The Silent "I"

Malta, Malta, Malta

Trip to Malta--Part IV

After our trip to the spooky but cool Hypogeum, Alex was glad to be out in the sunlight again and riding in the van along the Mediterranean seacoast.  Our guide, Marisa, offered us a few choices for what to do with the remainder of our day.  We could take a boat ride to see the Blue Grotto, or go to some temple ruins up the coast a ways, or see the Medieval city of Mdina.  I thought Alex needed some time to run around, and Frank really wanted to see the ruins, so we opted for the ruins, but asked if we could see Mdina if there was time.  I didn't think that Alex would do that well on a boat ride at this point, but passing the Grotto, it looked like a lovely trip.  As we ventured up to higher ground, we had a beautiful view of farmlands, ringed by taller buildings at the coastline. 

To get to the ruins, we had to take an incredibly bumpy road along the coast.  Marisa said it was a former British airstrip used during World War II, and it evidently had not been repaved since then.  Alex thought it was fun and enjoyed making flat "ommmm" sounds with his voice and hearing it vibrate as we bounced along.  The waters of the Mediterranean looked absolutely gorgeous down below the rocky cliffs.

The Underground Stonehenge

The Hypogeum -- Malta

After our tea time on the balcony, we met Marisa in the lobby and headed to our appointment at the Hal Saflieni Hypogeum.  The Hypogeum is an underground chamber that was carved out sometime around 3600 BC and is believed to have been a neolithic temple, and then a burial chamber for ancient people who inhabited Malta.  It was discovered in 1902, when work crews building houses stumbled on what they thought were a series of caves, only to find out that they were intricately carved out chambers.  The Hypogeum is now climate controlled and restricted for preservation purposes.  Only ninety visitors per day are allowed in, in groups of ten.  If you want to see it (and I highly recommend that you do), you need to book your tickets well in advance.

I wasn't sure what to expect when we arrived at the site.  Outside, it looks like a nice residential street of brownstones with a large church at the end of the street.  We walked into a small lobby where a woman sat behind a desk collecting tickets.  Marisa couldn't go in with us, but told us the van would be waiting when we came out.  Our guide, a young woman with long, dark hair in a serious black pantsuit, took us down one flight of stairs to the theatre, where we watched a short film about the discovery of the Hypogeum and its excavation.  Evidently, a Jesuit priest, Father Magri, initally set out to excavate the site, but was called away on a mission to Tunisia where he died suddenly.  All of his notes were lost, but an archeologist named Thermistocles Zammit later took up the cause and excavation began in earnest.

We moved out of the theatre to an area set up with objects on display and more information about the cave and what we were about to see.  The guide pointed out a few important items to us.  One small statue was discovered that has become iconic of the place and tells a story in itself.  It is called "The Sleeping Lady" and is a small figure of a woman of ample proportions asleep on a bench.  It was very simple and quite a lovely little sculpture.  The researchers believe that this is a representation of a fertility goddess who was adored by these ancient people.  I decided I liked them immediately. Being a full-figured gal myself, any culture that worshipped fat chicks was ok in my book.

After the small but very informative museum portion, we followed our guide down a set of metal stairs into what Alex called the "spooky dark".  There were some dim yellow floodlights that automatically turned on when we reached the landing and our group of ten crowded around the guide.  She started explaining the story of how the workers thought they had discovered a natural cave, until they noticed all the perfectly formed right angles and pockmarks in the walls left by the tools used to chip away the stoned. 

