Our 12 month contract expired in January, so it was time to search for a faster internet providor. Strangely enough, the cheapest option turned out to be Belgacom, as they were offering an introductory 10 euro/month deal with a free modem. Now we have a much faster connection - a tv show from iTunes now takes 3 minutes to download, rather than 3 hours.

This has been a welcome improvement.

If I had never bought the kindle, I never would have thought to read Middlemarch, and I would have missed out on a truly majestic work. But because it was on the list of the 100 best books of all time and it was free, I transferred it to my kindle for a rainy day. I didn’t know anything about the book, but I liked the sound of the name. I started reading and I was instantly hooked. It wasn’t until about half way through that I learned that George Eliot was the psydonym of Mary Anne Evans, changing the voice I heard in my head from male to female. Written in 1871, nearly 140 years ago, the characters were vivid and fascinating. This book is set in the ficticious town of Middlemarch in England, and follows a dozen people through their lives from 1830 onwards. The prose was a pure delight, and it was so easy to highlight my favourite passages on the kindle without damaging her words.

When a modest and religious young woman fell in love with a man she did not know: “She filled up all blanks with unmanifested perfections, interpreting him as she interpreted the works of Providence, and accounting for seeming discords by her own deafness to the higher harmonies.”

One man’s opinion of a woman who asked too many questions: “She is a good creature—­that fine girl—­but a little too earnest,” he thought. “It is troublesome to talk to such women. They are always wanting reasons, yet they are too ignorant to understand the merits of any question”

On the scientist and his method of “combining and constructing with the clearest eye for probabilities and the fullest obedience to knowledge; and then, in yet more energetic alliance with impartial Nature, standing aloof to invent tests by which to try its own work.”

On joy versus misery: “It is of no use to try and take care of all the world; that is being taken care of when you feel delight—­ in art or in anything else. Would you turn all the youth of the world into a tragic chorus, wailing and moralizing over misery? I suspect that you have some false belief in the virtues of misery, and want to make your life a martyrdom.”

On arguments between spouses: “There are answers which, in turning away wrath, only send it to the other end of the room, and to have a discussion coolly waived when you feel that justice is all on your own side is even more exasperating in marriage than in philosophy.”

On enduring difficulties: “Oh, my dear, when you have a clergyman in your family you must accommodate your tastes: I did that very early. When I married Humphrey I made up my mind to like sermons, and I set out by liking the end very much. That soon spread to the middle and the beginning, because I couldn’t have the end without them.”

On how to chastise a dog for misbehaving: She took his fore-paws in one hand, and lifted up the forefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkled his brows and looked embarrassed. “Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you,” Mary was saying in a grave contralto. “This is not becoming in a sensible dog; anybody would think you were a silly young gentleman.”

On choosing a husband: “No, indeed. I don’t love him because he is a fine match.” “What for, then?” “Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in a husband.”

Nov 2007:
Adrian claims UK citizenship by descent, thus I become married to an EU citizen.

Sept 2008:
Decide to move to Belgium.

Dec 2008:
Submit our Canadian marriage certificate to the Canadian High Commission in Australia for legalisation.

Feb 2009:
Present ourselves to the Leuven Town Hall.
Discover that the marriage certificate actually needs to be certified by the Belgian Embassy in Canada.
A friend retrieves the certificate from Canberra and posts it to Canada.

March 2009:
Receive my legalised marriage certificate.

Bring my legalised marriage certificate, passport, and rental contract to the Leuven Town hall to initiate my request for residency.
The police verify my address.

April 2009:
I am granted a five-month temporary residency and work permit until August.

July 2009:
We move house, and present ourselves to the Saint Gilles Town Hall. The police will have to verify our address before they can acknowledge our residency.

September 2009:
The police come to our apartment and go through our wardrobe to ensure our marriage is legitimate. Apparently this is quite normal in Brussels.

October 2009:
I receive an appointment at the Saint Gilles Town Hall. I present proof that we are living in Saint-Gilles. They take my temporary work permit, and tell me I will receive the codes to activate my 5-year permit in 15-21 days.

November 2009:
I go to the Town Hall to inform them the codes have not arrived in the post, and request new codes.

January 2010:
We inform the Town Hall that the codes have still not arrived.

February 2009:
I receive a letter from the Town Hall informing me that my codes have arrived.

I go to the Town Hall, and I am given a ticket to return the next morning at 8am.
I return the next morning, and I am told to return the following morning at 8am.
I return the next morning, and I am presented with my very own “carte de sejour de membre de la famille d’un citoyen d l’Union”.

October 2014:
I become eligible for Belgian citizenship if I demonstrate sufficiency in one of their official languages.

