Cruising around Europe: The Baltic

Granted, when most people think of going on a cruise, they don't think of fjords, pine trees, and water that's either too cold or too polluted to enter or fish from.  However, that's unfortunate because in many ways the Baltic region is ideally suited to visiting by ship- and since (speaking with a fair background in

 maritime law) there hasn't been a completely seaworthy cargo ship since the fall of Rome- I highly recommend booking a Baltic cruise.

The Baltic is, first of all, a beautiful part of the world and one that any would-be photographer shouldn't miss.  Cities like Stockholm, Copenhagen, and Helsinki are almost dream-like.  (And put paid to the idea that "socialist countries" are somehow inferior to anywhere else.)  Rostock and Tallinn are fascinating glimpses into a world that was strictly verboten to Americans and Western Europeans for 50 years.  And St. Petersburg is one of the world's great cities- and will get a post on this blog all its own fairly soon.  

Having said that, let me quickly also say that cruising in the Baltic is very different from more traditional destinations like the Caribbean or Mediterranean.  First off- and this is obvious, but should still be mentioned- the Baltic is not tropical.  Yes, you are on a cruise ship with a Hawaiian/ Polynesia/ Caribbean theme luring you to the warm waters on every flight of stairs. But that harbor off the port side is Helsinki, not Havana.  So scratch "banana boat ride" off your port itinerary and add "Nordic Walking" or "Canals and Waterways of St. Petersburg."  A tour of the Hanseatic Brewery in Rostock includes a visit to a medieval church and monastery, not a beach chair like Barbados' Malibu Distillery.  Seeing as most of the arranged excursions include a visit to a church or a palace, dress is slightly more "formal" than tropical destinations (and you probably want to bring a jacket along anyway).  All of that leads to another phenomenon: the average age of passengers is probably 10 years older than elsewhere.  The cruise lines are still working out how to effectively deal with this- the tried and true formula of a "kid's club" does not hold quite the same attraction for teenagers.  And unlike in the Caribbean, the teens can't just lay around in the sun listening to their ipods.  

The excursions many people have come to expect from cruise lines and their vendors- such as zip lines, speed boats, and jeep drives- have no equivalents in the Baltic.  Cruise ship-organized excursions are most often geared precisely to the least-effort-humanly-possible mode of traveling- (and the Shore Excursion Staff will not likely inform more youthful passengers of this fact) creating TOURISTS out of would-be travelers.  (One notable exception to this is Nordic Walking, especially available in Helsinki- essentially, this is cross country skiing without the skis over 7-9 miles of parks and pedestrian walking paths.)  If you are not careful, "you will board your luxury motor coach for a scenic drive to..." Hell-sinki.  Or

 Crapenhagen.  Or, worst of all, Shitholm.  So the moral of the story is- except in St. Petersburg, where Russian officialdom will not let you leave the ship without a group or a previously arranged visa- plan to explore the Baltic capitals on your own.  The ships (or local vendors) provide shuttles to and from the cruise docks to central locations in the cities and all of the major sites in Copenhagen, Helsinki, Stockholm, and Tallinn are within comfortable walking distances of each other. 

The Baltic is also one place where choice of cruise line makes a huge difference.  (Going to Nassau or Cozumel- the port facilities are the same no matter who you sail with, as are the excursions, souvenirs, and the crowds.)  The size of the ship will determine whether it's docked next to Russian oligarchs' yachts- or the M/V Piece of Crap, flying the flag of that great maritime power, Bolivia.  (However, the larger ships will give you a smoother ride.  So there are tradeoffs.)  

Perhaps most importantly, the various cruise lines market themselves- and tailor their services- to particular demographics.  Holland America  (owned by Carnival) and Celebrity (owned by Royal Caribbean International) strive to serve the needs of the elderly couples who grew up hearing tales of glamorous liner service between London and New York.  (Of course, the elderly couples who grew up actually sailing on those liners still sail with Cunard.)  Norwegian Cruise Lines (the company who invented modern cruising, and is now owned by an Asian conglomerate) focuses on more laid-back passengers and has no set dining times or assigned seating.  Royal Caribbean bills itself as serving a younger crowd, with significant options for activity (so does Celebrity, but it is damn near impossible to avoid traveling on a luxury motor coach en route to any Celebrity-coordinated excursion).  Carnival (and Costa)- sure, if you're looking for a week-long booze cruise, but for half the price of a Baltic cruise, you could just buy a case of vodka and save yourself the jet lag.