At first, it was hard to see what she was talking about, until another set of footlights automatically illuminated the scene.  Then, it took a moment for our eyes to adjust and our brains to catch up with what we were seeing.  Down in this dark, cool hole, was a series of columns and squared doorways, with rounded walls, smooth floors, and stone benches.  It was something like an underground Stonehenge, but a little more sophisticated and purposeful.   It was like we were standing in Fred Flintstone's living room.  The guide explained that they found hundreds and hundreds of human skeletons in one of the lower rooms and offerings of carved statues and pottery.  They believe that the relatives of the dead would have to come down here and sleep with the dead relative's body for some time.  Originally, it was thought to be a catacomb or necropolis, but based on the carving of the rock, they now thought that it served a dual purpose of both temple and burial chamber.  During World War II, when Malta was heavily bombarded, many Maltese sought refuge in these underground chambers.  The Hypogeum is one of UNESCO's World Heritage sites.

We reached each room by a series of metal stairs and narrow catwalks.  The lights would go on and off automatically, making it eerie and a little unsettling at times.  A few times, the guide was in the middle of her speech when the lights would suddenly just go out.  Alex got scared and started a loud protest.  The guide was unflappable and just continue on her speech.  She was either a highly seasoned professional or a robot.  I was just one embarassed mom who kept shushing Alex and trying to settle him down.  I shuttled Alex to the next spot where there was a light on to get him away from the group, and held him.  He started saying, "I'm ready to leave!  This is too creepy!  She is talking about the bones!  Where are the bones?" and "What if we can't get out?  What if the lights don't come on?"  I wasn't sure how to answer that, and just picked him up and comforted him and told him we were fine.  I guess this is the reason that they don't allow kids under 6 into the tour.  We thought that Alex could handle it because he generally is not afraid of anything. Oh, except being alone in the dark. Is there a prize for "Bad Mommies"?  If so, I think I just won it.  Luckily, the tour didn't last long, and Alex was relieved to head back up the stairs and into the daylight. 

There was no real gift shop, but there were a couple of books on sale with photos in them.  Frank bought one of the books, which explained a lot of what I missed when Alex started wailing to be set free from this bone cave.  I'm not sure if any description that I've read or that I could write would adequately describe how unusual this place is.  What is most amazing about it is the fact that it was built 5,000 years ago.  I don't know how Frank found out about it, but to me, it was one of the highlights of the trip.  It's not as large and spectacular as Leptis Magna, or as well-known as Pompeii or the Pyramids, but it seems equally significant and amazing given the time period in which it was constructed.  I don't think Alex was as impressed as I was, but he was probably a little too young to comprehend what he was seeing.  I hope when he's older, he will have a chance to go back and see what an amazing place it really is.  That is, if he ever gets over being afraid of the dark. 

The Best Concierge in the World

The Hilton Malta

After the sensory overload of the Cathedral of St. John, we needed a little brain break and headed to the Hilton Malta to check in for our overnight stay.  Frank had been e-mailing Edward the concierge for several months, and was looking forward to meeting him.  Frank has a habit of annoying concierges the world over via e-mail, fax, phone, and smoke signal if necessary.  Edward had replied  swiftly and enthusiastically to all of Frank's demands requests and Frank wanted to thank him.  Edward had arranged for Marisa to take us on our day tour, and so far, she was great.  Marisa had informed us in the van the Edward managed to score some tickets for the three of us to go the Hal Saflieni Hypogeum, something you normally need months of advance notice to get.  I had no idea what or who the Hypogeum might be, but Frank was thrilled. Frank muttered something about "underground cave" and "tombs" but I really didn't get a clear picture of what it was.   It sounded like a repository for dirty needles. 

We saw the tall royal blue tower of the Hilton sticking up over the otherwise quaint landscape from several points n the city.  Marisa told us that the Hilton Tower and Conference Center was something of a controversial building project in Malta.  Some of the Maltese locals thought it was an eyesore, while others thought it was sort of cool and modern.  I tended to be on the "eyesore" side, although as a building itself it was not bad, it just didn't fit in with all other buildings that were more subdued colors and classical style architecture. 