My ear is starting to really improve, I can pick out words that I recognise more easily, and now I can have a basic conversation with someone - as long as it is about kittens, food, or travel. I move onto Intermediate 2B next week, and I really need to lift my game. In order to keep up with the pace of the class, I need to learn new words every single day.

Unlike the organic English language, French language has a group of Les Immortels at the Académie française to determine the correct name and gender of all new words, and to regulate the usage of old ones. Over the years, these have been some of their rulings:

Je céderai (I will give up) will now be spelled Je cèderai
Elle considérerait (She would consider) will now be spelled Elle considèrerait
Ils interpréteront (They will interpret) will now be spelled Ils interprèteront
Crémerie (Cheese shop) will now be spelled Crèmerie
Pedigree will now be spelled Pédigrée
Revolver will now be spelled Révolver

They are even changing the spelling of August, in their war on d’accent circonflexe, and thus août will now be spelled aout. Furthermore,
bûcher (stake) will now be spelled bucher
Elle connaît (She knows) will now be spelled Elle connait

Even the beloved Île de la Cité and the Île St-Louis in Paris should properly be known as IIe de la Cité and the Ile St-Louis.

C’est la vie.

We woke Ms 14 and gave her a difficult decision: to stay in bed, or to ride Space Mountain. Grudgingly, she chose to get up. After an hour revisiting Discoveryland at Parc Disneyland, it was time to venture over to Walt Disney’s Studio Park. As the weather was much nicer – above freezing with blue skies, the lines were enormous. The queue for Crush’s Coaster was 80 minutes, so we grabbed a Fast Pass for the Tower of Terror at 12:15 and headed over to the Rock ‘N’ Roller Coaster which had ‘only’ a 25 minute wait. This was quite an experience – in a giant dark building, we were dropped, spun, lifted, and twisted to the songs of Aerosmith and the beats of coloured lasers. With a maximum speed of 97 km/hour, a g-force of 4.5 g, and three inversions, this is the most intense rollercoaster of the two parks. While Ms 8 was very nervous before hopping on this ride, after a few seconds she screamed to me “This is Awesome!”, so after I knew that I didn’t have to worry about her I completely focused on my own screaming. We grabbed some more Fast Passes so that we could enjoy more “Love in a Rollercoaster” in the afternoon.

We popped in to see Stitch Live, and watched the animated alien onscreen conversing and interacting with audience members. I had read about the real-time animated digital puppet, and it was very impressive to see the instantaneous rendering and improvisation. Some of the young children interviewed didn’t speak English, so their parents had to answer for them. However, considering these kids were from the Netherlands, I’m guessing they’ll be fluent in a few short years.

For lunch we went to Restaurant des Stars, where we ate delicious food and I was able to meet the chef from Ratatouille.
“Bonjour Monsieur Remy” I said.
“Squeak!” he replied, twitching his whiskers
“Qu’avez vous cuisiné aujourd’hui?” What have you cooked today?“Squeak!” he gestured to the cheese around him.
“Fromage?”
“Squeak!” he nodded enthusiastically.

Even with a Fast Pass, the line for the Tower of Terror took 30 minutes. Poor Ms 8, the “scary” theming of some of the rides really terrified her. By the end of the line for Tower of Terror she was in tears. This put us in a difficult position. I told her to remember that she was similarly frightened before Phantom Manor, the Temple of Peril, and the Rock N Roller coaster, but after riding on them, she loved them so much she wanted to go back on straight away. However, we insisted that the final decision was always hers, and she could choose to skip the ride and wait for us at the exit. She had the courage to hop in many of the intense rides, but Space Mountain and the Tower of Terror were too much for her. She was brave enough to even get strapped into her elevator seat on the Tower of Terror, but at the last moment, she raised her hand and a staff member helped her out. I hope that she learned that she was in control of her choices, and the adults around her would respect her decision.

However, as soon as the elevator doors slammed shut on the Tower of Terror, I suddenly realized that I was also equally terrified, and now it was too late for me to do anything about it. The elevator began to rise up to the 13th floor, the doors opening every now and again to reveal impressive holograms of ghosts and apparitions. I didn’t care, because I knew that once we reached the top floor, the elevator was going to plummet to the ground. I grabbed the handle on the wall with both hands, so tightly Adrian thought I might rip it off. “No no no!” I shouted. “No no no no nooooo!”. As the doors opened up to reveal an otherwise breathtaking view over the park, I shut my eyes and screamed. I don’t remember much else from the ride, apart from a sensation of falling in the dark. Perhaps I should have waited by the exit, too.

