Strong Medicine

One of the real oddities about being an expat is dealing with healthcare in a different culture, different legal system, and a different language. I think most people think, “medicine is medicine, right?” but the differences are profound. Living here in what some derisively label Gringolandia can bring the differences home.

Take how hospitals approach inpatient services. In Mexico, nurses are something less than a licensed practical type in the states. Most here are more administrative helpers than anything else. Hospitals expect a family member to stay with you (the patient) in the hospital to help with basic care! Going in for surgery? You will probably be reminded to arrange a group of friends to come and donate blood for you. And the blood donor restrictions go all the way to how many hours since your last meal, so while you’re sitting around waiting to give blood, you’ll also be worrying about those (there are too soon AND too late limits). Of course, every visiting tourist who ends up hospitalized in Mexico also reacts in horror when the hospital refuses to release you before you pay your bill! But from the hospital’s standpoint, it has no way to collect once you’re gone, so you’re not leaving until they stamp la cuenta with pagado.

Mexico has free national health care, and it provides health services directly equivalent to the cost (nada). It is not uncommon to hear of local hospitals short on basic medicines (e.g., antibiotics) or bandages. Very good private hospitals are available, and the prices here are much less costly than in the States. Partly that’s because of the Mexican health market. Mexicans rarely go to the doctor. They don’t trust the government ones, and they don’t see the point in paying for the private ones. Without much demand, there is little inflationary price pressure. Also–and very importantly–there is little or none of the malpractice legal regime so familiar in the states. Just doesn’t happen much here.

All these factors play out in an unusual way at lakeside. In an area with slightly more than 50,000 people, we have at least three hospitals, three specialty clinics, and a Cruz Roja (Red Cross) facility. And twenty dentists and no one knows how many farmacias! This surfeit of health care is driven by the expats, those (like us) who have insurance coverage or others who simply pay as you go. Costs have been rising as local doctors/hospitals realize there is a captive population here which doesn’t want to travel up to Guadalajara (which is the medical centro for Mexico) and is willing to pay a premium for English-fluent (relatively speaking) staff and doctors. Dentistry is still pretty cheap for the same reasons I mentioned, and often the care and equipment are state of the art. I know I have mentioned before the immediate 3D printing for crowns which is common here.

What goes on behind the scenes of all these health services is even more interesting. Expats highlight the relative costs (still a deal), the quality care (doctors still make house calls), and the great availability. But it’s a totally different health system. Mexico in general has a “you get what you want” approach to medicines, services, and regulations, and many expats forget that. The view among medical professionals here is, “if you as the patient want to try something, you should be able to do so.” In the States or Canada, the medical industry is tightly regulated from top to bottom, and constantly checked through the government inspection and legal regimes. Here you can find a doctor who will work for you with any treatment you can imagine, for any reason. You take the risk, so it’s up to you. And doctors will gladly refer you for more tests and treatments, if that’s what you want.

Take stem cells, for example. In the United States, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has approved stem cell treatments for blood disorders like leukemia and lymphoma, conditions like osteoarthritis and Crohn’s disease, and cord blood stem cell therapy for certain cancers and blood disorders. There are numerous clinical trials underway with promising possibilities. Meanwhile, unlicensed clinics and doctors in the States have pushed unapproved stem cell treatments, resulting in hundreds of deaths and severe complications. In the States. With all that regulation and all those lawsuits.

In our little pueblo, there are two stem cell clinics and many private doctors offering stem cell treatments. Now it’s just possible that tiny Ajijic is a hotbed of cutting-edge stem cell medicine. And it’s also possible local doctors are just providing for the treatment expats are requesting. And it’s also possible some quackery is involved. If you peruse social media, there are many testimonials from local expats to this doctor or that treatment. What you have to understand is there is no medical evidence behind these testimonials. There is ample anecdote, and people swear they got better. But the plural of anecdote is not data.

People misunderstand the placebo effect, and think it means the result (“I got better”) is fake. It’s not. The improvement post-treatment due to the placebo effect is oftentimes real. That’s why the placebo effect is so important in medicine: just doing something (for example, giving someone a sugar pill which has no utility), results in a positive outcome. Why? Medicine does not know why, they just know it happens. What are some theories? One is that the appearance of treatment “tricks” the patient’s psyche into greater effort (The medicine will work, my body needs to help, too).

Another is even more simple: what happens most times you get sick? Well, you get well, treatment or no. Barring an accident, you’ll get sick hundreds or thousands of times (for many diseases, like West Nile or Dengue, the vast majority of people are asymptomatic: they had it and never even know they had it), and you eventually get better. Ok, eventually you get one that you just up-and-die from, but the most likely outcome of most sickness is: health. And this could show up in the placebo results, too.

So when you read about all the people saying, “I got stem cells, and my sciatica cleared up” or whatever, remember (1) they may not know whether they got stem cells or not, (2) sciatica can resolve on its own, (3) the placebo effect is real and could be the cause, or (4) they may be the leading edge of a medical breakthrough. But what you should never do is to confuse how medicine is practiced here with how it is practiced back home, wherever that is. It’s not that one way is better than another; just that they’re different, and the differences are important.

