

Posted by Maria Ossa

Manager of Customer Assistance

March 1, 2011

First Time Around the Horn - Cape Horn, Chile - I immediately sensed the excitement and energy throughout the ship from passengers and crew alike as we neared our milestone passage. The overwhelming sense of adventure and exploration seemed to bond everyone together in the experience.

Maria aboard Pacific Princess with Cape Horn in the background.

I set sail on my first “cruise” at the tender age of just 17 months old.  My family booked passage on a cargo ship to relocate from New York, where I was born, to Valparaiso, Chile, our home country.  Except for a short home movie clip transiting the Panama Canal, naturally I don’t remember those first 25 days I spent at sea, but it occurs to me now that I’ve been around ships for a great part of my life.
We later returned to the U.S. and eventually I landed my dream job working in the Princess shore excursion department.  One of my most exciting projects was back in 1995 as we prepared for Princess’ first-ever season of cruises that would sail around Cape Horn, the southernmost tip of the continent, and up the west coast of South America.
Although Princess had previously sailed to Brazil and up the Amazon, we’d never explored this part of the continent.  Pacific Princess (yes, the original “Love Boat”) would be making our maiden voyage around one of the most fabled sea passages in the world, literally rounding the bottom of the world by sailing around Cape Horn.
As this was new territory, we’d been preparing for this voyage from some time.  Advance work included exploring the ports, inspecting facilities and working closely with the local tour operators and shipboard staff to offer our passengers the best possible experience ashore.  
Until now, many of the places I was researching were simply names and dates remembered from a history book. As I learned about the region, I realized the tremendous impact shipping in this remote part of the world, and how much has changed in the last century alone.

Cape Horn.

Prior to the construction of the Panama Canal, the treacherous shipping routes around South America, either navigating through the Magellan Straight or around the Horn, were frequented by ships transiting between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans transporting goods, explorers, immigrants, gold miners and travelers.  It was also very likely the route used by my ancestors who traveled to Chile from Europe and the United States.
The opening of the Panama Canal in 1914 greatly impacted these routes by significantly improving the transit time, and offering a safer passage.  For example, a passage from New York to San Francisco was reduced by some 8,000 miles.  Consequently the opening of this new shipping route devastated the ports along the southerly routes.
Throughout its history sailors regarded sailing around Cape Horn as the most treacherous navigation in the world, with notoriously fierce winds, strong swells and often icy conditions.  Many ships did not make the passage or suffered great damage in the attempt.  In fact a sailor who had successfully completely the journey around the Horn earned a level of bragging rights and recognition that followed him the rest of his life. This included the entitlement of wearing a gold loop earring and the right to eat with one foot on the table.

Cape Horn.

It was Charles Darwin’s account in Voyage of the Beagle that set my expectations.  “Cape Horn, however, demanded his tribute, and before night sent us a gale of wind directly in our teeth.  We stood out to sea, and on the second day again made land, when we saw on our weather bow this notorious promontory in its proper form – veiled in a mist and its dim outline surrounded by a storm of wind and water.  Great black clouds were rolling across the heavens, and squalls of rain with hail, swept by us with extreme violence.”
Today modern ships and navigation equipment have made the journey much less hazardous, but the notoriety of Cape Horn lives on to still make the passage a very special occasion.
As the departure of the voyage approached, I was making final arrangements to travel in advance of the ship to each port.  I’ll admit I was a bit disappointed that because my role was as an advance person, I wouldn’t be sailing around the Horn; I would simply be flying ahead of the ship to make sure everything was ready for the ship’s arrival.
However, as my travel arrangements finalized, it became apparent that very limited flight availability and complicated logistics would hamper some of my plans.  It turned out I would be “required” to sail aboard Pacific Princess from Puerto Madryn to Punta Arenas.  I did my utmost to remain professional and contain my enthusiasm, but in truth this was an exciting opportunity – I would actually round Cape Horn by ship after all!

Maria, on her father's lap, in the photo her mother sent her before her Cape Horn cruise.

As I often did, I called my mother to share my big news, and to my surprise, I received an envelope in the mail a few days later.  Inside was a photo of that long-ago first sea voyage with my family, titled “your 1^st cruise at 1 year, 5 months.”   My mother had sensed that Cape Horn would be another seagoing milestone in my life, just like that first one, and had sent me the photo as a reminder.
Just boarding the ship was a thrill.  Due to the nature of my job, I sometimes had the opportunity to interact with passengers in port, but it was a unique and special experience for me to be on board with them as they sailed.  So after I joined the vessel in Puerto Madryn, Argentina, I immediately sensed the excitement and energy throughout the ship from passengers and crew alike as we neared our milestone passage.  The overwhelming sense of adventure and exploration seemed to bond everyone together in the experience.
Rounding the Horn was not only new for the passengers, but also the crew.  Captain Moulin, the commander of the vessel, was sailing these waters for the first time as well.  He prepared an excellent presentation for passengers about the history of ships sailing around Cape Horn.  He drew a standing-room only crowd and I strained to hear to him talk from the hallway outside.

