My spouse and I just returned from a cruise of the Mediterranean, and I was shocked to find out we were not the youngest couple there–not by a long shot. This was good, because it helped me stave off my midlife crisis just a little longer. This was bad because, just once, I was hoping to be the baby again, like I had been in my New York social circle so long ago. Regardless, cruisin’ and touristin’ it up were a blast*, and I was not happy to return home. 

Here are just ten random thoughts from my trips ashore.  

1. Our cruise ship played that song when we pulled into port at Istanbul. It left me wondering what they would play when we pulled into Greece: “Summer Nights” or “You’re the One That I Want.” 

2. In Istanbul I have seen in person the sword of King David, the staff of Moses, a tooth and lock of beard from the Prophet Mohammad, and assorted pieces of John the Baptist. 

3. The main activity for tourists at the Acropolis is complaining about all the other tourists at the Acropolis. 

4. There seems to be a law in quaint Greek towns that every male has to work out. Because dang. 

5. There are a lot of strip clubs in Athens. 

6. Herculaneum is one of the most breathtaking places I’ve ever seen, second to Machu Picchu. 

7. Most of the hazelnuts used in Nutella are farmed near Rome, making it as holy a site to me as the Vatican is to Catholics. Meanwhile, in the Vatican: 

8. St. Peter’s Basilica is bigger than you’d think. The Sistine Chapel is smaller than you’d think. There are a lot more gift shops in the Vatican than you’d think. 

9. The French are not impressed with your attempts to speak their language. 

10. Barcelona is Catalonia. Catalonia is not Spain. Therefore, Barcelona is not Spain. (And they will not hesitate to tell you that). 

There is, frankly, too much to get into here, and that’s because Oh my God, I got, like, three acceptance letters while I was on vacation as well as an editor who wants me to slightly revise a romance story I’d submitted to her anthology (mostly I need to make the hanky-panky at the climax—Ha! “Climax”!—a little hankier-pankier). That puts me at six-and-a-half acceptances. Maybe I am on a hot streak. 

Also, Venice is really weird, guys. It’s like an alien snatched up intimate corners of Europe–people from every race, buildings from every century, pillars from ancient Rome, weather from wherever—plopped these things onto a swamp, linked everything together with an inconceivable variety of bridges, applied gondolas, and opened it up to tourists. I totally want to live there.  

_____ 

* So much food. So. Much. Regret. 

I’d been having a day full of traffic stress and other such inconveniences that low blood sugar transforms into Godzilla-level disasters, leading me to a mild panic attack. I had to get out of my truck, and so I (safely) abandoned it and hauled ass to the closest place to get a sandwich and a smoothie. 

A few bites and sips later, manager of the cafe dropped by my table to instruct me on the proper use of a glass catsup bottle. Just before he left me to my fries, he shyly inquired, “If you don’t mind, I was hoping you could help us with something we need to know.” 

“Sure,” I say. After all, he did outwit the catsup for me. Besides, I was curious. 

“Do you say ‘d-OHN-key,’ or ‘d-AHN-key’?” 

“Um,” I reply. I now had a few questions of my own, but they were better left unasked.  

But the story didn’t end there. Because after lunch, I took a walk and stopped in a Starbuck’s for a coffee and a half-hour with my new sketchbook. The barista consulted me on something she could not comprehend at all, which was the American obsession with pumpkin-flavoring every autumn. 

And so, all it took to wipe away all the stress and tension of the previous ninety minutes was a brief discussion of the regional accents and seasonal flora of my home country. Seriously, I forgot why I had this headache. 

I overheard the following exchange this morning between Kate and Henry the kitten: 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“I’m not letting you in!” 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“I’m allowed to go to the bathroom alone!” 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“Go away!” 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

I then heard the sound of a door opening and closing. 

“Happy now?” 

“Mew!” 

Chapter 1: I settled down to a nice lunch of leftover Nando’s chicken. Unbeknownst to me, Newcastle somehow stole and hid a skin-covered bone—which, in retrospect, explains why he stopped bothering me about it all of a sudden. 

Chapter 2: While I went to the gym, Kate settled down to a nice dinner of the rest of the leftover Nando’s. Assuming this meant it was chicken-time for everyone, Newcastle retrieved the skin-covered bone from its hiding place and happily trotted around the living room with it. 

Chapter 3: Kate chased down and caught Newcastle, removing his prize from his mouth. I’m assuming the soundtrack to this was “Yakety Sax” by Boots Randolph. 

Chapter 4: I returned from the gym to Kate on the couch with a look on her face that said, very clearly, “You need to control your pet.” I shuffled to the bedroom to Newcastle on the floor with a look on his face that said, very clearly, “You need to control your pet.” 

Gather around, kids! Today, I’d like to tell you a story about how much more entertaining it is to shop in this part of the world than it is back home in the States. And so, let’s all go down to the auto parts store, where our hero enters, on a quest for a tow cable and an air compressor. 

I am greeted at once by an older man in a brown suit, clutching a cigarette I never actually see him put to his lips, speaking English with a thick regional accent. After we sync up our vocabulary to determine what I’m looking for, he shows me several cables and we pick the best one. He glances at the sticker and tells me, “Says one-thirty. Give it to you for one hundred. Special price.” I agree that this is indeed a special price. 

We now look at air compressors. He and his assistant, who speaks no English, remove an air compressor from the shelf, unpack it, and show me how to assemble it. “Is Chinese, so it maybe get too hot…” He shows me where it might overheat. “… So turn it off and on. No problem. You know Chinese things. Good quality, though.” He directs his assistant to remove a car battery from behind the counter, hook up the compressor, and turn it on. 

“Looks good,” I say. 

The old man shrugs. “Good quality, even if it is Chinese. You know Arabs. They see it’s Chinese, they don’t want.” He shrugs again and flicks an ash off of his cigarette. “Box say four-fifty, but for you, four hundred. Special price.” Once again, I have to admit this is a special price. 

While his assistant boxes up the compressor, the old man and I work out whether cash or credit is best. We go with cash. He punches a number into a calculator and he sends his assistant out to my car with my purchases before I can stop him. I pay up and hurry out. 

And it’s not until I get home that I realize I’d paid five hundred eighty for both items, which is not really that special of a price. I’m not 100 percent sure what exactly happened there.