Eurobservations

Random musings from our six-week excursion, starting in Amsterdam, through Milan and Puglia, down to Sicily and back up to Vicenza:

Senza (without) is a key word
  • I know I sound like a broken record at this point, but it still amazes me that casual American culture has so overtaken Europe. Even baseball caps are no longer a dead giveaway of American tourists. I can’t tell you how many middle-aged (aka “adult”) men I saw wearing t-shirts with vulgar English-language slogans (e.g., “if you can read this, f*ck you!”) who were clearly locals. Athletic shoes (I am old enough to have typed tennis shoes before correcting myself) for all, athleisure apparel wear for women, be-sloganned t-shirts for men (although still no shorts, gracias a Dios!). Yes, Europeans still dress well for work or to go out at night (i.e., when they want to be dressy), but otherwise they look as slovenly as any middle-American mall cohort. *sigh*
  • Vaping was a constant wherever we went: far too many people in Europe have not gotten the message it’s as bad as smoking. There was a lot of toking in Amsterdam, a lot of regular smoking the farther we went south in Italy. Restaurants and businesses upheld all the correct laws about non-smoking, but often it was easy to be surrounded by a cloud of smoke out and about.
  • Why has Europe perfected healthy, delicious snacks and quick meals, and the US hasn’t? We got bagged cornetti (fruit-filled rolls) on the trains in Europe, and they tasted fresh and good, even after a few days. You could buy snacks from an automat machine and they tasted good. Coffee vending machines? Excellent! Even the prepared meals/snacks in the supermarket were well-done, easy to prepare, and healthy. Contrast that with America: pizza rolls (motto: “no animals or vegetables were harmed in the manufacture of this product”), desiccated 7-11 hot dogs, stale Twinkies from a vending machine last inspected in 2011. Didn’t we invent fast food? And why does US fast food have unpronounceable ingredients? It’s enough to make one believe in the conspiracy theories!
  • Evolution has not caught up with the Italian people in light of the cell phone. Watching a young Italian woman hold a phone video conversation on a train was worth the price of admission. One hand cradling the device, the other gesturing wildly. Then a sudden pause, as she shifted the phone to the other hand, and resumed gesturing with the first. And so on, back-n-forth. Until they master hands-free technology in Europe, the Italians are throttled.
  • Permissive parenting is a drag. I like to be around kids; I really enjoy playing games with my grandkids. But I am used to, and expect, parents to teach children their place in society. I had a chance to book a “quiet car” on TrenItalia and thought “why?” Well I learned why, because the two Italian families in our car let their children play tag, run, and scream around the car for an hour. Likewise, our attempt to sit in a cafe near Bari and enjoy the outdoor setting was ever-so-slightly disturbed by two Italian grandparents who seemed to really enjoy their grandson chasing pigeons in the park. Shrieking at the top of his lungs. For half-an-hour straight. So loud the three local men listening to the live feed of the calcio (soccer) match couldn’t hear the broadcast. Ay-ay-ay!
  • The Dutch like fried food. . . a lot. I learned that Dutch expats miss most bitterballen: fried, battered meatballs. They also crave raw herring sandwiches. I thought this was because of all the coffee shops and MJ use, but it long predates that. I never want to hear anybody criticize pizza rolls again.
  • Italian cuisine, in its many forms, is amazing. But is it okay to admit that while every place in Italy claims to be unique and special in its pasta/cheese/tomatoes/ragu/etc., that in the end, the similarities are far greater than the differences? It’s all good; it’s often great. But I’m sorry, it is all not that different. And it is still hard to find any other cuisine in Italy, except in larger cities.
  • If you are going to travel by train in Europe at all, make sure and google some combination of the name of the country you will be in, the month, and the words “train strike.” They are so regular that they actually frequently announce them. Few things would be worse than finding that the train service to your airport is disrupted on the day you’re leaving.
  • Before we left I was cleaning out my clothes closet and decided it was finally time to throw out my twenty-year-old cargo pants. Damn if they’re not back in fashion, all over Europe. I could have been vintage! Ditto for mom jeans, but I don’t have any.
  • My suspicion that a sport coat was all it took to pass as “not an American tourist” still has a perfect record. Since I bought a good, lightweight, navy blue sport coat and started wearing it–especially on travel days–I have never had anyone walk up to me and start speaking in English. Or ask where in America I was from. The sport coat is not exactly a style setter, but it is enough to look like a serious adult (even me!), it’s comfortable (if you research and buy the right product), and it holds up even to machine washing. I do need to learn the phrase “Sorry, I don’t speak ______” because I do get asked for directions, time, weather, etc.
  • If you really want to score some points travelling, learn a little about the national politics where you are headed and ask a local (e.g., a garrulous taxi driver) what they think of a party, a candidate, or an issue. Most Europeans I met are amazed to find an American who knows a little about their national politics, and they will willingly vent on the subject. It’s fun, educational, and passes the time.
  • The Chinese tourist wave, which washed over Europe just before Covid, has still not resurfaced. Which is not to say places aren’t crowded with tourists, just not large Chinese tour groups.

Sicily

Word association time: what word comes to mind when someone says Sicily? Probably mafia or Godfather, first. Maybe cannoli, but that could be linked to the famous “Leave the gun, take the cannoli” line from the movie, too. Until fairly recently, it was fair to connect the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea with organized crime. Mafia control, portrayed in the Godfather movie trilogy, got so bad in the 1990s that they literally blew up several judges who had the audacity to question their hold. But la Cosa Nostra (as they are known) overplayed their hand, and the bombing led to a sustained campaign to break them down. Successive Italian governments tracked them down, and even Pope Francis joined in, excommunicating them in 2014. After thirty years, organized crime has returned to the shadows, unable to flex its muscles in the daylight.

But Sicily remains a poor, underdeveloped place with an abundance of history and culture. Whether the former attributes outweigh the latter is a matter of personal opinion.

We started our tour in Palermo, the island’s one-time capital and largest city. Palermo was a royal city, and a must-see part of the Grand Tour for European nobility in the eighteenth century. It has a proud heritage that mixes Phoenician, Roman, Greek, Norman, Arab, and Spanish influences. But today these influences largely reside in monuments and meals, and the main feel of the city is a blue-collar, slightly grimy vibe. I’d call it Naples without the cachet.

