What makes a great museum?

The queue for the Picasso museum in Barcelona snaked along for about 200 meters. As we walked past in amazement, I overheard a museum staffer explaining to mid-queuers that their wait would be around two and a half hours. 

We will try again at opening this morning, but I am not optimistic.

On the grand tour, one sees a museum or two. It has sharpened my idea of what makes a great one. This is personal, of course.

It is not the biggest, grandest, most comprehensive collection. It is not the most famous thing. It is not good English interpretation, although I'll admit this monoglot appreciates that.

It comes down to something, usually one thing, that evokes. An idea or a feeling that stays with you.

The Barcelona Maritime Museum is housed in a naval shipyard built in the 15th century. The vast arched space sits where the harbour's edge once was, at the start of la Rambla. 

It was built to make war galleys - battleships. Massive craft that combined sail and rowers in a fast, manoeuvrable combat machine. They were the state of the art in warfare - the F 18 Super Hornet of its day. The shipyard could crank out thirty at a time.

Sitting there in this 15th century naval shipyard is a galley. It is a replica of the Royal Galley built in this yard in 1568. It is enormous, sleek and beautiful. It is 60 m long, with a crew of 238 sailors, rowers and soldiers.

In 1571, it fought in the battle of Lepanto in the eastern Mediterranean off Greece, between allied christian forces and the navy of the Ottoman Empire. This was a christian muslim showdown, with 460 ships. In four hours, 37000 men were killed. The good guys won. 

Catholics still celebrate this happy day each October as Our Lady of the Rosary, because Pope Pious V attributed the win to the intervention of the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary. Who knows?

Imagine standing in a 500 year old shipyard, alongside a warship identical to one built there in 1568. A religious experience?

First class pigs.

Imagine this. A black pig runs wild-ish, eating only fallen acorns on the Spanish Portuguese border until it is killed, brined and air cured for up to four years. And we queue to pay more than $200 a kilo for wafer thin slices of its hairy legs! 

It is so in Barcelona, where jamon iberica de bellata is the king of pigs. 

A pig that, were it to fly, would fly first class. A pig that, were it ever at a trough, would be recognisable by its silver spoon. A pig that would, from its haughty snout, look down on lesser pigs. 

All animals are not equal. The Spanish government specifies this pig.

We have, respectfully, eaten this pig. What does it taste like? Silky, ever so slightly salty, with translucent fat that melts in the mouth. Umami, slightly smelly socks. Woofy, in a piggy way.

There you go.

Rome in a day?

One of the best things about a cruise holiday is that you can see many places without unpacking and re packing. But you see them only for a day. Is that enough? Well, yes and no. It's enough to get a snapshot of somewhere new. And enough to decide whether you will return. But not enough to see or do the things on offer in a big city. 

Case study - Roma.

We've been to Rome before and stayed awhile. But Rich doesn't know Rome. We had a short day in the eternal city to introduce them both. Like an arranged Italian marriage, it was planned in detail.

We alighted at the Colosseum, wandered around it, poked alongside the Palatino and Forum Romano, wandered up to the monument at Capitol Hill, then on to Largo Argentina, pausing to admire the ruin of a fourth century BC roman temple and the pussy cats. 

Then to Campo di Fiori, paying brief homage to Bruno ( a monk burnt at the stake for thinking that the new fangled astronomers might be right in thinking that the earth was round and moved around the sun. Crikey, if that was true, what about all the other fantasies of religious dogma? Dangerous questions. Best we burn this guy, decided church and state) and Forno di Fiori ( joining the queue for bianco to fortify us), before heading over to Piazza Navona (more Christmas market than Roman spectacle on this day) for a lunch of pasta and pizza.

Then to the Pantheon, built as a monument to all roman gods. Last visit, I pointed out to Hugh that the Pantheon was 2000 years old. We better get out fast, he said, this thing could come down any moment. We were pleased to see it still standing. From there, a gelato stop and a slow wander back to our bus for the snoozy trip to Civitaveccia.

Phew!

For me, great to see those places again.  A reminder of why Syl and I want to come back for a much longer visit. 

For Rich, a whirlwind overview of just some of Roma's treasures. So much more to see....and that's what he plans to do one day!

After the revolution....Tunis revisited

In 2010, when we first visited Tunis, I asked our guide about the system of government. He said, oozing sarcasm, that Tunisia was a democracy - one that had enjoyed the same government since 1956. 

Little did he, or we, know that the party was over. Within a month, Tunisians had revolted. Some 300, mostly young, were killed in a quick, bloody coup that installed a temporary government. Razor wire around all government buildings reminds us that the truce is conditional too.

I asked our guide yesterday, as we return three years later, what the political situation was now. Fragile, he said. Uncertain. The 14th of January is a critical date, he said, when the interim government will deliver the country's new constitution. He is guardedly optimistic that his moderate, family oriented people will have a peaceful move to democracy. I think it might be a bumpy road. Time will tell.

We five toured the Medina, the old city and the beautiful village of Sidi Bou Said on Christmas Day. This mostly Muslim country was open for business. Or, more specifically, the tourist dollar.

Tunisia looks like the poor Berber country that it is. Roads and buildings are run down, there is rubbish everywhere and the traffic is frequently jammed. The world heritage listed Medina of Tunis, dating in parts from the eighth century, is poorly conserved and development encroaches. That said, poking through the 8th to 12th century souks, in good use still, was an experience. The carpets and ceramics are especially beautiful and the souvenir hunter in me was on high alert. Matched only by Syls's pragmatism, really.

The roman ruins of Carthage lie mostly in grassy paddocks. For a country of ten million, so heavily dependent on the tourist, things do not look encouraging.

Sidi Bou Said was a delight, however. An old village, perched on the hills high above Carthage. All walls are white and the doors, windows and shades are blue. Cobbled lanes complete the picture, a pretty one. We wandered around happily here and could have stayed longer. Hugh got close to a hawk. What more could you wish for?

Cruising

Cruising has rhythm. Its big beat is the boat's arrival and departure from port. We often wake to the change of boat speed and direction as we head into port, or to the rumble of the bow thrusters as we press into the dock. Comforting, interesting noises that remind us that we are afloat and moving.

And setting (metaphorical) sail is a buzz...people gather at the railing, the bridge sounds a horn that would wake the dead, or produce some, and we are away, poking the bow gingerly through ports made long ago for much, much smaller boats.

The shore trips, the aperitivo listening to piano in the lounge, the long dinners and shows also bring a pattern to our day. We are confronted with new menus daily, with five or six courses. it is a challenge we have risen to.

And we have our own beats too, flopping on the bed after a shore visit, afternoon prosecco in the jacuzzi, checking out another part of this floating city.

And then there's the gala events. We all frock up and hang around the captain at the cocktail party. Wildly uncool. And loving it.