While Adrian and Ms 14 returned for more thrills on the Rock N Roller Coaster, Ms 8 and I watched the motorbike and car stunt show spectacular. It was very impressive – fast manoeuvres, cars jumping over trucks, fireballs, and even a man on fire. After that, we decided to bite the bullet and line up for an hour for Crush’s Coaster. The girls were very good – I entertained Ms 8 with Coraline on my iPhone, and Ms 14 patiently chatted with us as the line inched forward. Finally, we were tucked into our turtle shell to enter the world of Finding Nemo. We floated past Dory and Marlin, glided under a sea of jellyfish, and swum beside Bruce the Shark, when suddenly, it turned into another ride altogether. Now it was a spinning, looping, dipping, scary rollercoaster in the dark with a disco-ball – not really ocean-themed at all. Why do the rollercoasters always have to go so fast?

We stayed warm during the sub-zero weekend thanks to the wonderful inventions of Hotties hand warmers and Toasti Toes. These single-use packages stay warm for up to five hours, and make all the difference when out in the cold. The Toasty Toes stick to your socks and get up to 36^oC, while the Hot Hands warm up to a fiery 57^oC. Having warm toes and hot pockets really took the edge off the ice and snow. I bought a box of them in bulk from the internet, and they will now accompany me whenever I need to venture outdoors for a few hours in winter.

One last rollercoaster for Adrian and Ms 14, a hot chocolate for myself and Ms 8, some last minute shopping (a CD of Disney songs sung in French), and then back onto the train to Belgium. We hopped onto the train at 5:40pm, and were walking through our front door at 8:00pm. The girls stayed up watching movies, but Adrian and I collapsed into bed, exhausted but accomplished.

The girls seemed to really enjoy their weekend. It seemed to comfort them to find a slice of North America in Europe, with English signs and American-style food options. The USA is often frowned upon by their new neighbours, so it was nice for them to see Europeans celebrating some aspects of American culture. The next time I saw Ms 8, she said “Lydia, I miss Disneyland”. “Me, too.” I replied.

I discovered that guests of the official hotels have access to Extra Magic Hours – entry to some of the rides two hours before the park officially opens. So we caught the train on Friday night, and we all went to bed early, ready to rise at 6:30 in the morning. Ms 14 is not a morning person, but I told her that if she woke up, she could have a present. I had bought us all crocheted mouse hats from Etsy, to keep us warm and get us in the spirit of the weekend.

At eight o’clock, we were the first guests to walk under the banner “Parc Disneyland” ( “they spelled it wrong”, remarked Ms 8). It was dark and freezing, but we had all of Main Street and its 225,000 lights to ourselves. We walked straight to Space Mountain: Mission 2, and rode the first shuttle of the day. It is an extraordinary ride, zooming past planets and asteroids, soaring through a sea of stars. Adrian laughed at me because I said that I wished that it would go a lot more slowly, so that I could enjoy the setting in a more relaxing atmosphere. As it was, I screamed and screamed through the 360 degree loops and turns. Adrian and Ms 14 repeated Space Mountain a couple more times while Ms 8 and I went off to experience some more gentle rides, like zapping aliens with Buzz Lightyear.

When Adrian couldn’t find me, he called me on my phone. I told him that I was in a spaceship, but he said that didn’t really narrow it down considering we were currently in Discoveryland. I spotted him down below me, and told him that I was up in the Orbitron, going around and around in the sky above. He spotted me and waved, and then chastised me for using a mobile phone while operating a spaceship.

Then it was onto Fantasyland, the fairy-tale village. We soared above the lights of London with Peter Pan, flew through the air with Dumbo, commanded a harras of Lancelot’s mighty steeds, and Adrian failed in his attempt to twirl one of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Cups.

At ten o’clock the park officially opened, and we smugly watched the stampede of hundreds of people running towards Space Mountain. We were content to sail through the many lands of It’s a Small World (originally designed for the 1964 New York World’s Fair), and then we found ourselves terribly lost in Alice’s Curious Labyrinth.

By this time it was snowing, and we were cold and exhausted. The lines were now at least 60 minutes for all the rides, so we returned to the hotel. Even though it was called the Chuck Wagon café, the hotel restaurant buffet was actually excellent. The girls could eat the American style food that they loved, while there was plenty of vegetarian choices for Adrian. After that, we enjoyed long baths and naps to warm up and rest our busy bones.

Feeling rejuvenated, we returned to the park. Adrian and I reserved front row seats for the pending parade, while the girls went exploring. Ms 14 returned with popcorn, and Ms 8 returned with Thumper, the rabbit from Bambi. Thumper accompanied us for the rest of the weekend, riding roller-coasters, getting covered in hot chocolate, and being greeted with “Bonjour Panpan” by all the cast members. Interestingly, many of the Disney characters have different names in French. Goofy is Dingo, Chip & Dale are Tic & Tac, Scrooge McDuck is Balthazar Picsou, Huey, Dewey & Loui are Riri, Fifi & Loulou, and my favourite: Captain Hook is Capitaine Crochet.