The other large city is Catania, on the east coast, literally in the shadow of Mount Etna. It has some of the same challenges, but seems a little more successful, having more a university town vibe than Palermo. The volcano is a must-see tourist stop, so that’s one advantage; it also accounts for unique soil and terroir, benefiting wines, cheeses, vegetables and the like.

One small lava field on Etna, which dominates the eastern shore

Getting around Sicily is a challenge. First, it’s large. Second, it is mountainous. It does have a bus, train, and car routes, but all of it runs on a sinuous network that could make a Formula One driver queasy. Palermo and Catania have decent airports, the latter subject to Mount Etna’s whims. So you can spend a lot of time getting from one site to another, or even around a town.

Monks built a earthen wall to protect against the 1669 Etna eruption. Now they have a two-tiered campus

The small towns in Sicily are inviting, once you can get to them. There life operates on a different level. They benefit from the fertile volcanic soil and the warm and (usually) moist climate, but mostly from the history. On the island, you can find some of the best Greek temples, Roman villas, baroque churches, and even Punic sites.

Maybe you like history?

How about scenery?

Of course there’s always the food:

Caponata and “spicy” potatoes

Sicily? Worth a visit. Given the geography, I suggest a tour, especially one themed to what you like: history? Food? Wine? Your ethnic background? One challenge is that Sicily is already warm in the traditional “shoulder” season, so the crowds start building earlier in the Spring than elsewhere in Europe. As to our sweepstakes for another expat site, this visit confirmed it is off our list. While it is charming and alluring, it is too hard to get to and too hard to get around. If I was an Italian-American looking to rediscover my Sicilian roots, it might be a different story.

Hands down, still the best photo of the trip!

Bari, Puglia

My Sweetheart, having a good time

I know, you’re thinking, “Bari? Why are you in Bari? Wait, where is Bari?” Answering the last question first, Bari is a port city on the Adriatic coast of Italy, across from Albania, and it’s the capital of the Italian region of Puglia, often referred to in English as Apulia. But to make it easy, Puglia is the heel of the Italian “boot.”

“Why” merits a longer answer. This part of our trip is to experience a taste of expat life in southern Italy. Like we did in Spain’s Andalucia in January, we’re visiting this expat hot-spot to see how it “feels” to us. No agenda, no list of must-see/do’s, just six nights in Bari Vechia (old town). Southern Italy has become something of a magnet for American expats, especially those with Italian roots. The region has great weather, great food (‘natch), and decent value for cost of living, including housing.

We arrived on a Wednesday evening, expecting a quiet, work-night scene for a regional capital of 300,000+. So we were surprised by large crowds, closed streets, and a very festive atmosphere. When I asked the taxi driver if this was a normal sight for a late Spring weekday, he said, “no, it’s the festival for San Nicolas.”

Basilica of San Nicolas (very Norman or Romanesque!)

Now I knew Bari had an affinity for Saint Nick (San Nicolas de Bari is one of his official titles), and I knew all about Saint Nick in his Santa Claus personna, I even knew he originally was Bishop of Myra, in present-day Turkiye. But his feast day is December 6th, not May 9th. What gives? Seems we stumbled into an interesting historical phenomenon which goes back over 900 years, involving Muslims, Catholics, Orthodox, Turks, Byzantines, Venetians, relics, miracles, and Vladimir Putin. Seriously.

The Saint, back from his boat trip and walk around town

Nicolas was a famous Bishop in Myra, martyred during the Diocletian persecution around 343 Christian Era (CE). He was a Greek living in the Roman Empire, known for his piety and many miracles. Although there are no definitive accounts of his life, his cult emerged after his death. He is beloved by both the Orthodox and Catholic Rites of Christianity, becoming the basis for Santa Claus in the latter, while there are more churches dedicated to him in Moscow than any other Orthodox saint. He is the patron saint of sailors, prostitutes, repentant thieves, brewers, pawn-brokers, and students, groups which are certainly not mutually exclusive.

The saint’s remains resting place, and the devotion they attract

In 1054 CE the Church split into competing Catholic and Orthodox branches in the Great Schism, and in 1087 the Seljuk Turks overran the Bishopric of Myra, capturing the tomb of Saint Nick. A group of merchants and sailors in Bari, Italy, decided to raid and return (most of, Venetians later grabbed the rest) the saint’s remains to Christian hands. They brought them back to Bari on May 9th, establishing a “feast of the translation” (i.e., transportation, which sounds so much better than “theft”) at a new church in Bari. We had wandered into the middle of that feast.

The Crypt Church

And what a feast. Dignitaries from East and West attend, this year the biggest being the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem. The statue of San Nicolas is collected up by the faithful and processed down to the docks, where sailors take it out for a night at sea. The next day, they re-enact the “translation” and the faithful gather to welcome their beloved saint home. The statue has a “skirt” attached to it (covering up the men carrying it) so it looks like it “walks” up from the port to the basilica. It moves to a spot on a promenade where it stays while masses of Thanksgiving are held in the Basilica Catholic Church upstairs and the Orthodox Crypt Church below, where the saint’s remains, well, remain. During the final mass, a priest crawls under the altar to the tomb containing the remains, unlocks it, and draws out: water. Although the box containing the bones is sealed, some form of liquid, called manna by the faithful, has been accumulating since the saint died. Of course this manna has miraculous properties and is diluted and widely shared among the believers.

One of the clothes used to collect the manna

What’s really a miracle to me is the way Catholic and Orthodox get along so well during all this, whereas in Jerusalem and elsewhere they are usually at each other’s ecclesiastical throats. For example, even Putin was allowed to make a pilgrimage to Bari in 2007! So Bari is full of Orthodox and Catholic faithful.