So which should you choose?  Well, if you want adventure and young people- try Norwegian.

Want pampering, a fully-stocked library and a set schedule?  Celebrity or Holland America is for you.  Want your ship to be a destination itself? Royal Caribbean or Norwegian.  Want to bring your young kids along?  Book on Disney Cruise Lines and stay in the Bahamas, because anyone who does travel to the Baltic does not want to hear your kids running through the halls just as they've finally gotten to sleep during the 45-minute period of darkness during St. Petersburg's White Nights. (Thank you, this last bit has been a public service announcement.)

Once you decide on a cruise line, you have a choice of somewhere between 12 and 36 classes of cabins.  However, for almost all intents and purposes you really only have four choices of accommodations on any 2,000+ vessel: interior, exterior, balcony, and suite.  Unless you are under 20 (or buying the cabin for someone who is) save your money and put it towards a more affordable vacation.  (This goes double if your are trying to book a honeymoon.)  Small, enclosed spaces- and the obvious lack of a window- greatly increase your chances of seasickness on board.  

Exterior cabins are a great choice and probably the best value for the money (though if you are seriously contemplating shelling out for a suite, cost-effectiveness is probably not your chief concern), since they provide generally good views and smaller people can usually sit comfortably in the picture windows (my wife is 5'1" and has spent lots of time perched in these windows like a cat.)  

Balcony cabins (or "staterooms" as they are aptly called at this level of comfort and expense) are fantastic options if they are within your budget and you would rather have some alone time- and almost always unobstructed views of the water/ scenery.  On scenic cruises- and the Baltic fjords are certainly scenic- a balcony can make for an unforgettable trip.  (I would hesitate to recommend one for some "scenic" cruises though- the Straights of Magellan/ Cape Horn in particular.  While I have not experienced this myself, I cannot image the wind around the Horn makes for a pleasant afternoon tea on the terrace.)

Suites/Penthouses/Lofts- honestly, they are almost always beautiful and certainly provide more space, but if you intend to make much use of the public areas (lounges, bars, restaurants, pool deck, etc), I can't say they're worth the money.  However, if (like one couple I know very well) buying a suite provides you with the sort of privacy and peace you rely on vacations to provide, then by all means- and enjoy the included concierge service.

Cruising around Europe: Amsterdam

As a result of quite a bit of luck, my in-laws' generosity, and the fact that my wife, Cindy, and I are both educators with long summer vacations, we found ourselves on board two cruises this month- one to the Baltic Sea and the other to the Mediterranean.  Over the next few days, I'll be posting pictures, commentary, and the conclusion of that rant about tourists.  We left Harwick, England at the end of June on board the Celebrity Constellation en route to Amsterdam and eventually the Baltic. 

I lived just outside The Hague for three years, but hadn't been back to the Netherlands for a while and I was really looking forward to having 8 hours in port to take Cin down to see the Ridderzaal area and the beach at Schevenigen, but Celebrity Cruises had their own ideas. Apparently the A'dam cruise terminal charges by the hour and the cruise line couldn't imagine anyone actually leaving A'dam.  So we ended up just wandering around Dam Square and eating frits met fritsaus.  Most passengers were fine with this.  What else is there in Holland, except the Red Light District, right?  

Well, if your idea of a good vacation is getting so blitzed you can't see straight, then- as almost all Dutchmen and -women would likely agree- write the name of your hotel/cruise ship on your forehead and please stay within the Red Light District.  However, if you'd like to do almost anything else, once you've 1) done a canal tour of the Jordan neighborhood, 2) seen Anne Frank's house, and 3) the Rijkssmuseum/ Van Gogh Museums, go back to Centraal Station and hop on a train headed south. 

My suggestion: take the train from A'dam to Den Haag (The Hague) and you'll watch some of the most beautiful scenery in the world pass by your window as the train go through Haarlem and the tulip fields.  For a country with one of the highest population densities in the world, the Netherlands has a LOT of open, rural land- the result of proper (and rather inflexible) central planning after World War II.  

Get off your train at Den Haag Centraal and follow the shopping street to its end at a large open area surrounding a lake.  And oh, right. There's a castle in the middle.  Now used as Parliamentary offices, the Binnenhof surrounds the Ridderzaal, a medieval throne room/ adminstrative center for the Counts of Holland and still the place from which the Dutch monarch opens Parliament every year.  During the annual week-long Queen's Day celebrations, the area around the Binnenhof becomes an open air amusement park, with carousels, snack vendors, and spinning/jerking/twisting rides of all kinds, late into the night. 