One of the many ships that didn't make the passage.

When we got to Port Stanley in the Falkland Islands I was able to visualize the toll of the treacherous passage.  Many ships suffered significant damage and were only able to limp into port, never to sail again.  Here I could still see the evidence right in front of me — partially sunken hulks still visible along the shoreline.
As we drew closer to the Horn, we got the weather report from another ship who had made the journey the day before.  They’d experienced calm seas and sunny skies for a very comfortable trip.  That should have been great news but, secretly, I was disappointed.  After reading so much of the legend of Cape Horn, I also wanted the full experience.  I hoped to encounter just some of the rough conditions that made sailing around this small island at the end of the word so famous.

But on the day of our passage, the skies turned grey and winds began to pick up.  This was looking at bit more like it!  But the threat of rough weather didn’t deter anyone.  As I walked through the ship to get to my viewing spot, I was struck by the eerily quiet atmosphere of the ship.  Lounges were empty – obviously everyone was outside for the big event.
Once outdoors myself, I could see the seas getting rougher and felt an arctic chill in the wind.  The ship pitched up and down, and I could feel the salty spray hit my face.  Then a wave crashed over the bow of the ship.  Now this is the experience we were here for!!

Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, Argentina.

Through the fog and mist we could just make out the shape of land.  Today, after so many years, I remember mostly the anticipation, the sense of adventure, the gusty winds and the rough seas.  If it were not for the photo taken of me with the actual land mass in the background, I don’t know if I would recall actually seeing Cape Horn.  I simply remember the experience.

Early the next morning, I was up on deck for the arrival of the ship to Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, Argentina.  The previous day’s storm had brought a dusting of snow atop the mountains framing the picturesque town.  It was a beautiful morning.  Upon berthing, all were ready to go ashore to continue their shore side adventures, whether exploring the town, the marine life along the Beagle Channel or the national park.
Back onboard that afternoon, together with the shipboard shore excursion manager, we took our paperwork out on deck so that we could enjoy the scenic glacier cruising through the Beagle Channel with its stunning mountains lining either side of the passage.  It was a sunny, but the crisp air soon drove us back indoor to complete our work.

Beagle Channel

After waiving passengers off on their tours in Punta Arenas, I left Pacific Princess to continue my advance work.  I would meet up with the ship again in Puerto Montt.   I left the ship and my colleagues onboard knowing that our first ever passage of Cape Horn had been a success.  Our advance work had paid off and our passengers had a wonderful time.  Fifteen years later we now sail on a full season of Cape Horn cruises every year, still offering passengers a memorable experience.
Today, I don’t wear a gold earring, nor eat with a foot on the table.  For me this unexpected opportunity still lives as one of my most unforgettable travel memories, and I still have the picture from that trip, just as I still have the photo my mother sent.  The two images represent two very different shipboard adventures (and two very different ways to arrive in Chile by sea) but both have prominent places in my list of travel experiences that have shaped my life.

ESSENTIAL EXPERIENCE 19

Posted by Melania Parnisari

Hotel General Manager, Crown Princess

February 22, 2011

Standing in the Shadow of the Moai - Easter Island, Chile - The first time I stood in front of one of these sculptures, I felt like a tiny, meaningless mosquito…. I had tears in my eyes, silly me, thinking of how little we know of our past, of the culture of people we know nothing or little about.

Melania happily posing in front of the Moai on Easter Island.

Ever since childhood, Easter Island had captured my imagination.  I’ve always been an avid reader with a strong interest in history and ancient civilizations, so this mysterious land with its unique stone sentinels called to me.  I longed to see more than just the printed pictures of one of those iconic heads; I wanted to stand in its shadow.
A few years ago I was lucky enough be working aboard the original Royal Princess during its South America season.  My contract ended in Valparaiso, Chile, and instead of heading right home, I flew to my ultimate “bucket list” destination.  On my own.  Everyone thought I had lost my mind.  I simply could not explain to anyone’s satisfaction the meaning this place had for me.  Nonetheless I set off on a solo adventure that became one of my most memorable travel experiences ever.
Easter Island, or Rapa Nui in the local language, is one of the world’s most isolated inhabited islands – its nearest neighbor is Pitcairn Island, which is more than 1,200 miles to the west.  South America is about 2,300 miles away, and is the main gateway for flights to the island (you can also fly from Tahiti).  Getting there is something of a quest and the flights are usually full.  When I checked in for my flight I was offered very generous compensation to give up my seat.  But I turned them down without hesitation — no way was I going to miss out on this experience!
I had booked a room at a small family-owned hotel, and they picked me up at the airport. I quickly discovered that everybody on the island is very friendly, and eager to share their history and heritage with visitors. The locals appreciate that most visitors are keenly interested in learning about the island.