The parade was announced in half a dozen languages, and we guessed that the announcer had learned her English in Australia from the way she pronounced “Deeh-sney’s Wuhn-nce Uh-pon ah Dreeeam Puh-Raayde”. We figured that occurrence was a lot more likely than an Australian person learning to speak another five languages fluently. The parade was magical, with a bunch of floats and dozens of dancers recreating many famous and beloved characters.

At the centre of the Park stands Le Chateau de la Belle au Bois Dormant (Sleeping Beauty’s Castle), the most beautiful of all the Disney castles. In America, any castle is seen as magical, but in Europe the standards are much higher - Neuschwanstein castle (the inspiration for the original Disney Castle) is only seven hours away. Copying an existing structure would not suffice, so the Imagineers delved into old fairytales and medieval illuminated manuscripts for inspiration. The result was a whimsical rendering of turrets and towers. As we admired it, I explained to a disinterested Ms 8 that it looked much higher than it actually was due to the use of forced perspective. “Way to ruin the magic” commented Adrian, even though we both understand that unweaving the rainbow only serves to enhance its beauty.

The inside of the castle is like a miniature cathedral, and is lit by intricate stain glass windows created by Peter Chapman, who came out of retirement after having previously restored the windows of Notre Dame de Paris. The nine complementing tapestries were weaved in Aubusson, France, with an extra copy of one created as a gift to Head Imagineer Tony Baxter. The tallest window of the tallest tower is constantly lit, to remind guests that at Disneyland, the princess is always present.

After that, it was time to explore Adventureland. The landscapers did an amazing job of finding lush green tropical plants that thrived even in the harsh winter of Paris. We caught a rickety loop-the-loop train through Indiana Jones’ Temple of Peril, and then journeyed back to the Wild West in Fronteirland. We first visited the Phantom Manor, and poor Ms 8 was so terrified that she hid in my arms the whole time, despite my reassurances that everything was “fake fake fake”. However, after realizing that it was not actually scary at all, we repeated the ride so that she could appreciate the effects. We loved seeing the ‘ghosts’ dancing in the dining room and the skeleton head hovering over our carriage.

Then we were off to ride through the old mines of Big Thunder Mountain. This is my favourite rollercoaster in Disneyland – you zoom through a tunnel to arrive on an island in the Rivers of the Far West, with robotic donkeys watching us as we zoomed up and down, without any of those awful 360 degree loops that turn my stomach. We grabbed a few copies of the photo of us all on the train with our mouse hats. As in nearly all the action shots from the weekend, Ms 14 looked stoic and unmoved by the g-forces she was experiencing.

With our stomachs rumbling, we ventured into the Arabian Peninsula to Agrabah, Aladdin’s home town. We were greeted with a buffet of Middle-Eastern delights, and we relaxed in the warmth before heading out into the cold dark night. By now, most people had left the parks, and the lines were once again non-existent. After a few more turns on Indiana Jones’ Temple of Peril, we hiked up to the Caribbean to visit the Pirates. This was another favourite of mine, drifting underground in the warm humid air, surrounded by 119 singing and dancing robotic pirates.

At the end of the day we returned to Discoveryland to pilot a few more spaceships, and then it was time to head back to the hotel to get some sleep and get ready for another big day tomorrow, this time at Walt Disney’s Studio Park.

Our hosts for this trip were Grant and Michelle, Kiwis that we met in Australia who are now post-docing in Cambridge. They fed us, entertained us, and even put us up for two nights. They gave us a tour of the old and mysterious colleges, took us to a bakery that sold cupcakes, and showed us the Mathematical Bridge. I hope this won’t be the last trip that we make to visit this charming and picturesque town.

Being in England is so strange. In Brussels, when eavesdropping on fellow travellers I struggle to pick out a few common words – manger (to eat), travailler (to work), mes amis (my friends) – and see if I can piece together a vague understanding of the context. Over there, it is almost like I can read minds – as I can understand everything that people say to each other, even if spoken quickly or quietly. The announcements, the fine print, the instructions, all of these communications are instantly comprehensible to me. In Belgium, it takes me ten minutes to translate a text message, but over there, I can absorb a page of text in a moment. I can express myself quickly and easily. My linguistic burden dissolves whenever I travel north through the chunnel.

We were even able to pop down to London to go see a broadway play, because over there, most of the theatre is conducted in English. We went to see Avenue Q, a play about muppets on the wrong side of the tracks. I laughed, I gasped, and I cried as I watched the little monster puppets struggle with the challenges of life. Afterwards we had dinner at one of the many delicious curry houses on Brick Lane. We haven’t found any good Indian restaurants in Brussels yet, so it was a great chance to fill up on some cheap and delicious naan and palak paneer.

We ventured into the supermarket to pick up the little things that we can’t find easily in Brussels – crumpets, hot cross buns, korma and tikka masala and tandoori sauces, crème eggs and other Cadbury’s chocolate, and gravy granules.