We walked into the Hilton, and it was incredibly beautiful, with a sunken restaurant overlooking a series of large swimming pools.  We felt a little underdressed, surrounded by chic looking men and women in business attire, all speaking different languages.  I overheard people speaking Italian, Arabic, French, Maltese, and English just standing in the lobby for five minutes.  Edward was at the Concierge Desk and greeted us immediately.  He told us he had secured tickets for the 2 pm Hypogeum tour for the three of us, and Frank could not have been more delighted.  "This guy," he exclaimed, "Is the best concierge in the world!"  I'm not sure I've ever seen Frank be more effusive about a hotel employee.  Edward seemed to appreciate the compliment.  Marisa told us she would be coming back for us in a few hours to take us to the Hypogeum, so we had some time to settle in and eat lunch.

Edward sent us up to the VIP Honors Lounge to check in, since Frank evidently has some exhalted status at Hilton due to his frequent business trips.  On the show TV show So NoTORIous, there is an episode where Tori Spelling has a flashback of her mother taking her to a swanky hotel as a little girl and warns her not to sit on the bedspread because, "Sometimes poor people stay in nice hotels because they have coupons and so you don't know what icky things they've left behind."  That was us.  The Coupon People.  Frank booked this using his Hilton Honors points that he racks up on business trips throughout the year.  So, this fancy hotel and the lovely suite were not costing us anything.  We could not believe our luck.

Our room had a balcony overlooking the series of swimming pools surrounded by palm trees.  We could see the city in the distance, and a spectacular view of the Mediterranean. The outside balconies were stacked up like sandy-colored boxes with window cut-outs.  It was a beautiful, clear day.  We wanted to relax, so we ordered some room service and sat out on the balcony and had lunch.  Alex was interested in checking to see what was on Maltese TV and plopped himself down on the bed with the remote.  Frank and I sat outside, drinking tea, and just taking in the view.  I'm don't think we've ever been to a lovelier or more relaxing setting.  I asked if we could stay a week, but didn't dare ask how much this would cost.  Sadly, we just didn't have enough coupons.

Malta? What's in Malta?

Solar Eclipse '06 -- Malta, Part I

Our wonderful trip aboard the Sinfonia came to an inevitable close after the trip to Tripoli and a day at sea.  We got off the ship early, debarking at Malta a couple of days before the rest of the group. The ship was going on to Salerno, Italy, and ending up back in Genoa, where it all began.  I was not too happy about getting off the ship early, but we had to in order to use our frequent flyer tickets to get home.  Plus, Frank assured me, "Malta will be fun."

"Malta?  What's in Malta?"  I asked.  "Remember Bimini?"  Before we had Alex, Frank and I took a trip a trip to Bimini, which is now at the top of the list of our "Places We Would Not Return to Without A Court Order."  The highlights of our trip to Bimini were a case of walking pneumonia, being nearly devoured by sand fleas, and a room over a bar where drunks stayed up until dawn singing along to a song called "Living Next Door To Alice."  The song itself was not offensive, but it was the fact that the drunks would all shout, "Alice? Alice? Who the f--- is Alice?" during every chorus.  Over and over.  Until dawn.  I wanted Frank to stab me in the head with an ice pick to get that song out of my brain.  I was a hacking, sleep-deprived mess with 10,000 bug bites on my butt.   "Bimini" is our code for "bad vacation planning."

"Malta is nothing like Bimini,"  Frank scoffed.  "There are a lot of things to do and see there.  A grand cathedral!  Megolithic temple ruins!  Knights of the Crusades!  Medieval castles!"  He got Alex to join in the pro-Malta campaign with the bit about knights and castles.  "Mommy, I want to see some knights!  Maybe there will be dragons there," he stated and re-enacted a knight vs. dragon fight using a chopstick as a sword.  If it weren't for The Maltese Falcon I probably would never have heard of Malta.  I relented, figuring that paying an additional $3,000 for air tickets or hitchhiking home were not great alternatives.