If you want a relaxing trip to the beach, take a tram to Schevenigen.  You'll pass the Staten Kwartier, where most embassies are; the Peace Palace, where the International Court of Justice has sat since it was founded; and Madurodam, which is a rather vast model of Holland that lets you walk through miniature versions of Amsterdam, The Hague, and Delft.  (On sunny days, this is great for kids- they can play Godzilla stomping through major cities.)  At the end of the line is the Kurhaus, a beautiful old hotel right on the beach.  During the summer, temporary restaurants and bars set up shop on the sand below the (stone) boardwalk.  

Savusavu, Fiji

Just a word about the photo on the blog header:  I took this near the town of Savusavu, Fiji in August, 2007.  Cindy and I were staying at Tropic Splendor, a few miles outside town; this is the view down the beach there.  No one in sight.  (Though admittedly, there were some people in the water- local women fishing with nets.)  Our stay with Jeff and Susan, owners of Tropic Splendor, was incredible and we have been scheming ever since to return to Fiji. 

Just so everyone is clear, Fiji is perfectly safe for visitors, even at the height of a coup because the Fijians have wisely decided that a rousing game of Who's Wearing the Big Hat Today need not affect anyone else.  So the international airport was built on the opposite side of Viti Levu from Suva and no effort was made to construct anything resembling a major road between Nadi, where the airport and major international infrastructure is located.  (This also prevents tourism from taking over the island and enables Fijians to continue their cultural traditions on their own terms.)

Savusavu is located on the southern side of Vanua Levu, Fiji's second island and is a small town with only about 3,000 residents, including a small but lively expatriate community, centered on the Savusavu Yacht Club.  Don't let the name fool you, the yacht club is a small dock, restaurant, and a few shops in a building built as a waystation for copra in the late 1800s. Determined to keep Fiji Fijian, the government forbids foreigners from buying land- and that includes the thriving Indian population who originally came to Fiji to work on the copra plantations and who now control an overwhelming proportion of economic clout, but are still shut out from the real estate gig.  The expatriates, mostly New Zealanders and Australians naturally, own pieces of the copra plantation, which was "grandfathered in" and later sold under typical common law property rules.  Many of the expats are Rotarians who've adopted a local school to improve, including adding running water and a new roof.  It all makes for a dynamic- if a little isolated- place to stay for as much time as you can.  (The diving and snorkeling is comparable only to the Great Barrier Reef.)

Travelers and Tourists: An Anthropological Study

Last month, my wife and I were walking along the medieval city walls of Tallinn, Estonia with some new friends, admiring the view over the Old City.  Just as we were relaxing and thinking we'd somehow wandered into a Baltic saga and were wondering when the Vikings would attack, we saw them.  Or rather, THEM.  The tourists.  Not travelers, mind you- they can be found in any cafe, bar, or public space.  In addition to usually being unassuming and polite, travelers tend to be rather good conversationalists and reasonably good tippers (or at least they rarely stiff the waitstaff), all while allowing the locals to go about their lives with a minimum of disruption. Tourists, on the other hand, cause all sorts of bloody chaos and, a la quantum physics personified in an XXXL t-shirt reading, "I'm with Stupid," rarely fail to observe the local environment or population without irreparably changing it. 

I must admit to being somewhat biased on this.  Having been born and on and raised on a barrier island in Florida before the condo commandos and hotelistas decided that peace and tranquility was best enjoyed with a quarter million of your closest friends, I have a somewhat ingrained skepticism towards tourists in large groups.   

When they come individually, there's usually not a problem- just some chuckles or bewilderment at how savvy businessmen, doctors, lawyers- impeccably dressed at the office- somehow come to believe that a crossing a national border and rubbing white paste on their nose transforms a neon floral shirt and too-tight shorts, black socks and sandals into appropriate attire for an afternoon jaunt through Tuscany or a promenade down Barcelona's Las Ramblas.  (While all other observers may cringe, at least local pickpockets are an appreciative audience.)   But not all tourists travel individually or with their significant other and/or demon spawn... er, children.  Oftentimes, especially during Tourist Season- a term that when spoken subtly suggests a semantic merger of "terrorist" and "hurricane season"- they travel in full-on raiding parties.