Melania with "her" Moai.

Easter Island got its current name when Dutch navigator Jakob Roggeveen visited on Easter day in 1722.  But long before he came, Polynesian settlers found the island and took the art of carving mystical figures to new heights.
Those giant heads I saw in all the pictures? They’re called Moai, and on my arrival, I couldn’t wait to see one for real.
Although many have tried to solve the mystery of the Moai there are still many theories to explain their presence.  I came to learn that the island has nearly 900 of these giant heads in various stages of completion.  And on an island that’s only about 63 square miles – that’s a lot of statues per mile!
My hotel was only a few minutes’ walk to the sea and one of the Moai sites.  I quickly found my favorite spot, called Ahu Tahai.  In the late afternoon I’d walk over, sit on the grass with my book and watch the sunset and wonder…

Moai heads at the Rano Raraku quarry.

The Moai give one many things to wonder about.  They are carved from the local volcanic rock and the style and size evolved over time.  Some think that the bigger the need, the bigger the statue to appeal to the gods.  Or maybe each neighboring clan chiefs kept trying to outdo each other with bigger and bigger Moai. The smallest ones stand only about four feet tall, but the largest tower like skyscrapers more than 30 feet high. They weigh between 14 and 80 tons, so the work it took to move them boggles the mind.
The first time I stood in front of one of these sculptures, I felt like a tiny, meaningless mosquito…. I had tears in my eyes, silly me, thinking of how little we know of our past, of the culture of people we know nothing or little about.
Each statue is quite unique.  Not only are they different sizes, but each has literally a different look – the body shape, the nose. Most no longer have the coral and stone eyes, but many still have red “hats” or pukau – which were carved in a different quarry from the statues themselves.
But I did not just see a sculpture; I saw an ancient culture and a timeless puzzle. I felt the same way the first time I visited the pyramids in Giza, Egypt. How could they build these statues without modern technology?  What drove them to this?  My mind reeled with “whys” – plus a few “maybes” and “what ifs” for good measure.  At the same time I felt somehow at home, at peace with myself and the rest of the world in such a magical place.

The largest Moai on the island lies unfished still in the quarry rock.

The Moai everywhere are amazing, but the place that stunned me most was the Ranu Raraku quarry.  Hundreds of Moai in various stages of completion are scattered everywhere — some standing, some lying down as if abandoned. There’s even one single Moai carved in a sitting position.  Here you can walk up close, touch them and wonder about who last worked on each statue.  Nobody knows why they stopped carving, but maybe they just got too big — Ranu Raraku also features the biggest Moai ever carved – about 70 feet long — and it lies unfinished on the slopes still attached to its original rock.  It just deepens the mystery.
The statues not in the quarry are dotted all along the coast of the island, forming something of a ring around its shoreline.  What surprised me was that many statues don’t gaze out to sea (as I did regularly), but instead face inland, looking over a ceremonial area.  The Moai are mostly grouped on Ahus – stone pedestals on which they stand.  I found Ahu Tongariki the most stunning.  Here 12 Moais stand one next to the other in a neat row with the sea directly behind them.

The Moai lined up at Ahu Tongariki.

While the Moai are the “headliners” of local attractions, there is more to see and do on this tropical island.  At one end there’s a beautiful white sand beach called Anakena.  There was talk of building a five-star resort here, but as far as I know the locals have blocked it.  There is a Moai site here, but the beach also sports a “magic” rock that radiates heat and, so they say, positive energy.
Volcanoes have left lava tubes and several interesting caves on the island, which were apparently used as refuge during the battles between tribes, and later to hide from slave hunters.  Today many people like to explore them for the interesting artwork on the walls.
The ceremonial village of ‘Orongo also fascinated me with its story of the birdman cult which hosted an annual race to collect the first sooty tern egg of the season. The now abandoned site sits atop a hill facing the three little islets. In order to complete the challenge, young men had to climb down the very steep cliffs, swim over to the islets and collect the egg, then return. The first one to make it back would secure control of the island’s resources for his tribe for the year.  It was clearly very dangerous, with sheer cliffs and extremely strong currents to battle.

Scenic Anakena Beach.