So, with expectations set slightly below "can't hardly wait" and slightly above "root canal", we left the ship in Malta.  We debarked after breakfast and found our luggage sitting at the bottom of the gangplank.  Standing on the pier was an attractive woman wearing sunglasses with a sign bearing our name on it.  That was Marisa, our tour guide for the day.  Frank had pre-arranged with the hotel to book a van and a guide to take us around the island, since we only had a day to spend in Malta and see whatever the island nation had to offer.  To me, a guide and a car is usually the optimal way to sightsee with a child or two in tow.  You have more flexibility to change your itinerary if the kid is tired and doesn't want to see another museum or tourist attraction.  Plus, you don't annoy all the other people on a bus tour who actually want to hear what the guide has to say when your kid is screaming for a juice box.  Normally, if you add up the cost of a bus tour for 3-4 people, a guide and a car are not that much more expensive.

Marisa had the driver take us up the steep hillside from the pier and wind through some narrow streets to a lovely garden overlooking the Mediterranean.  We could see the Sinfonia and several rooftop gardens from this vantage point.  We snapped a few photos, and Alex ran around terrorizing pigeons.  Marisa pointed out some local landmarks and gave us an overview of Maltese history.  She mentioned that the Maltese language is a unique blend of local dialect, Arabic, Italian, and English.  The billboard signs in Maltese looked like Arabic-sounding words spelled out in Roman letters. 

From our vantage point in the garden, the panoramic view of Malta and the Mediterranean was spectacular.  It was like Monaco, only everything looked a little more comfortable and worn, and seem to be cast in a golden glow in the sunlight.  It was like something out of a technicolor movie from the sixties, and I half expected Audrey Hepburn to stroll by with Cary Grant.  The vibrant flowers in the garden, coupled with the view of the sea painted a lovely backdrop to start the day.

Despite the beautiful scenery, Alex quickly grew bored and restless and wanted to leave.  Then, we saw Ethan and his family trudging up the hill toward the garden. Alex ran to Ethan and threw his arms around him, as if Ethan just returned from a stint in 'Nam and Alex was his new bride awaiting his return.  Ethan reciprocated with a big grin.  Ethan's cousin said, "Ethan has whined and complained all the way up here.  We thought we were going to have to turn back!"

We had planned to move on to the next site on Marisa's list, but she patiently waited for the boys to play a little while longer and eat chocolate-filled donuts from the snack stand.  When we were finally ready to go, she said it would be fine for Ethan's family to come with us to the Cathedral.  Alex was thrilled to have his running buddy along with him.  Marisa told us that she has a son, so she knew how much it meant to Alex to have a friend along.  We all walked down the charming little street to the main street of Valletta, and over to the Cathedral of St. John.  Marisa was enthusiastic about taking us there, and warned that it might be a bit overwhelming.

We walked down the main street of Valleta,  through a crowded shopping area.  The street was teeming with people, and Alex wanted to stop at every toy store we passed.  Marisa told us that Malta had been used for a number of Hollywood movies, and that this street was featured in a scene from Munich.  The wide boulevard was closed to traffic, and had a sort of pan-European feel to it.  It could have been a street in London or Paris or Rome.  I could definitely see how movie-makers would choose Malta as a stand-in for any number of places.

We arrived at the Cathedral, and were faced with long lines of tour groups from the Sinfonia. Marisa took us to a separate line and bought us tickets without waiting, then to a secret back-way entrance.  She spoke to the guards in Maltese and they let us through.  It was like being with an A-list celebrity at Studio 54 in the late 70's.  There were hundreds of people waiting to get in, and we just sailed passed them.  Marisa said, "We don't have enough time to wait in line.  They know me here."  We decided we loved her.  If you ever go to Malta, hire her.