The view from our balcony: three eras of church wall
Pulpo looked better than it tasted

Bari Vecchia, where we stayed, is a typical medieval maze of tiny streets, repurposed castles, palaces and churches, with a blossoming harbor and new city spreading out landward from the small peninsula. The entire area is easily walkable: mostly flat, and our evening passeggiata often went completely around the seafront. There are oodles of cafes serving up espresso, osterias for seafood, pizzerias for focaccia barese. The locals are especially proud of their local pasta, called orecchiette or little ears. Women still set up tables in the narrow streets and make the pasta fresh while you watch. We were impressed with the local Primitivo and Negroamare red varietal wines. The pasta and focaccia were excellent; we have yet to find pulpo (octopus) which rivals what we find in Mexico, but the search goes on!

In addition to all that Saint Nick history, Bari has a surfeit of other historical regimes. Its earliest traces are Phoenician and Greek, then Roman, Byzantine, Norman, and finally Spanish, with each group leaving a mark architecturally. Under the Aragonese Queen Isabella, Bari passed to her daughter Bona Sforza as Duchess. She later married and outlived King Sigismund the Old of Poland, holding both titles (Queen of Poland and Duchess of Bari, among others) at the same time. So much for the patriarchy.

We took two day trips from Bari: thirty minutes south (on the local train) to Polignano a Mare, and forty minutes north to Trani. We wanted to see what smaller, less touristy towns in the area were like. Polignano is a small town famous for its cliffs, and Red Bull even sponsors a cliff diving event there every year. Trani has a bustling port and a fantastic cathedral.

Seaside Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

To be honest, the entire coast of Puglia is filled with small-to-medium sized towns that are very similar. Each has a small beach or port area, an old city, then a newer development (usually around the main train station) which consists of apartment blocks. Weekend or Summer vacation apartments for Italians stretch out from there. I would be hard-pressed to tell you which to select to visit; all have something to offer, but there isn’t a lot to distinguish between them in my opinion.

Puglia has been a tourist destination for Italians–looking for a quiet, inexpensive beach/shore trip–for a long time. It delivers on that promise, and remains less expensive, less pretentious (I’m looking at you, Amalfi coast), but still pleasant. Whether it has what it takes to be right as an expat haven for us? That’s a question still pending!

I only had to pay the tour guide five Euros to concoct a story requiring everyone to kiss under this arch to ensure a happy marriage.

Un momento milanese

I wish I could give you a full (not fulsome) review of the wonderful northern Italian city of Milano, aka Milan. But we were only there less than twenty-four hours, so a limited review is all I can provide. Suffice it to say the city deserves a much longer investigation, and since it is an international air hub, look to visit it to begin or end your next European journey.

After Amsterdam, we booked an overnight train trip on Austria’s OBB Nightjet which took us in early evening from Amsterdam Centraal to a morning arrival in Zurich. There we caught a connection to Milan on a quite picturesque route over, through and under the Alps. More on those train trips will be forthcoming later on our trip.

Fresh breads

We arrived in Milano Centrale in the mid afternoon and checked in at the Hotel Bristol immediately next door to the station. The Bristol is a throwback to classy European hotel style with well-decorated rooms, eclectic art, and a breakfast buffet to die for. We explained to the concierge that we were in town for just one meal, right now, which unfortunately falls between the Italian lunch and dinner hours. He directed us to an osteria, Mama Rossa’s, a few blocks away. It was fantastic, and the waiter couldn’t help himself but to give give us an amuse bouche, extra bread, extra wine, and a lesson in Puglian cuisine, once he learned that’s where we were headed next.

Caprese, anyone?
Just looking at this again makes my mouth water

We waddled/staggered (did I mention the free apperitivo? The gratis limoncello?) out of Mama’s and jumped on the metro down to the Duomo: Milan’s majestic cathedral. The Duomo is quite literally a site to behold. Every corner, every window, every spire and doorway is covered with frescoes, carving, and religious symbolism. If you go–and you should–take a guided tour or get an audio guide and take your time. But we weren’t there for the tour. We just wanted to visit and pray.

I have mentioned previously that many European churches, basilicas, and cathedrals have tourist charges, but also permit “the faithful” to visit free of charge. The cost is just decorum and limited or no photography. We found the religious entrance and asked if we could go in and pray. The female guard took a look at me, wearing a small back pack and speaking English, and my wife, with a real camera around her neck. She said, “Not now. You should wait for the next Mass.” “Ok,” we replied, “when is it?” “Five-thirty.” “Great,” we said and walked around to a place where we could sit for thirty minutes and wait.

Such attention to detail!

I watched as the guard let one group of locals (no handbags, no back packs, no cameras, speaking Italian) after another through to pray. I could tell she was watching me, watching her. She finally decided we must be legitimate, and she waved us over at five-fifteen. We found our way around to a small chapel directly behind the main altar, where we got the opportunity to attend a full Mass in Italian on a Tuesday evening. We made a point of thanking the guard on the way out!

May the Lord forgive me for a quick shot from behind the main altar!

Exhausted from our “relaxing” overnight train adventure, with bellies full of gnocchi, spinach, and meatballs and livers reeling from wine and spirits, we called it a night, knowing we were on the road again the next morning to Puglia.

This was just a hit-n-run visit; we knew that going in. Milan has so much art, fashion, culture and industry it demands your time. Still, it was a special meal, a special hotel, and a special Mass: of these great visits are made!

Amsterdam

Since our transatlantic cruise deposited us in Amsterdam, we decided to take an extra day and see what this unique and interesting city has to offer. No, not in the way of the red light district, nor in the coffee houses. Both of these quintessential “Amsterdam” things are embarrassing to the locals. They are trying to disperse the brothels, and make tourist use of cannabis more difficult if not illegal. Signs were everywhere prohibiting public joint smoking, but we could barely walk along the canals without choking on the noxious weed. And why would anyone want to take pictures of women who find so-called sex work a career choice?