Wherever I went, I found I wasn’t really alone in my solo adventure.  It was easy to make new friends, and I met several other solo travellers, who like, me were on their own quest.   It was nice to share impressions over dinner or during an excursion. In my short time on the island I collected new friends from Chile, Argentina, Germany, France and Switzerland.
After five days I was supposed to return to the “real world,” however the only flight connection was delayed and I was “forced” to stay another day.  Apparently this situation is quite routine, and extending isn’t a problem because any new guests will only arrive on that delayed plane, so our rooms were still available.
I loved the extra day which gave me the chance to do a jeep tour to the highest point of the island – Mount Terevaka. When we got to the top, a brilliant rainbow arched across the sky. This last amazingly peaceful image of Easter Island was what I took with me to the airport and eventually back home.

Royal Princess in the background behind Melania's favorite Moai.

I was so lucky to return to Easter Island last year during the World Cruise on the new Royal Princess.  The island has developed a lot in the 11 years since my first visit, but the magic and the mystery remain.  I was told that visitors still like to watch the sunset from “my” spot facing the Moai with the ocean behind them.
I still can’t completely explain why, but I have never felt better in my life, than this time I spent in isolated reverie in my beautiful special spot by the Moai.

ESSENTIAL EXPERIENCE 18

Posted by Gavin MacLeod

Princess Cruises Ambassador (and “Captain Merrill Stubing” on “The Love Boat”)

From February 14, 2011

From Tahiti with Love - Tahiti, French Polynesia - But most of all, when I think of Tahiti I think of romance. Maybe it’s all those years on a show that focused on love and happy endings.

The beautiful turquoise waters of Moorea.

After 10 seasons portraying Captain Stubing on “The Love Boat,” actor Gavin MacLeod became an iconic symbol of cruising and romance.  Since the show ended in 1986 Gavin has also been our ambassador at events around the world.  We consider him part of the Princess family.  So for the week of Valentine’s Day we’ve asked him to share his own essential experience … and could you guess it’s a travel adventure filled with romance?
The deep blue waters of Tahiti are a long way from the world I knew as a child.  I had a modest upbringing in upstate New York, and then cruises were a luxury I couldn’t even dream of.   It wasn’t until years later that I set foot on my very first cruise ship – and amusingly, I was instantly the captain!  I’m pretty sure I’m the only “captain” who can say that.
I was lucky.  I spent 10 memorable years playing “Captain Stubing” on “The Love Boat” – what a dream job!   Every week I got to act in stories about love and romance … and I had the chance to meet some incredible guest stars.   I couldn’t believe I was actually working alongside these amazing actors I had admired since my childhood – like Lana Turner and Ginger Rogers.  Some were interesting folks, like Andy Warhol, and others were up and comers just starting out, such as Tom Hanks.  It was an unforgettable experience.
We didn’t just shoot “The Love Boat” in our Los Angeles soundstage.  Several times a year we actually boarded a Princess ship and shot scenes on an actual cruise.  We sailed to Mexico, the Caribbean, Europe, Asia and Alaska.  But one place we never got to on the show was Tahiti.
Tahiti!  Doesn’t it sound magical?  I envision Mitzi Gaynor “washing that man right out of her hair” in “South Pacific.”  The wonderful tales of James Michener, who I had the great fortune to sail with aboard a Princess cruise years later.  And, the colorful art of Paul Gauguin.
But most of all, when I think of Tahiti I think of romance.   Maybe it’s all those years on a show that focused on love and happy endings.   However, when I did finally get to Tahiti I was very glad my wonderful wife, Patti, was by my side.
We flew out a few days ahead of our cruise aboard Tahitian Princess along with my manager and good friend, Lee.  Appropriately, Patti and I would be performing the two-person play “Love Letters” on the ship, so it was something of a working vacation.  But really what this trip became was discovering one of the world’s most romantic places.
Our first glimpse of Tahiti from the air was one of vast expanses of turquoise water, punctuated with the occasional island.  We were all seasoned travelers, but the excitement of descending closer and closer to this lush paradise felt like a new experience.  The colors popped out even from the air – bright greens and blues as far as the eye could see.
Tahiti is famous for its beaches, and that was where we spent the bulk of our time before the cruise.  Years before, I had travelled to Hawaii to shoot an episode of Hawaii 5-0, and thought the waters around those islands were amazingly beautiful.  And yet I now discovered that they had serious competition with Tahiti’s sparkling blue seas.
That, to me, is Tahiti.  Sparkling white or black sands.  Water as clear and placid as a sheet of glass.  And nothing and no one else for as far as the eye could see.  Those picturesque overwater bungalows.  No commotion or craziness.  No worries except maybe when to go to dinner or which beach to try next.  Just this tremendously lush landscape and the feeling of total relaxation and time to focus on your loved one.