I've been to some nice churches and a cathedral or two, but nothing quite compared to this one.  On the outside, the cathedral looks quite simple.   The facade does not prepare you for what is inside.  The interior is decorated in the "high baroque" style but it could easily be called "high drama."  Every inch of it is covered with some ornate carving, fantastic sculpture, or dramatic painting.  I'm not sure I have ever been in a place that was more ornate, other than maybe the Pitti Palace in Florence, where they ran out of room for paintings and started hanging them on the ceiling.  The most amazing part of the cathedral is the floor. The Cathedral is the final resting place of several hundred Knights of Malta.  The floor is a series of inlaid tombstones throughout the cathedral.   Each of the tombstones about 3' by 5' and is inlaid with intricate marble mosaics with Latin inscriptions.  The panels are all different and say something about the Knight's life and deeds during the Crusades.  Some bore a skull and crossbones; others had more human figures on them, a family crest, or a shield.  Every room in covered by these mosaics, and they are each unique and intricately formed.  It was a little overwhelming to try to see everything in the Cathedral.  I think you would need a week just to look at the floor.  Something about it reminded me of the AIDS Memorial Quilt.  Each panel of the quilt was a different take on a life, what was important or symbolic to that person.  Like everything in this cathedral, they were beautiful, dark and a little frightnening at times.  I'm not sure I could possibly describe it well enought to give you a sense of how amazing it was--it is something you need to see to believe.

In one of the chapels, there is a replica of Caravaggio's painting Beheading of St. John that was prominently on display behind the altar.  The original is in the national museum, but since this cathedral is dedicated to St. John, it seemed to fit here.  Alex asked, "Is that Jesus?  Why are those people killing him?"  It is a violent scene, and not one I wanted Alex to dwell on, but I could not stop looking at John the Baptist's face, the blood on the floor, and the red cloak.  I tried "hey look over there, a doggie!" a few times, to distract him, but he was wise to my tricks.  I finally told him that it was not Jesus, that the man's name was John the Baptist and that he was killed by a king who didn't like what he had to say. Alex could not take his eyes off the scene in the painting. Marisa came to the rescue and told us we needed to move on in order to make our way to the hotel for check-in.  On our way out of the chapel, we ran into Mary Beth from the Kids Club onboard the ship.  She was helping with one of the tour groups.  Alex ran to her and gave her one last, big hug.

We made our way out of the main part of the church and into the gift shop, where we purchased a couple of Maltese knights and a pencil sharpener that looked like a ship.  Alex took the tiny sword from the metal knight he bought and challenged Ethan to a duel, but Ethan didn't want to duel.  We walked out onto the sunny street, which seemed a little too bright after the dim lighting of the church.  We had to say goodbye to Ethan and his family one last time, and make our way back to the van. 

Alex said, "That church was cool."  I could not agree more.  Malta turned out to be full of wonderful surprises.

From the Halls of Montezuma

After our tour of Leptis Magna, we headed back to eat our boxed lunch, consisting of cold chicken, some cheese, bread and an apple.  Alex drank a little bottled water and a bite or two of his apple, and said he was tired.  We rested on the bus until it was time to walk over to the Libyan National Museum.  Alex cuddled up to the stuffed camel that we had purchased in Egypt from the man with the cute little daughter.  He squeezed it a little too hard and it started singing its jangly Arabic pop tune of "blah-de-ble-dah, blah-de-ble-dah."   After several days of listening to it, we were dying to find out what the camel was actually saying.  We handed it to Abbas and asked him to translate.  He chuckled and passed it to the driver, who held it up to his ear, and started laughing.

"It's a kid's rhyme.  He's saying 'Where's my Uncle? Where's my Uncle?'"  Abbas informed us.

"Kind of like, 'Who's your daddy?'" Frank responded.  We we glad to have some clue what the camel was singing about.  Alex had been sleeping with it for several days, and periodically rolled over on it in the middle of the night and it would wake us all up.  "Where's my uncle?"  was not what we had in mind.  "I'm annoying!  I'm annoying!" was what we were guessing.