If you do word association with “Amsterdam” you’ll get a lot of those two social problems (prostitution and marijuana), but what you should get is history, art, architecture, and even food. Which is what we found. Amsterdam is a very walkable city, and has great/affordable public transportation in metros, trains, busses and trams. We only touched the surface of its artistic riches, visiting the Rijksmuseum to see its holdings of Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and Vermeer. Likewise, the Dutch Maritime Museum has a full complement from the days of the Dutch East India Company, when ships like this brought the wealth of the world home to the bustling ports.

Replica at the Maritime Museum

We even found a fabulous little museum called “Ons’ Lieve Heer op Solder” or “Our Lord in the Attic.” Seems after the Dutch separated from the Spanish Catholic Hapsburgs, they instituted an unusual form of religious toleration: every person was free to believe in whatever religion they wished in private, but only Dutch Calvinist churches were permitted public worship. All other religious spaces were confiscated and prohibited. This led to the creation of secret “house churches,” invisible from the street, which the authorities tolerated. One such secret church still exists as a museum!

Dutch food is a combination of hearty northern European fare (potatoes, meat and vegetables in pies and rolls), seafood, and influences from the former colonial territories, especially Indonesia. For example, you can get a tasty peanut satay sauce on just about anything the Dutch serve: I got it on a meatball and pickle sandwich! They also love their croquettes, basically ground up whatever in batter and fried.

The Dutch seem to be struggling with their reputation for being tolerant, well-meaning folk. Take their love of bike riding. It works well for them in a place like Amsterdam, it’s efficient, it’s ecological, it’s healthy. Just don’t get in their way. Think about that for a second. When people drive that way in the US, we call their rudeness out. We watched mobs of Dutch cyclists zooming everywhere, among crowds, cars, and clueless tourists, but somehow this was all ok because, well, why? Rude is rude, even on two wheels.

Likewise, we had to literally shove people out of the way to get on and off the tram, which loads from one set of doors and unloads from another. This system should work well, but on more than once occasion we saw locals just enter the trams and block the door, even after a polite English “excuse me.” And yes, everyone speaks English there.

Tack on the aforementioned religious “toleration,” and the way public drinking and smoking is winked at. Dutch officials spend a lot of time and money on public works just to get the streets cleaned up during the work week, money which might be saved with a little more prevention up front. We’re early-to-bed types, but we heard some partiers at the next breakfast table discussing how hard it was to get down the street between the drunks and the vomit . . . on a Sunday night. The government has even taken to advertising in the UK press telling Britons just to just stay home: no more stag/hen parties!

Verdict? Amsterdam is an interesting place, and a unique one. I’d say it’s worth a short visit, easily accomplished in conjunction with a river/ocean cruise or with a stay over at Schipol airport. Have I seen better art, ate better food, met friendlier people? Yes. But the city itself is so different, and the history so rich, it’s worth it even if you have to cough up some second-hand weed, step over the vomit, or get clocked by a biker.

Transatlantic

This post finds you from its origin deep amidst a crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. That itself is a wonder, even in the middle of this instantaneous and omnipresent age of communications. Why are we crossing “the big pond?” That’s a story worth telling, and more.

Only sight like this for 100+ light-years in every direction

We’ve noticed that our annual springtime pilgrimage to Europe suffered from the effects of that red-eye flight and subsequent jet lag, costing us a few days recovery every time. We tried preparing for the time change, avoiding the free alcohol, adjusting our eating, flying premium economy or even business class, but these only partially mitigated the effects. In planning the trips, I became resigned to getting a decent flight schedule and just adjusting from there. Then a neighbor mentioned he and his wife no longer flew to Europe in the Spring, they took a repositioning cruise there. I questioned adding the cost of a cruise on to the cost of visiting Europe, and he pointed out that the approximately two week cruise cost about the same as round trip business airfare.

Of course I thought he was kidding, but when I researched it, there it was in black and white. Seems every Spring, cruise lines sortie parts of their fleet from America to Europe (mostly the Mediterranean) to position the ships for summer cruising. The return trip in the Fall sets up all those Caribbean cruises in the Winter. There are some smaller fleet movements in the Pacific and to/from South America, but we were interested in the transatlantic leg.

Why are they cheaper than most cruises? First off, they involve different embark and disembark locations, on different continents, which make them more challenging for vacation planners. Second, the nature of the trip is mostly open ocean, and most vacation cruisers like port calls. Third, it’s always two weeks, in Spring and Fall, which means families really can’t afford the time commitment. So the clientele is older retirees, frequent cruisers, and people like us trying it out for transport. All of this applies to the repositioning cruises. There is also one line, Cunard, which operates the Queen Mary II and does a week+ direct cruise between New York and England throughout most of the year.

One thing I noticed immediately is that the best deals pass quickly. While most people don’t even consider transoceanic cruises, the number of those who do is growing and they are passionate about them. Such travelers snapped up the best deals. We ended up on the Celebrity Silhouette leaving Fort Lauderdale for Bermuda, the Azores, Ireland, then Amsterdam. While this is our first Celebrity cruise, we have cruised many times on other lines, and here are some lessons learned:

  • Use a travel agent (TA). I usually do all my booking myself, but there are so many variables to a cruise, and TAs also get volume discounts and other freebies, making them worth your while.
  • If you don’t see a great deal on the cruise you want, book a cheap inside cabin and watch for “sales” and “bids for upgrades.” Join CruiseCritic (.com) and register with the appropriate roll call board for your ship. There the cruise fanatics (and they are legion) will let you know everything you need to for a great cruise. Since transatlantic cruises are still rarely full, there will almost certainly be a chance to upgrade, almost always at a reduced price. The same goes for extras like drink packages, internet access, spa access, and specialty dining. Your TA and fellow cruisers on CruiseCritic will be able to help you navigate when to purchase what you want. For example, on our cruise, we got a basic internet package as part of our room, but we hesitated to upgrade to streaming internet because of the cost. Once on board, Starlink access was offered for a very reasonable rate. On the other hand, I am told that specialty restaurants are much cheaper to reserve before the cruise.
  • Transatlantic cruises are not for those prone to seasickness, nor for first time cruisers. Our crossing has been a rainy, cool-but-not-cold, and choppy. Everybody walks with that brush-your-left-shoulder-on-the-port-wall, brush-your-right-shoulder-on-the-inner-wall wobble. Not something you want to face if suffer seasickness, or don’t know if you do. Not to mention whether you will enjoy “at sea” days back-to-back-to-back.
  • Explore your ship. We found a little known quiet lounge tucked under the spa, which has proved a godsend when the weather sends all those sun-worshipers off the top deck looking for a place to park for the day. There are drink stations, small bars, game rooms, even a library, all of which might escape the eye of the incurious cruiser.
  • On a two week cruise, pace yourself. Last year we did ten days on a Panama Canal cruise, and felt like we almost ate ourselves to death. We had just begun intermittent fasting, which for us means eating only breakfast and lunch. But for the cruise we thought, “what the heck, let’s hit the specialty restaurants for dinner.” Bad idea. This cruise, we have kept to our routine, and it is working for us. We have received increasingly concerned voice mail messages in our room, reminding us we haven’t visited the main dining room for dinner, and “do we need help?” I guess there aren’t too many intermittent fasters on cruise ships.
  • Most cruise lines retain the nickel-and-dime routine, so that what you spend in the end is generally greater than what you paid up front. Virgin Cruises is an exception, and we look forward to trying them in the future. But you need to pay attention to what your room, status, and packages entitle you. Our “classic” drink packages gets us unlimited booze, but not “top shelf” liquor or some specialty drinks. We get all the special coffee drinks at the cafe, but not carbonated water, except from the tap at the bar. I know, what? There are charges for classes, specialty drinks, flights, shore excursions, you name it. So be careful, or you’ll end up doubling your costs (but not necessarily your fun).
  • If you recall cruises as stuffy affairs requiring dressy clothes, you’re out of date. Even the “classy night” (replacing “formal night”) is just a collared shirt and pants for men, dress or slacks & top for women. Some folks go full-up formal, but that’s no longer a requirement. Mostly they don’t want beach/gym wear in the formal dining room, but it’s ok in the many cafes, snack bars, and bars.
  • Cruising remains extrovert heaven, with an opportunity to sit with strangers at every meal, bar, or event, along with games (trivia, password, etc.). But the mixing fun is not mandatory. For introverts like us, there are plenty of hiding places and tables for two.
  • One curiosity is that ship’s time is set by the Captain, not the position on the Earth. Our Captain has moved us ahead one hour per night, getting us to the upcoming port visit time a day early, so no one is showing up confused about what time it is. The day-after-day time changes are much easier to deal with than the all at once six-hour change of a red-eye flight to Europe. Many frequent cruisers tell us they prefer the westbound Fall trip, as they gain an hour every night enabling increased night owl activity. To each their own.
  • Cruise lines vary in temperament: there are party lines, classy lines, lines for families, lines for retirees, although all folks are welcome on all cruises. There are also specialty cruises for wine-lovers, music fans, etc. All of which is to say do your research and find out whether the ideal transatlantic cruise you want is also a Star Wars theme cruise, especially if you’re a Trekkie.
St Colman’s Cathedral in Cobh, Ireland
The “deck of cards” row houses, Cobh

Was it worth it? We’re almost done, and I can confirm the time changes are far less dramatic and easy to adjust to when done once every other night. The cruise entertainment has been better than I expected, but still just worth the price (i.e., already included), and the sea days can become a little monotonous. With a little more attention to pricing and deals, and an earlier start in selecting which cruise line/route, I’d say this is an attractive alternative. Slainte!

Letting the head settle on my Beamish stout

E-clip-sin’

Back around eleven months ago, I realized the path of totality for the April 8th solar eclipse was running through Mazatlán, Sinaloa, Mexico. While it’s not close (six hour drive), it’s close enough to lakeside, and we were still early enough to reserve a decent Airbnb. So we found ourselves in a very nice apartment on the 14th floor (18 story building) on the playa in Mazatlán.

The night before, we stood on the balcony and nabbed these pics of what seemed to be a typical Sunday night, with steady traffic along the beach drive and small crowds on the malecon. Of course there was a local group playing banda music directly in front of our building till midnight, but earplugs, a white noise machine, and some melatonin remedied that.

The crowds started to build in the morning. Breakfast at the mom-n-pop restaurant next to our building took twenty minutes to be seated, a full hour to be served, and they were going as fast as they could. By the time we finished and paid, it was only about thirty minutes to totality. The police had suddenly shut down auto access to the beach drive, so traffic was a nightmare, as people who planned to drive down to the beach were suddenly rerouted through the narrow side streets. But it gave the growing crowds unfettered access to the road and the sun show.

Our balcony was facing the beach, and it wasn’t clear if we could stay there and still see the eclipse. As the time grew near, we found a balcony spot where we could stand and–using those special glasses–look at the sun. By the time totality hit, there were several spots on the balcony with a full view.

Here’s my video of the event, with voice over:

The mostly Mexican crowds had a festive atmosphere, even cheering when a few rowdies got hauled away by the policia. As the eclipse neared totality, the crowd started cheering, and resumed it when the sun finally peeked out the other side of the moon. It was very interesting, if brief. I was struck by how “duskish” or “dawnish” it was; dark where we were, but you could see daylight in the distance in every direction, which was odd. And I imagined what it must have been like for people before science could explain and even predict it all; one minute, you’re working on your crops, then it gets dark under a cloudless sky, then light again. What did one make of that?