A breathtaking Polynesian vista.

There’s something about the mystique of Tahiti that brings out the romantic in all of us.  Surrounded by this tranquil atmosphere with nothing to disturb us but the lapping of the waves and the scent of tropical flowers in the air, Patti and I were able to relax, talk and really connect.
We did leave our reverie to visit some of the island’s sights.  We saw historic Matavai Bay, where many early European navigators anchored, including the HMS Bounty – of “Mutiny on the Bounty” fame – and Captain Cook.   We met warm, wonderful people speaking French, Tahitian and, thankfully, some English.  We saw the open air Le Truck buses that run around the island and the Les Roulottes mobile restaurants serving movable feasts along the waterfront.  But mostly we enjoyed time together marveling at the stunning vistas everywhere.
This peaceful feeling continued once we set sail on Tahitian Princess to tour the other islands of French Polynesia.   We were in awe of the towering pinnacles and spectacular waterfalls of Moorea, we learned about the fascinating Polynesian culture in Raiatea, and we felt we had surely found the mythical “Bali Hai” when we first glimpsed the shimmering lagoon and lush greenery of Bora Bora.  Every island seemed as if it was painted by an artist using the brightest palette of colors.
One day onboard, I joined my wife who was standing on our balcony, looking out at the sun setting just beyond jagged peaks of the islands.  It was a picture postcard moment if ever you saw one.  As I approached she mused, “Do you think heaven’s as beautiful as this?”
Well, I don’t know if heaven could be any lovelier than these stunning islands, but I do know I was lucky to share this little bit of heaven on earth with someone I love so dearly.   It was our own personal “Love Boat.”

JANE'S TRIP TO AFRICA

Our very own agent - Jane Hughes just returned from a trip from Africa.  Click below to see her photos.  Be sure to come in and ask her all about the trip.  She can now give you first-hand information for your trip.

ESSENTIAL EXPERIENCE 17

Posted by Bruce Krumrine

Vice President of Shore Operations - Europe & Exotics

February 8, 2011

A Lesson in Courage and Sacrifice - Normandy, France - With our backs to the sea and the cliffs looming in front of us we could only begin to imagine the chilling and heroic realities of the invasion day – soldiers arriving on rough seas in landing craft met by a hail of fire from the hill-top gun emplacements.

Bruce with his sons, Duncan (left) and Griffin, and his mother-in-law, Elaine, on the beach at Normandy.

With both parents in the cruise industry our teenage kids know all too well the pleasures and occasional “hardships” (“Dad, not another cathedral!”) of the family vacation. As long-time Princess employees, my wife, Julie, and I have over the years set sail, our boys in tow, to some incredible destinations. And trying to be good parents, along the way we’ve visited our share of museums, monuments and historic sites; and learned about kings, queens, emperors, popes, and just about everyone else.
As much as we enjoyed the moment, we now look back on our cruises together as something even more special. Because traveling and learning to appreciate the world is also a great way to appreciate each other. And just like when viewing a great piece of art, you sometimes need to take a couple of steps backwards to garner the best perspective. I think the same can be said about vacations, and certainly this is true for our family’s inspiring trip to visit the D-Day landing beaches on the Normandy coast.
It was the summer of 2006 and we were on a Golden Princess cruise visiting ports in Western Europe. Our sons were then 13 and 8 years old. Julie’s mom was with us as well. On this same cruise we had already visited some of Europe’s must-see cities including Dublin, Bergen, Edinburgh, and Bruges. When we pulled into Le Havre, we chose to begin our day with freshly baked croissants in the ship’s patisserie (where else, we were in France?) before going ashore to meet our tour guide.
Marie was smart and elegant and very organized, and she presented us with a detailed timetable for our D-Day tour that would have impressed even General Eisenhower. From Le Havre, we headed south along a sunny and warm Normandy coastline. It’s easy to understand why its rugged beauty and quality of light made it a favorite with the Impressionist painters.
Our guide made good use of our two-hour drive to first brush us up on French and Norman history (trust me, we needed it) and then, of course, to talk about D-Day. She took the time to engage the boys and to explain to them why D-Day was significant.

A historic photo of Normandy taken shortly after the D-Day invasion in June 1944.