We walked over to the Libyan National Museum, but left our cameras on the bus.  There was an extra "camera tax" for the museum and I was tired of taking pictures and lugging my camera and film around.  Yes, I am the last person on the planet who has a dinosaur film camera, and have no plans to replace it.  For pictures of the museum's collection, Jorge Tutor's website has some lovely photos.  Outside the museum, there is a large statue of Septimus Severus, and I was a little surprised that there was no similar statue of Qaddafi.  I half-figured that this would be like those spooky pictures of North Korea where all you see are gigantic statues of the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, or the newer and nuttier Great Leader, Kim Jong Il.  Other than a few old billboards, there are not many images of Qaddafi around, although the tourist shops sell his Little Green Book, patterned after Mao's Little Red Book.  I guess that in order to have a revolution, you have to have a manifesto of some sort.

We walked in and Abbas started by explaining the map of Leptis Magna. Alex darted into the next room.  He ran from statue to urn to photos on the wall, in a zigzag formation and then ran back to me.  He was frantic and it looked like he was trying to break the Land Speed Record for Museum Viewing.  "I'm done here,"  he declared. "Can we go back to the ship now?"

"The tour has just started, so please stop running around and stick with Mom and Dad and Mr. Abbas," I told him, trying to use my calm-but-firm voice, as recommended by Supernanny.

"This..is so...boring," he whined.  This declaration that things are so boring is a catchphrase he picked up in Kindergarten.  I made a mental note to check out military schools when we get home, since he never used to say things were "so boring" until he entered the Palo Alto Public School System...those kids of investment bankers and high-tech CFOs are most certainly corrupting him into sounding like a teenager.  I'm just not ready for the teen years yet.

I tried to sound chipper and engage him in looking at the really, really old pottery and said, "It's not boring, it's really interesting.  Look at this pot!  It was made by the Phoenecians!" 

"Who are the Phone-icians?  Did they invent the phones? Why are there no phones?" Before I have a chance to answer, he ran off to look for a phone, I guess to call his Kindergarten posse to jet over and save him from this boring display of broken urns.

The museum is a spare modern building, with white walls and glass cases containing remnants of Leptis Magna and earlier settlements.  In the middle, there is a huge winding ramp that goes from the third floor down.  On one side, there is a huge cut-out painting of Qaddafi, about two stories high.  Qaddafi's arms are raised above his head, like he's about to be frisked, or he's in a celebratory mood.  I can't tell which. So this is where they put him, I think to myself. 

In a room full of headless statues, I caught up to Alex and forced him to rejoin the group to go up to the second floor.  On the second floor, there were more urns, and some interesting displays of nomadic life that featured mannequins in Berber dress hanging out in tents.  Alex paused a bit before these, then ran to the next room where there were several dozen swords hanging in a display case.  These caught his attention.  "Are those Ninja swords?"  he asked. 

"No, they are Moorish swords."  Frank responded.  Finally, something Alex was interested in, and true to form, it was weaponry.  He lingered long enough for the group to catch up.  As we head down the spiral ramp to the first floor, we ask one of our shipmates to take a photo of us in front of the giant Qaddafi painting.  Abbas decided to join us in the photo, which was fine with me.  He might have been trying to cover up Qaddafi but his (Qaddafi's) head was just too darn big.  It looks like Qaddafi is attempting to give us all "bunny ears" in the photo.

After the whirlwind museum tour, we drove out to the site of the Coliseum, where the Romans held the Gladiator fights.  Evidently, Septimus was not into persecuting Christians, so we didn't hear about any martyrs being fed to lions here, though I'm sure it is possible.  We were told that exotic animals from all over Africa were brought out to delight the crowd.  Outside the perimeter of the arena, there were numerous pens where the animals had been kept.  It was about the size of a football stadium, only the benches were all made of stone.  The place is still undergoing restoration, so not all of the stone benches were intact, kind of like the new Stanford Stadium.  It looked good for a structure that had been buried under the sand for nearly 2,000 years.  Outside, along the coastline, there was a long strech of road that the Romans held chariot races on.