Our friends Barbara and John joined us for the event, and here’s John’s much better video, which captures how dark it was, and some of the crowd reactions better:

And you knew this had to be added somewhere in the post:

As an event, was the eclipse worth it? Yes, but I would add I think I only need to see totality once. And totality is totally different from any other (even 95%) type of eclipse. My mind wasn’t blown, nor did I have a moment of cosmic enlightenment. It was fun.

How about Sinaloa in general, or Mazatlán in particular. For all the talk about cartel violence, the city was quiet for the event, with the exception of the violence banda does to one’s ears! Perhaps it was the presence of Mexico’s Presidente AMLO, or the number of Guardia National and policia present, but everyone was on their best behavior. We had one brief stop on the autopista (toll road) along the way: a well-run military checkpoint asking if we were trying to import any fruta (fruit) into Sinaloa. Turns out that Sinaloa, like California, is free of the dreaded Mediterranean fruit fly, and wants to stay that way!

Mazatlán has some long, easily accessible beaches, a cute old centro, and plenty of water activities. And it’s still affordable, as it is not yet a big tourist destination. As a low-cost alternative to better-known Mexican resorts, it deserves a look. As a place to watch an eclipse, it was perfect. Now to get some fresh seafood and a margarita!

Cuaresma, or Lent

We are currently three weeks into the holy season of Cuaresma, or Lent. Growing up in a predominantly Catholic community centered on the local parochial school, Lent (and Advent, leading up to Christmas) was a period of significant, noticeable change. The colors of the priest’s vestments and the altar cloth changed to penitential purple from everyday green. Fasts hit on Ash Wednesday, when Catholics (and Episcopalians among others) carried a visible reminder in ashes in the form of a cross on the forehead, and Good Friday, which was also the only day all-year that no masses were celebrated. The absence of meat on Friday was a year-long thing back then, so there was nothing new about it during Lent.

Time marches on, or to paraphrase the Beatles In My Life, some things “have changed, some forever not for better.” The Roman Catholic Church decided to modernize some of its practices after the Second Vatican Council, in a bow to the modern world. Unfortunately, the world didn’t respond in kind. There was no great increase in devotion, no increase in charitable activity, no increase in vocations to the priestly or religious life. Rather, most took the changes as signs that such things didn’t really matter: if the Catholic Church doesn’t even require such things, obviously they won’t matter to the faithful.

Some Catholics struggled with abstaining from meat on Fridays, which remained a requirement only during Lent. Children didn’t like fish, and some were allergic to it. Business people had dinner engagements where avoiding meat was a hardship. The Church compromised by indicating Catholics should substitute some personal form of denial in place of abstaining from meat. What the faithful heard was “we only have to give up meat on Fridays during Lent.” Ask a Catholic friend (or yourself) what you give up weekly during the year in lieu of abstaining from meat, and you’ll get an excuse (“Oh, that’s only during Lent) or a puzzled stare. Not what was intended, but what was effected.

It’s not like it was a great hardship. I’ve caught myself eating fine Salmon hierbas on Fridays in Lent and thought, “well, I’m technically in compliance, but is this really penitential?” Where I grew up in northern Indiana (last millennium), fish was fresh as perch from Lake Michigan (where fish could be used as thermometers due to their high mercury content), or frozen and expensive, or frozen and cheap in the form of “fish sticks,” which mainly consisted of batter around unidentifiable fish-meal that served as a means to carry enormous slabs of “tartar sauce” into one’s mouth, since eating “tartar sauce” by itself would be uncivilized. Heck, even McDonald’s catered to Catholic tastes, inventing the filet-o-fish when burger sales plummeted on Fridays.

Nothing reminds me of life as it was back then like being in an overwhelmingly Catholic country here in Mexico. Restaurants and shops advertise their comida de Cuaresma, special menus or meals that comply with the liturgical restrictions. When I still worked, the guards at my office building routinely stopped me to say “Sir, you have something on your forehead” every Ash Wednesday; I responded, “why, yes, yes I do.” That would never happen here. Holy Week, Easter Week, and the days between Christmas and Three Kings Day are vacation days, either in fact or in practice. The Mexican federal government and the Catholic Church have been at odds (or even at war) over the centuries, but the practices and habits remain unchanged.

I saw a phony FaceBook meme quoting Pope Francis as saying ‘to be kind to strangers, to help the homeless, rather than giving up things’ this Lent. I knew without researching it that it was false, as it makes a fundamental theological error. That is, it equates an everyday necessity (give to the poor, clothe the naked, etc.) with a penitential practice. The former all Christians are called to do ALL the time as in Luke 17:10, “we are unworthy servants, we have done only what we are required to do.” The latter is something we do special. But why?

Penitential acts are not for self-improvement. Long before Dry January became a thing, I started giving up all alcohol during Lent. No red wine with my pasta. No afternoons with a margarita on my terraza. No beer (green or otherwise) on St. Patrick’s Day (On this, I am still lobbying the Church in Mexico to offer a dispensation, as my Bishop back in Indiana did; no luck so far). While my Irish liver enjoys the respite, that is a secondary benefit. I give up something I enjoy as a penance: in a small way, I mirror Christ’s period of fasting in the desert before He began His earthly ministry. And I deny myself something that I want in order to submit my desires to God’s. If God wants me to drink Guinness on St. Paddy’s Day, He’ll arrange that dispensation; otherwise, my next tipple will be at Easter brunch.