Grant and Michelle have found that one delight of living in Cambridge is walking to the next town for a pub lunch, and then walking back. They took us for a picturesque walk past Midsummer Common and Jesus Green to The Plough in Coton. The food there was amazing – for dessert I had a toffee bread and butter pudding that just melted in my mouth. Not only that, our hosts cooked us a hot breakfast of pancakes or waffles every morning. Another reason to return soon.

Pepper likes sitting on Adrian’s laptop, and stealing tomato stems to hide under my desk. She will still ruthlessly chase the green laser dot even though she has never caught it. Every morning she jumps onto our bed and demands ear scratches.

Little Mint loves to hide underneath our doona, and will slip behind any cupboard door that is open more than an inch. She will wear herself out so much chasing the feathered fish toy that she ends up panting like a puppy with her tiny pink tongue hanging out.

I am glad we got them both. While occasionally their games can get a bit rough, they seem to enjoy each others’ company. If one of them has found something interesting, the other will bound in to help the investigation. They are a constant source of cute delight.

The Duomo di Milano cathedral was beautiful, one of the most stunning churches that I have ever seen. The entire structure was carved out of pink marble, and the front façade had just been polished. It took over five hundred years to create this glowing patchwork of pink. The colours varied from block to block, yet they all blended together to create a harmony of warmth.

In the museum at the Pinacoteca del Castello Sforzesco, there is a very interesting Pieta by Michelangelo. Our guide told us that this might have been the one that he was carving for his own tomb, but he died before it was finished. He had originally planned a design of Mary facing to the side, but later decided that the composition worked better if she was facing forward. Here two faces are still visible in this unfinished masterpiece.

We were also lucky enough to spend 15 minutes admiring “The Last Supper”, originally painted by da Vinci. It deteriorated quickly after he finished it in 1498 onwards, and has since had to suffer through being restored, scratched off, restored, un-restored, stoned, removed, reattached, cleaned, stabilised, bombed, restored, stabilised, and then restored again. While what we saw might not have been remotely like what was painted by da Vinci, it was a spectacular painting. The centrepiece of what was once the dining hall in the Santa Maria delle Grazie convent, the perspective works perfectly. The figures looked down upon us, and the scene was full of movement and mystery.

Image from para communications.

My working week became a little bit brighter with a gift from my Secret Santa from the intertubes. Even though my Secret Santa posted this box to me in November from Canada, it only just arrived on my doorstep. It was lovely to find all these tokens from Quebec, especially as Montreal it was a candidate for our new home back in 2008. The package contained many regional bookmarks, a lovely card from Santa, as well as The Shadow of the Wind, Flashman, and a local cookbook with lots of interesting family recipes. Furthermore, some delicious maple sugar, coffee candy, and hot chocolate mix to keep me company when I am curled up with these new novels.

I started Flashman on my metro trip to work this morning, and by 29 pages in I agree with his self-assessment that he is “a scoundrel, a liar, a cheat, a thief, a coward—and oh yes, a toady.” I am looking forward to learning about military history from a very interesting perspective, as well as introducing some French-Canadian influences into my Australian-Belgian cooking repertoire.

Thank-you Santa, for sending me some exceptional literary and culinary delights.

Photo from Travel Mole

As we tended to spend quite a lot of time in the cabin, this change was a very welcome improvement. Although it was usually too cold to sit out there, having a double-window view of the ocean and the coast gave us easy access to spectacular sunsets and peeks out to the other ships sailing nearby. On our first night, we stood out on the balcony, looking out as our ship churned though the seemingly endless expanse of black liquid. It was very easy to imagine that if someone fell overboard they would instantly be engulfed by the dark. It felt so dangerous that Adrian quickly huddled me back into the cabin. Despite the dangers of the ocean, I really appreciated the upgrade and the natural light that filled our cabin.

Photo from cote croisiere

The décor of the ship was really quite terrible. The interior designers seemed to have come from the Las Vegas school of thinking. That is, one can turn the tackiness of all-you-can-eat buffets and discount coupons into elegance if one just has enough gilt, velvet, and sparkles. The ship boasts four crystal staircases and enough mirrors to satisfy even the most demanding narcissist.

Photo from Francesco Federico

The jogging track was not under cover, and the weather was too cold and windy to motivate me to give it a go. The hot tubs at the stern of the ships were a great way to relax after a busy sightseeing trip. The theatre acts each night featured a bland ballad, some flailing dancers, and six excellent acrobats. The gym was located in a great position, on the 14th floor in one of the only forward-looking public areas. It was equipped with modern cardio machines, although there was usually about a 10 minute wait and they had a strict 25 minute limit.