We got back on the bus and stopped a little ways down the road to view the old seaport.  The natural harbor had silted over, making it useless as a harbor, and this eventually caused the town's demise.  There were still some stone archways leading out to the old pier, and Frank joined the group for a walk down a narrow, rocky path.  Alex and I decided to go back to the bus.  On the way to the bus, we met some well-dressed Libyan women who smiled at Alex and patted his head.  He said, "Hello!" and they giggled. 

Back at the bus, the driver was sitting in the open storage compartment.  Alex ran over and started talking to him, but he obviously didn't speak English.  He seemed delighted to have Alex talk to him, and took Alex's face in his hands, and squeezed it slightly, with a big grin.  It was clear that he was saying, "What a cute boy!"  It is this type of gesture of kindness and friendliness that make me love traveling with a child.

We were supposed to go back to the ship, but we finished early, so Abbas asked if we would like to see downtown Tripoli.  He pointed out the Tripoli Airport, which used to be a US Airbase.  It made me think of the Marine Hymn:

From the Halls of Montezuma,
To the shores of Tripoli
We will fight our country's battles
On the air, on land, and sea...

I remember singing that song in grammar school at an assembly.  At the time, I had no idea where Tripoli was or why the Marines landed on their shores.  Now, some 35 years later, I was on a bus with a bunch of astronomers right in the middle of Tripoli.  If I could figure out where the Halls of Montezuma are, maybe we could plan a trip there some day.

The bus took us through the posh part of downtown Tripoli.  It reminded me of a worn version of Santa Row in San Jose, for some reason.  The streets are very European looking, and there are many, many jewelry stores.  Most of the shops were closed that day, since it was some kind of holiday.  Abbas was quite proud to show us the downtown area.  We passed a park with some metal monkey bars and slides and Alex got excited.  Most of the people milling about are nicely-dressed, but we didn't see any kids playing on the play structures.  We saw a large eclectic-looking building that Abbas explained had originaly been a church that was reconfigured to be a mosque.

After driving around a bit, we headed back to the pier and boarded the ship.  Abbas was by far the best guide we'd had so far on the trip.  Tripoli and Leptis Magna are places we would go back to again if we had the chance.

Septimus Severus Was Here

When we first started planning our trip to Eclipse '06, Frank mentioned that the ship would be taking us to Tripoli and that that there was a chance to take an excursion to Leptis Magna.  "Leptis who?" I asked.  It sounded like like a skin disease or some Romanian pop star.  Frank explained that Leptis Magna was the ruins of an old Roman city.  After that, we set our Tivo to record any program about Libya or Egypt that it came across.  One day, Tivo found a PBS program called Globe Trekker in which a young, exuberant British guy named Ian travels through Tunisia and Libya.  Part of his tour of Libya included the magnificent Leptis Magna, and after seeing this, we couldn't wait to see it for ourselves.  By the time we were on the ship, I think I would have been more disappointed to miss Leptis Magna than the eclipse, if the government had not let us into Libya.

Leptis Magna was a Roman colony, but was first settled by the Phoenicians in around 1,000 BC.  It became one of the most important cities in Northern Africa, along with Carthage and Alexandria, and was part of the trade route to Carthage.  The Roman Emperor Septimus Severus was born in Leptis Magna.  The Romans referred to him as "The Dour African" because he was so unhappy being in Rome.  He missed his African home by the sea, and set out to build a second capital to rival Rome.  Septimus poured money into building up the city, making it a sort of Winter Palace that he could live in when the pressures of Rome got to be too much for him.  After his reign, it was abandoned as a second capital, but continued to be an important seaport.

The town was built around a natural harbor, but the harbor receded, the town was sacked by raiding Berbers, and ultimately abandoned in about 525 AD.  Invaders later mined marble columns and statuary for churches, mosques, and palaces all over Europe and Northern Africa.  The town lay buried under sand dunes for hundreds of years.  Formal excavation began in the 1920's, and much of the restoration of the significant architectural landmarks has been done in the last 20 years or so.  Most of the archaeologists who study the site and have assisted in the project have been Italians, and the Italians evidently been coming to Libya long before the US began normalizing relations in the late 1990's.  Leptis Magna is now one of UNESCO's World Heritage Sites.