That is also why I avoid some of the Pharisaical or Jesuitical practices (big words we could easily translate into modern language with “lawyerly”). For example, some friends offer to not drink in front of me; I insist they go right ahead and enjoy themselves, which is all part of my penance. Others recommend a non-alcoholic beer or a Mocktail which is promised to be just as good as the real thing; I decline, since the point isn’t the alcohol. And perhaps you’ve heard of Lent as a period of forty days, but if you count on the calendar from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday, there are forty-six days. Seems that forty total excludes Sundays, which are technically Catholic “feast” days when fasting and penance are inapplicable. Sorry, but that turns a long-run commitment into a series of one-week stands, which doesn’t sound theologically appropriate to me. Likewise, the fasting and abstinence rules apply only until age fifty-nine, but since God gave me more years than that, and I’m still healthy, I think I owe something in return.

Penance is a discipline, and it turns the mind from things we want or crave to higher things. I also gave up added sugar this year. Sugar is terrible for you, but I gave it up because I like it, and it’s so terribly addictive that I kept adding more just to make my coffee stay just as sweet. Every day starts with a reminder that while I would prefer adding sugar to my coffee, I said no. I don’t like my coffee better now, but it’s proving a solid exercise in self-denial.

Marriage, faith, or career all require hard work. It is rare to find a married couple who just always-and-forever get along. See one and ask them, they’ll tell you the relationship is either strengthening or weakening. You’re working on it or else. You won’t find a successful professional who is simply a natural. Even freakishly-talented sports superstars readily admit to thousands of hours practicing. And faith is the same. The more time and effort you spend on it, the better you are at it. Which is not to say it makes you a relatively “better” person. Just ask my wife, who readily admits I can be a just a subtle shade of irritable for some reason during Lent. I don’t know what the heck she’s talking about. Perhaps her penance is dealing with me during Lent!

No, giving up alcohol or sugar doesn’t make the world a better place. It may not even make me a more faithful person. But it’s an attempt at denying one’s self, and if there’s anything today’s world is sorely lacking in, it’s that type of self denial.

Palma de Mallorca, Spain

le Seu as the locals call it

Forty years ago, at the height of the Cold War, a lowly US Army First Lieutenant took his pregnant wife on a week-long vacation (we didn’t have the fancy term “babymoon” back then) from Bavaria to the Balearic islands. They spoke no Spanish, had no cell phones, and had only a 1:250,000 government map to navigate by. They stayed in a tourist-package hotel near Magaluf, one which targeted Brits, evidenced by a full English breakfast and the London tabloids at the front desk. The hotel next door was for Germans: it had brötchen mit käse and the Süddeutsche Zeitung to read. From this the 1LT learned that Americans weren’t unique in wanting things from home, even on vacation.

even impressive at night!

Only his pregnant wife had an international driver’s license–a must back then–so the Lieutenant was reduced to the role of navigator. They got lost, more than once, on mountain roads, looking for a religious relic in a remote village, following a tiny line on a large map (insert your favorite Lieutenant with a map joke here). They arrived in small towns without any ability to ask for directions or even for help. They sought and found a convent offering a unique local pastry by walking around a village until they saw a nun, then following her home. They ended up on a “bilingual” cave tour where the local guide described the cave formations for ten minutes in Spanish, then stopped and said. “The Madonna. See? The Madonna.” They attended a silly recreation of a knight jousting competition (complete with eat-roast-chicken-with-your-hands) because it actually made sense regardless of the language.

and more so inside

It was their first great travel adventure. They survived, proof that there are Guardian Angels and they do look after fools and children (the couple qualified both ways). It was a great success, and they had stories to tell which still amuse themselves and others to this day.

When we started on planning a visit to try out the region of southern Spain, Judy asked me if we would be far from Palma de Mallorca? Why, no, and so here we are, forty years later, back where all the wanderlust started. The Cathedral still stands as mighty and majestic as always, but there’s an entirely new chapel with a Antoni Gaudi influence. The arch which was a must-see in the 1980s (“it had a mix of Roman, Muslim, and Christian influences”) is only a footnote now, found via Google Maps. One can’t get lost, even navigating the winding backstreets of the old city, because GPS tracks your every step. And the little lanes and winding country roads are now well-lit streets and highways courtesy of the European Union.

The now-obscure Arch

We speak Spanish, but everybody speaks English, too. Oh, and some German here. There are still little hotels catering to Brits and Germans, but who needs newspapers when your smart phone is in constant touch with news back home. On our last night, the hostess at the tapas bar heard us speaking English, so she assigned the English-speaking Argentine waitress to our table. When Judy started ordering in Spanish and we explained our home in Mexico, the waitress loved it. We even found a little Catholic church back near Magaluf, where the very English congregation holds one English-language Mass every Sunday with a very Nigerian priest presiding. Such is the world today!

Mallorca retains its unique culinary traditions, a mix of Spanish and North African, as translated by the Catalan settlers who civilized the islands. Plenty of delicious seafood, rabbit (like Malta), olives in every form, and of course tapas. The road signs are a mix of Mallorquin (local Catalan dialect) and Spanish, which at times even defeated Señor Google Maps. We traveled among the locals, visiting Sunday markets and strolling through the plaza, secure in the knowledge that even in a tiny village, we could find a kebab place for lunch–because who doesn’t want kebab for lunch? Apparently the whole word does!

We walked, we drove, we wandered, seeing how much had changed and how little, too. Mostly we recalled how much we had changed . . . and how little, too! The Balearic islands are known for partying, nature, and glitz (Mallorca, Menorca, and Ibiza respectively, although there’s a mix on all three). We were then youngsters “putting away childish things” and becoming adults. We had dreams of children and career and travel. Now we’re far more mature–at least in years–and we have realities of grandchildren, retirement, and still travel.

Perhaps Buckaroo Banzai was right: “no matter where you go, there you are.”