She explained that the D-Day landing took place on June 6, 1944. That it was the largest amphibious invasion in history, and took years of top secret planning by the Allied command. That on this single day over 156,000 Allied troops crossed the English Channel and landed along a 50 mile stretch of Normandy coastline, including over 23,000 airborne troops and 133,000 waterborne troops.
She explained to them that the troops were mainly American, British and Canadian, and also included French and other nationalities. That over 11,000 aircraft were used to support the airborne troops and over 5,000 ships were used to move the waterborne troops and supplies.
Our sons heard that this was a mission to secure a foothold on the French coast, and that what the Allies faced was the German “Atlantic Wall,” an extensive system of coastal fortifications built by Nazi Germany and manned by the German 7th Army.
They learned that over 4,000 Allied troops lost their lives on the landing day, and that over 12,000 Allied troops would lose their lives during the entire D-Day campaign. That D-Day was one of the great turning points of World War II. And that eleven months later, Hitler was dead and the war was over.
With this important information imparted, we felt well prepared to appreciate the significance of the place we were about to visit.

Bruce's wife, Julie, standing on one of the concrete bunkers.

We began our D-Day tour with a visit to the Peace Museum in the seaside town of Caen. Considered the best World War II museum in France, it not only provides an in-depth explanation of D-Day but places it within a broader context of the war and the twentieth century. We spent about an hour and a half there, although one could easily spend the day. The displays are kid friendly and our guide showed us the best of the museum’s vast collection, including the 30 minute film on D-Day that brought this epic endeavor to life.
Napoleon (also no stranger to trying to fight the British and the Russians at the same time) said, “An army travels on its stomach” and, taking his advice, we made our way to a nearby local restaurant for lunch. It was small and stylish, the perfect French seaside café. In a matter of minutes a mountain of fresh steamed mussels, loaves of crusty French bread, and a bottle of crisp white wine arrived. It was simple and delicious.

Bruce and his sons, Duncan and Griffin, exploring a Normandy beach.

After lunch it was time to visit the landing areas. We walked along a wide, wind-swept beach as our guide retold the story of the invasion. With our backs to the sea and the cliffs looming in front of us we could only begin to imagine the chilling and heroic realities of the invasion day – soldiers arriving on rough seas in landing craft met by a hail of fire from the hill-top gun emplacements. At times during the battle the fighting was so severe and loss of life so high that Allied commanders considered calling off the attack.
And there was also time that afternoon for boys to be boys – meeting up with other kids from all over the world, climbing in and out of thick concrete bunkers hidden in the cliffs, and clambering over and under restored tanks and other military vehicles that dot the beach area. It reminded me of the quote I had seen earlier in the day at the Peace Museum, “From the heart of our land flows the blood of our youth, given to you in the name of freedom.” Maybe there is no better expression and reward of the hard-won freedoms of the generations before ours than watching these kids at play.

Headstones at the America Cemetery at Courville.

Our last stop was the American Cemetery at Colleville, a 172 acre site, immaculately maintained, crowning a bluff above Omaha Beach. I remember as we entered the cemetery how quiet we became – before us glowed 9,387 white marble crosses and Stars of David. There is no more vivid a reminder of the enormity of D-Day and the loss of life than here. I suppose all generations bring a different perspective to places but we all shared an overpowering sense of loss and remembrance.
We walked among this sea of headstones reading the names, home states, and dates of death inscribed on each. Many of them were only a few years older than our sons. Although strangers, as we read each grave we felt a personal and profound connection to the fallen soldier.
We visited the chapel, the giant reliefs of the Battle of Normandy and the Battle of Europe, and the Garden of the Missing with the names of 1,557 soldiers who were never found. From there we made our way to the bluff for a last look at the Normandy beaches.
As we stood high atop the cliffs overlooking the beaches, on such a tranquil day, it was then that I saw our boys recognize the true significance of what we had visited – and that the courage and sacrifice of others had allowed them to enjoy a better life. I’d like to think it was a moment when, by looking back at history, they gained a new perspective. I think we all did.

ESSENTIAL EXPERIENCE 16

Posted by Nick Carlton

Captain, Sapphire Princess

February 1, 2011

In the Midst of Holy Pilgrimage - Santiago de Compostela, Spain - My visit, while not exactly a pilgrimage, was one where I felt a strong connection to two important people in my life – my maternal grandfather and my son – both named James.

As the final resting place of St. James, the Cathedral of Santiago de Campostela attracts thousands of pilgrims every year.