Photo from about.com

We had two days at sea, which gave me a chance to try out the spa. I booked a two hour treatment that included a massage, a facial, and access to saunas and Turkish steam rooms. The massage and facial were both excellent – very relaxing my skin glowed afterwards. Like the majority of staff on the ship, my masseuse was from Indonesia. I talked with her and she told me that she had no other family members on board. During the course of the cruise we learned that MSC pays for the return ticket home, but those outside Europe must work a nine-month contract, rather than the six-month contract of staff based in Europe.

Photo from Francesco Federico

There were no gingerbread house competitions or pottery painting workshops on this cruise. Most of the activities were held on the open-air Aqua Deck, a cold and foreboding area during the winter. I went to one acrobatics class, but had to leave early due to the freezing winds. The Arts and Crafts activity consisted of stuffing crepe paper into a straw and calling it a flower.

Photo from about.com

The staff morale seemed to be very low. The ship provided a restaurant-style service for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but after a few days we started to avoid it. For dinner we had a particular table that we had to sit at, with two other couples who spoke Danish and Hungarian. The table was so cramped that we felt like we were imposing on their space, and the meals came out so slowly that it took at least two hours for us to eat. The food was tepid, bland, and not worth the wait. We paid extra to sit at the Tex Mex and the Pizzeria restaurants. They were practically deserted, and at the Pizzeria my meal consistently arrived fifteen minutes before Adrian’s. It seemed rude to have to say “could you please bring out both meals at the same time please”. We ended up usually just grabbing something at the buffet or eating off the ship. On our last night, the buffet dinner was advertised, but when we arrived the place was empty. The staff just shrugged when we asked them where the food was to be found.

Photo from Francesco Federico

Whenever there was a problem, staff members seemed unwilling or unable to help. There seemed to be a structure in place that restricted initiative and responsibility. The shore excursion office did not know if shuttles would be operating from the port. Every non-European had their passports confiscated on entry, and instead of returning them gradually, every person was required to turn up at 9:15 on the day of disembarkation to wait in line for hours for them to be returned. The captain did not turn up for his advertised question and answer session, and did not wear a hat when he posed for photographs with the passengers (for which they charged 40 euro for a digital copy).

While MSC functioned in its basic capacity to give us accommodation each night, and transport us to most of the ports advertised, there was no service above and beyond like that we experienced on Princess Cruises. We did enjoy our holiday very much, but this was due to our own efforts, and not of that of MSC Fantasia.

Unless they had a very enticing itinerary, we will not sail with MSC again.

The ship let us off early so that we were able to catch the 8:57 train, getting us to the World Heritage listed Colosseum by 11:00 am. I had pre-purchased tickets on the web, so we were able to smugly walk past the long line of people waiting to buy tickets and get inside reasonably quickly. We had both pre-loaded Rick Steves’ audio guide onto our iPhones, and we listened to it as we walked through this immense structure. I enjoyed this particular commentary of Rick Steves’. Hearing the trumpets blare and his vivid descriptions, I could very easily look down into the centre ring and imagine the horrific theatrics that were played out in the second century CE. The underground passages that served as the backstage were also visible, giving an insight into the mechanics that were required for such a spectacle. To think that right on this spot, wild animals were brutally tortured, or that condemned men were placed in costumes and forced to act in a elaborate plays that would end in their death. This is the place where an estimated million animals and half a million people were put to death for entertainment. Although, having just seen the enormous bull ring in Malaga, I wondered how much has really changed in 1900 years.

I told Adrian that we had no time to stop and eat, so we grabbed a pizza and toasted sandwich to eat while on the metro. Our next stop was a visit to the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, of Rhodes, and of Malta. The order ruled over Jerusalem, then Rhodes, then Malta until it was ejected when Napoleon I captured the country in 1798. After the loss of Malta the Order settled permanently in Rome in 1834. The Magistral Villa is located on the Aventine hill, and hosts the Grand Priory of Rome, the Embassy of the Order to the Holy See and the Embassy of the Order to the Italian Republic. The Order still claims sovereignty, and thus the villa has extraterritorial status. I was able to peek through the keyhole and see St Peter’s basilica through the avenue of trees. That was our next destination.

After returning to Italy, it was time to cross another border into the Vatican City, and experience Adrian’s 100th World Heritage site (my count is around 50). The immense granite obelisk towers over the square. Originally carved by the Egyptians to honour the sky god Ra, then stolen by the Romans to venerate Jupiter, it now stands with a tiny cross at its peak to mark the transition from one superstition to another. There was a 100-foot tree nearby that was a gift from Belgium, and when the Pope received it he declared “May the Church in Belgium, and especially the Diocese of Liège, continue to be a land where the seed of the Kingdom, that Christ came to scatter on earth, generously germinates”.