Imagine the scene: you're a middle-manager or minor government functionary in Madrid.  It's nearing the end of July and your boss has just nipped out early for his month-long August vacation, leaving you to deal with his leftovers.  Feeling a bit harangued, you call up your girlfriend and cancel your six-month anniversary dinner, explaining you have to complete the Castenada account tonight.  You try to smooth things over a bit by suggesting that she meet you for an ice cream at the Retiro Park near your office over your quicker-than-you-had-hoped lunch break.  She arrives, sees that you are truly sorry, and the two of you settle in to enjoy the sunshine over the lago and each other's company.  Just then you hear the sonic blast of a straining hydraulic brake.  Your quiet sanctuary has just been annexed by Disney World. 

They arrive en masse in that tangible evidence of evil: the LUXURY MOTOR COACH.  (For those of you who think the Minivan represents one of the Four Horsemen, the "LMC" is Tiamat itself.)  Inevitably, the LMC pulls up as close as (in)humanly possible to an Object of Great Historical Importance with an enormous calamity of noise and exhaust.  This sends pigeons into bedlam and almost always blocks the view of the OGHI from the people sitting in nearby cafes, minding their own business.  Soon, the doors with a hydraulic "swoosh"- first, the front, which remains a gaping open space for some time with no visible reaction from the sardines, err... passengers inside.  Then the rear door opens, followed immediately by teenagers, twenty- and thirty-somethings leaping from the door like cracker jacks.  One wonders why the first door wasn't sufficient for another five minutes or so until a escapee from the ICU hobbles down the stairs, on the arms of the driver and two or three other passengers who've been enlisted to help carry this aged and honored veteran of the Napoleonic Wars down to the pavement.  At this point, the tour guide- easily recognizable by her "lollipop" or neon-colored flag- attempts to gather the flock of young people who exploded from the rear of the bus in a frustrated mass, and who are now wandering towards the ice cream stand, the souvenir vendor, or the Nigerian gentlemen promising great deals on Rolex watches, African drums, and other authentic Spanish handicrafts.  When she more or less succeeds, an observer can pick out the nationalities included in this United Nations-in-a-sardine-can. 

First, there are the Brits- nowhere else on earth gives rise to such eccentric and disparate people, all of whom MUST remain together, lest anyone in the tour group be inconvenienced by someone returning to the bus 30 seconds later than the time agreed upon.  While traveling in tour groups as couples or young families, the Brits tend to behave themselves very well.  However, beware the ones who came as singles or stag-parties once they encounter others like them. (Think Gremlins after a midnight bender.)  Greek police chiefs- certainly no innocents themselves- recently held a conference to decide on a national policy to deal with "Brits behaving badly" in response to threats by British tour companies to move their business to other islands if, for instance, Mykonos decided to actually prosecute holiday-makers for public intoxication, assaults, and vandalism.  

Next up, weighed down by electronic devices of all kinds, come the Japanese.  One might have thought that advances in miniaturization and memory storage capacity would have gone some distance towards quashing the stereotype of a camera-laden Japanese tourist.  One would be wrong.  Such advances have simply allowed the touring Mitsubishi executive to carry more cameras.  However, the casual observer must admit that Japanese tourists traveling with predominantly-English speaking tour groups do carry less than the all-Japanese tour groups, who can often be enlisted to help out if there is a camera malfunction on an on-location Hollywood production filming.  Someone will probably have the part needed and, in any case, when properly organized, a tour group from Tokyo has more than enough flash-bulb power to reenact the bombing of Dresden. 

By the time you can observe the Brits, alternately dusting each other off politely and searching for the nearest cerveceria and marvel at amateur documentarians from Kyoto, you'll have long-since heard the Argentine or southern Italian extended family.  Loud, boisterous, and musical, this group speaks to each other almost exclusively in their own language, often continuing their conversation over the English-speaking guide's attempts to organize the whole group.  Unable to hear the guide over Abuelo Gonzalez's recollection of the Argentine victory in the Malvinas, the group is inevitably confused and asks the guide to repeat everything she has just said, thus delaying the whole group's disembarkation from the LMC.  This genre of tourist is particularly common en route to Rome, Santiago de Compostella, and Lourdes, in which case they've justified the expense of an all-inclusive trip through Italy or Spain or France as a pilgrimage.  As they're piously following the footsteps of thousands of pilgrims who gave away their worldly possessions and walked the Way of St. James barefoot through the Pyrenees, the sing-a-longs will be religious in nature- and often repeated, causing a crisis of faith among everyone else in the group. 

Swirling around and through the other groups, of course, will be the Americans.  And fodder for the next post.