As a ship’s captain who has spent more than 40 years at sea, it’s not surprising that I’m often asked about my favorite place to visit.
But where do I start when so many wonderful experiences come to my mind?  My favourites include the Scottish highlands and islands, the beautiful Norwegian Fjords and Hawaiian island of Maui.  Other places have a family connection such as Venice, where I’ve stood in St. Mark’s square and thought of my father victory-rolling his Spitfire Mk 9 over the campanile in 1945. Or the Crimea, where I gazed out at the fields which were the scene of the Charge of the Light Brigade, where an ancestor died in the great siege of Sebastopol in 1855. The Mediterranean island of Malta, my home during my teen years, also has a special place in my heart.
However, throughout the world one of the places that means the most to me is both historic and inspirational.    It’s Santiago de Compostela, one of the most sacred places in the Christian world after Rome and Jerusalem.
Perhaps for me, this Spanish city resonates because it’s believed to be the final resting place of St. James – one of the 12 apostles of Jesus.  As such it’s become a site of an incredible pilgrimage, with more than 100,000 people making their way there each year.
While not exactly a pilgrimage, my visit to Santiago (which translates to “St. James”) was one where I felt a strong connection to two important people in my life – my maternal grandfather and my son – both named James.
My journey started from the picturesque port of Vigo, a vast natural harbor protected from the Atlantic by the Cies Islands.  It’s not far from Cape Finisterre which in ancient times, for those living on the eastern shores of the Atlantic, was the edge of the known world with only mysteries beyond its shores.

The silver coffer holding the remains of St. James

Santiago de Compostela is the capital of the beautiful region of Galicia in the northwest corner of Spain.  It’s a unique place – and even has its own language – Galician, or Galago, similar to Portuguese.
The main attraction in town is the magnificent cathedral built nearly a thousand years ago over the shrine which is said to contain St. James’ holy remains.   He was martyred in Jerusalem but spent a great deal of time preaching in Spain, so according to legend his body was brought to this place after his death. In the ninth century what are thought to be his remains were discovered, and ever since it’s become a place of pilgrimage.
The tens of thousands of pilgrims who come here every year journey from all over Europe, many traveling overland by foot and spending weeks on the road.  The most notable route, the Way of St. James, starts in France and runs for about 500 miles.  Pilgrims have been making the often arduous journey for more than 1,000 years.  Not everyone walks solely for religious reasons. For many it’s an adventure through a foreign landscape and a unique opportunity to meet people.

The cathedral is set in the grand Plaza del Obradoiro

Santiago de Compostela is probably the only UNESCO World Heritage Site where the road to it also carries this special designation.  The famous route across France and into Spain is not just a physical voyage but a spiritual journey where routine life can be put on hold — and will probably never be the same again.
I, instead, came to Santiago de Compostela while my Princess ship was docked at Vigo, about 60 miles to the south.  The drive north though the countryside was nonetheless a time of quiet contemplation about this special site I was about to visit.  One day, however, I would love to walk part of the Way of St. James.
No matter how you get there, an intense ambiance surrounds this place of pilgrimage. Some cathedrals are quiet, somber places, but in Santiago, the cathedral resonates with energy and enthusiasm, the culmination of days and, for some, weeks of exertion, anticipation and fulfillment.  Once they reach this cathedral, pilgrims receive a “compostela,” a certificate that recognizes their achievement.
The cathedral has been added to over the years, and today is a beautiful Romanesque building with an ornate Baroque façade with two bell towers.  Inside, the remains of St. James lie beneath the high altar in a silver coffer.  Grooves have been worn in some of the cathedral’s pillars from the millions of pilgrim hands that have touched them over the centuries.
On special days a mass is held for the pilgrims when a massive incense burner called the Botafumeiro is swung from pulleys on a long rope trailing clouds of smoke above the crowds while they sing the Hymn to Christ.  I’d say it’s one of the world’s most amazing experiences.

Swinging the Botafumeiro

The cathedral is situated in the grand Plaza del Obradoiro, surrounded by historic structures.  Across the plaza is an exquisite hotel, the beautiful, ancient Hostal dos Reis Catolicos.  It was originally the site of a hostel to house pilgrims, and today is a five-star parador that’s considered one of the oldest hotels in the world.
A mass of cobbled, narrow, winding streets lead away from the main plaza with a whole variety of little restaurants tucked in among them.  It’s traditional to try several, so of course I did, and the food is superb.  Among the food we enjoyed were seafood from the chilly Atlantic waters, Serrano ham, cheeses, and caracoles (snails), all served with the delicious local wine, Albarino. It’s also customary to leave a small coin in gaps in the stone walls for good luck.
The many lovely little shops in the area mainly sell a selection of silver jewelry and artifacts.  Since the scalloped shell has become the symbol of St. James, it’s the traditional souvenir for a pilgrim and there are many silver versions for sale. The shell has taken on a number of special meanings, including serving as a symbol of the journey — the way the shell’s grooves meet at a single point represents the various routes the pilgrims have travelled to the cathedral.
No matter where I went in the town, I felt the spirit of St. James everywhere.  One of Jesus’ first disciples, he would become a key figure in the Christian world.  As I wandered the streets I thought about his deep faith, his commitment to principles, and how he had been a teacher to many.   I couldn’t help but feel the connection to my grandfather, James, about whom I can say these same things.  But through this ancient place I especially thought about my son, James, the continuity of the generations and my hope for the future.