Thanks to the terrible weather, the line into St Peter’s basilica was relatively short, and we were soon inside the church. Once inside, I was very impressed by the vast and ornate interior. The floor looked like a rich carpet, though it was really a pattern constructed in marble. Every surface was gilded or embellished in some way. We listened to Rick Steves’ audio guide, which irked me a little. I didn’t like hearing about his very statements about “Jesus’ message of love”, that “things are much more enjoyable here if you become a temporary Catholic”, and “your time here can be awe inspiring and beautiful if you accept and respect things on Catholic terms”.

However, he did touch upon the financing with indulgences, pillaging of the Pantheon, and torture during the Inquisition. He spoke of how the church betrayed Michelangelo, by promising they would be faithful to his plans and then altering them soon after his death. I learnt that the reason that the bronze statue of St Peter near the alter is wearing a toga is because it was probably originally of a Roman official, and later on the Catholics just replaced the head and placed some keys in his hand.

Suddenly it was 4pm, time to head back to the ship. We discovered that the metro station that google maps claimed was near the San Pietro train station did not actually exist, and thus decided it was best to catch the metro all the way back to the Roma Termini station and catch the train from there. By the time we finally got onto a train it was not going to arrive at Civitavecchia until 5:57pm, giving us only a half hour window for delays and getting back to the ship. Happily, the train moved towards the coast without delay, and we made it back onto the ship with ten minutes to spare.

I convinced Adrian that we could also experience Mediterranean culture inside instead of outside. We found a restaurant nearby and had an early extended dinner of pizza, panini, and paella. The waitress made us some refreshing tinto de verano - a mixture of red wine and Fanta de Limón. After dinner, we slowly strolled through the streets filled with lights above, reflected on the stones below. The rain had cleared, the streets were crowded with people enjoying their evening, and we polished off the night with some very delicious gelato.

It was a little unsettling to wake up the next morning and realise that we were in the same location as the night before. This was the only day of our holiday where the sun was shining and the sky was blue. I really felt myself getting into the holiday spirit, soaking in the sunshine and winding down. Sometimes I tend to get very mission orientated – concentrating on moving from one sight to the next, without taking the time to sit down and tranquilize. It seemed that a warm day in Spain was an excellent way for me to finally unwind.

We very wisely caught a taxi all the way to the top of the Gibralfaro castle at the top of the hill. It was originally built out of limestone by Cordoban emir Abd ar-Rahman I in the 8th-century, later rebuilt in the 11th by Badis, the Ziri king, and again in 14th century when Málaga was the main port for the Emirate of Granada. All of Málaga and its harbour can be seen from the castle, and it was a beautiful walk down the fortifications to the Alcazaba fortress at the base. We gazed out at the old Roman ampitheatre nearby. It is currently being restored, and we discussed the dangers and merits of reconstructing ancient sites. Should we use brand-new materials to make the place look exactly how it did in its heyday, or just preserve as much as we can of the old materials and let ones imagination fill in the rest? On our way back to the ship, I had a truly terrible waffle that reminded me that I was no longer in Belgium.

This ship departed Málaga at 2pm, and we spent the afternoon in one of the hot tubs on the top deck, watching the Sierra Nevada mountains roll past us under the warm Mediterranean sun. I felt well and truly relaxed.

These are the ruins of a great Roman settlement called Sala Colonia that was built on both sides of the bridge across the Bou Regreg river. On the side that we visited, our guide walked us through the ruins, pointing out the function of each place. It was so easy for me to step back in time and imagine the pedestrians crossing the bridge, paying the tax at the gate, with the shops nearby filled with items to tempt sailors and other travellers. We wandered through the sites of the houses of the merchants, and stepped over a series of aqueducts that once led to a vast reservoir of water for drinking and to fill the saunas. Even the pattered mosaic floor of one home, built over 1800 years ago, was still intact below a layer of red dust.

In the fourteenth century, one part of this area was converted into a school, a mosque, and a mausoleum. The stones once used in Roman arches were re-used to build a minaret, and the classic Latin inscriptions were replaced by intricate Arabic scripts. Three generations of sultans, including that of Abu l-Hasan, were buried on the site, their graves still marked by brightly patterned tombs. We walked though the ruins of the small mosque, and we saw the niche in which the Imam stood at the front, his back to the others so that he was also facing East, his words amplified and forced backwards by the curve of the stone.

Today, the most conspicuous residents of Chellah are the storks, building their nests at the top of the columns, and gathering sticks from the nearby trees. We saw them courting each other with bends of the neck and rapid snaps of the beak. They seem quite content with this sanctuary that gives them peace and protection, close to the river yet safe from predators.

We next visited Tower Hassan, the minaret built by sultan Yaqub al-Mansur. Intended to be the largest mosque in the world, construction began in the 12th century, but stopped only four years later once the sultan died. The tower is only half the height that it was intended, and the only sign of the rest of the mosque are the crumbling walls and 200 columns that were taken from Roman ruins and assembled in rows.