ESSENTIAL EXPERIENCE 15

Posted by Omar Silingardi

Director of Food & Beverage Services

January 25, 2011

In Search of Marco Polo - Venice, Italy - With the grand St. Mark’s Basilica as a backdrop, my children raised fists full of kernels as though making an offering to the sky itself.

Omar with kids, Marc and Serena, in Venice.

Marco Polo was just 17 years old when he first set off for a lifetime of adventure and exploration with his father and uncle. Polo departed his home town of Venice, Italy by ship and did not return for another 24 years.
I thought about this young explorer as I visited Venice with my own children, who were at the time 12 and 13 years old.  I did a little mental age progression as we went, trying to fit these babies, my children, into a form that could possibly be prepared for such a journey of a lifetime. Could the next five years turn one of my headphone-wearing, video game-playing, American “tweens” into a world-class explorer like Polo? It was hard to imagine.
Marco Polo was essentially what – or rather, who – brought us to Venice. My children studied the Italian explorer in school. Because I’m originally from Italy, they began to ask questions. What did I know about him, and was he as famous in Italy as he was here in the United States? Where is Venice, exactly, and why is it so well known? Their questions both amused and intrigued me, hitting as they did on a place and a piece of history of such great significance in my home country.
I began to see that a visit to Venice was in order. It wouldn’t be their first time in Italy, though; I’d taken them almost annually since they were babies.

Omar's son Marc feeding the pigeons in St. Mark's Square.

But our usual travels involved extended stays in my home town of Modena, enjoying some splendid home cooking and visiting local landmarks such as the Modena cathedral, or the Ferrari factory, as Modena is the home of Italy’s auto industry. But a trip to Venice would expose them to an entirely different side of the country.
We began our Venetian holiday with an afternoon in Piazza San Marco,or Saint Mark’s Square. Dating back to the 9th century, the square served as the point of entry to the original Saint Mark’s Basilica. It’s the lowest point in Venice, which means it’s nearly always the first to flood during a storm. But otherwise, the square is usually bustling with tourists snapping photos of the 15th century clock tower at one end or the campanile that looms over the entire square. We were graced with fine weather, so I bought a couple bags of corn to feed the birds. With the grand St. Mark’s Basilica as a backdrop, my children raised fists full of kernels as though making an offering to the sky itself. The pigeons wasted no time, and seemed to know no boundaries. They jumped on heads and shoulders, provoking a string of giggles from my daughter while my son squirmed and tried to resist batting them away.
Venice is also known for its exquisite glass, though the center of the city’s glassmaking industry has been located on the nearby island of Murano since 1291. That’s when the government moved the glass makers out of Venice to keep their furnaces from burning down the entire city. With one short vaporetto ride, we found ourselves on the island, touring a factory some 400 years old. My kids found great wonders there – such extremes of creativity and fragility. They had never seen glass blown by hand before and helping them to understand the specialness of a thing of beauty created by hand gave me a thrill.

Marc and Serena with their gondolier.

No visit to Venice is complete without a ride on one of the city’s famous gondolas – though the gondoliers know it and their prices show it. There was a time – a long time, centuries in fact – when gondolas were the main form of transportation in Venice, though today they mostly carry tourists. As I paid our gondolier, I wondered if flying to Las Vegas for a tour by gondola at the Venetian Hotel would cost as much as this one ride. But the price receded from my mind as we got underway, and the water-level scenery enveloped us. Our gondolier stood aft on our vessel, serenading us with his songs of romance. I had the advantage of speaking the language, and I asked in Italian if he could point to the site that had lured us to Venice to begin with.
As we drifted down one of the many narrow canals, passing buildings showing all the signs of advanced age, walls distressed by water, old bricks and stonework exposed where plaster had worn away, through our gondolier’s thick accent emerged the name “Marco Polo,” and he pointed to an unremarkable building with a stone edifice held up by two columns.

The plaque outside of Marc Polo's home.

Perhaps seeing the site of Polo’s home wasn’t as exciting to my kids as some of the other wondrous sights we’d set our eyes on in Venice, but for me it was an essential experience. Helping my kids draw a connection between the history they read about in books and the actual physical place where it happened was well worth the cost of a gondola ride. Helping them bridge the gap between their American culture and my Italian one was priceless.
Maybe my kids will be ready for adventures on their own in the next few years – maybe not. But until then, they’ve had at least one important travel adventure, and just like Marco Polo, it was with their father.

Omar and his wife Cindy with St. Mark's Basilica in the background.

One of the many narrow canals in Venice.

An iconic gondola.