After seeing the highlights of Rabat, we hopped back onto the train, as we wanted to ensure that we gave ourselves plenty of time to see Casablanca and then return to the ship. On the outskirts of both Rabat and Casablanca there were vast slums built next to garbage dumps, reminding me how lucky I was to be born into such fortunate circumstances.
We had lunch at a lovely restaurant called Sqala, set inside the ancient medina of Casablanca. We both had meals slow-cooked in a tajine (vented cooking pot), and I followed this up with a chocolate fondue with kiwifruit, pineapple, apple, and banana. It was delicious and I even managed to eat it without ending up covered in chocolate myself.

Then we spied the world’s tallest minaret on the horizon, and we headed for Hassan II mosque. The mosque, designed by French architect Michel Pinseau, is really beautiful, far more pleasing than the Sagrada Família, the colours blending perfectly with the surroundings. The building sits on the peninsula, as the fierce winds blow out from the Atlantic the warm sandstone reflects the light from the sky and offers protection from the elements. The blues and greens in the mosaics were delicate and precisely complemented the churning sky and tumultuous sea.
The area was full of tourists and locals, taking photos and posing for each other. Young women strolled about in jeans and designer handbags, some with headscarves, some without. We saw a young boy running in circles through puddles, his baby sister trying her best to keep up without getting too wet. A group of mixed sex teens hung out together, sitting on the absolution fountains, flirting and laughing. Even right next to the mosque, Casablanca was not a place of strict religious oppression. While a lot of the city was run down, the people had an upbeat and cosmopolitan attitude. The taxi drivers, shop keepers, and waiters were all multilingual, and the whole place felt very European.

We left Morocco with a firm desire to explore it more thoroughly next time we return. It was a very long walk all the way back to the ship, through the streets and navigating the complex dock, but we finally made it back to our cabin where I was so exhausted I refused to go out for dinner, and made poor Adrian miss out on his promised reward of pizza after a very long day.

This house was renovated by Gaudí for the Batlló family in 1904, and is full of beautiful yet practical intricacies. The whole building feels as if it has sprouted from the ground, with organic lines that flow from one space to the next. The gill-like intricate wooden carvings in the doors can be slid upwards to control the ventilation, and the whole front window of the living room can be raised vertically to let open up the house on a summer’s day. The core of the building is a courtyard of light, tiled with a blue mosaic that darkens as it nears the sky. As the light is brighter at the top, this gives the illusion of a constant shade of blue all the way down. Every room has at least one source of natural light. Even the fireplace is thoughtfully designed, as it has two inside – a larger one for a courting couple, and a smaller one for their chaperone. It is a home that I would love to live in myself.

The Sagrada Família was also designed by Gaudí, and it was the first time that I have ever seen a church under construction. Construction was initiated in 1883, and it is projected that it will finish in 2026. Financed solely by private donations, the building employs 200 people full-time to design, carve, and assemble this immense stone structure. The exterior of the church will have three main sides that depict the Christian nativity, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus. Each scene is constructed in a different style. The figures in the crucifixion are carved with strong simple lines, and it was under this scene that we entered the church. While the resurrection scene is yet to be built, the nativity scene was mostly finished in the time of Gaudí. Now lying under a thick layer of soot, it looks like a melted sandcastle with drooping figures and dissolving towers.

While we didn’t think that the outside was very inspiring or beautiful, the inside of the church was quite lovely. The weight of the ceiling was held up by tall columns that split and stretched out like palm trees, with rays of light falling down between their leaves. These curved columns meant that no buttresses or flying buttresses were required, which permits the building to rise up quite quickly with a relatively small footprint. The stained glass is only now being placed inside the windows, and is the only source of colour in the grey stone temple. The most fascinating part of the visit was seeing the church as a work in progress. There were no pews or alters, only construction workers with plans and power tools.

We finished our architectural tour of Barcelona with a visit to the exterior of the world-heritage Hospital de la Santa Creu i Sant Pau, built between 1901 and 1930. It was designed by Lluis Domenech i Montaner, with intricate mosaics, carvings, and iron works. It only ceased functioning as a hospital in July this year, and is currently being renovated for conversion into a museum.

The old town was an enthralling place to explore. We often found ourselves lost, wandering through winding alleyways to pop out and discover unusual Cattedrale di San Lorenzo or the old city gates. We found a wooden boat with a remarkable figurehead of Neptune moored in the old harbour. Soon it was time to pack up our belongings and board the MSC Fantasia for nine nights at sea, sailing to Casablanca and back again.

Today, we explore Genova before boarding the cruise ship that will be our home for the next nine nights, as it takes us through the Mediterranean.