We arrived in Tripoli on a warm sunny day and boarded buses to take an hour and a half drive to the site.  Our tour guide, Abbas, was very friendly and spoke English fluently.  He said he had lived and studied in Britain for a time.  When we told him we lived in California, he mentioned that his brother lived in Orange County.  He told me that he had five kids, and the youngest one was six months old.  He showed me a picture of his adorable baby girl.  We were sitting in the front seats, so we could hear the commentary clearly and ask questions.  We didn't see much of Tripoli on the trip out, but traveled along a road that ran along a beautiful stretch of Mediterranean coast line.  Frank kept expressing his shock and disbelief that this fantastic coastline was undeveloped, except for a few motel-style beach resorts.

Along the road, there were a number of roadside stands selling bottles, jars, and milk containers full of a thick chartreuse liquid.   When I asked what was in the containers, our guide said it was "locally grown olive oil.  The best in the world!"  I had thought it might be motor oil, since we didn't see any gas stations along the route, so it was amusing to me that this was just cooking oil. It would have been tempting to try to bring some home, but we didn't stop.  Plus, I could envision the invasive strip search that US Customs would have demanded if we'd tried to smuggle in olive oil or anything else from Libya.

At one point, we passed a guard checkpoint, and the policeman manning the point waved for the bus to pull over.  He yelled at the bus driver in Arabic, who just shrugged and responded calmly.  Abbas got off the bus and started arguing with the officer, pointing to a paper in his hand, and gesticulating toward the bus.  This argument went on for about five minutes, and I started to feel a little queasy.  Frank and I were once on a bus crossing from Austria to Slovakia and a guard, dressed identically to this one, got on the bus and demanded our passports.  He took them inside the border crossing station and kept them for about an hour while we waited on the bus.  After a while, I started to feel a tingly back-of-the neck sense of panic, being on a bus with no passport, and a fear that he might never return and we would be stuck at the Slovakian border for days.   He eventually returned after about an hour, but in the meantime, I was sweating bullets.

I started to have that same uneasy feeling here, since we had previously surrendered our passports to the ship to take care of the Libyan visas.  We had no way to prove who we were or where we were from or  that we had the right to be here.  Fortunately, Abbas reentered the bus after about 10 minutes of arguing with the man, and evidently won the day.  The bus started to roll again, and he said, "No problem!  He just needed a...paper" and promptly sat down and mopped his brown.  We later heard from one of our fellow passengers that their bus was stopped and it was because these guards get a list of "approved" buses that are allowed to pass, meaning they paid the appropriate baksheesh to the officials, and ours evidently were not on the list.  The "paper" he needed was cold, hard currency, but Abbas evidently was persuasive enough to get us out of taking up a collection.

While we were on the bus, Abbas gave us some background on Libya and asked if anyone had any questions.  One fiftiesh-looking woman sitting behind us raised her hand.  "In Saudi Arabia," the woman began, "women are required to be covered from head to toe when they go out in public.  Is that true here?" 

"No, women can wear what they want.  The only requirement is they keep their heads covered in a mosque.  Some women wear scarves all the time, because that is their belief.  It is not required."  That was interesting, since we had been told emphatically by the ship's personnel that we had to keep our heads covered at all times.  A few women took off their hats after hearing this.

"In Saudi Arabia, women have to wear the veils out in public.  Do they have to here?"  she persisted.

"No, like I said, women get to choose based on their beliefs.  No one here says what they have to wear."  he replied patiently.

"But, in Saudi Arabia..." she continued.  Every question she asked (and she asked quite a few) began with "In Saudi Arabia..."  She was beginning to sound like that girl in the movie American Pie who starts every sentence with "Last summer, at band camp..."  and she was starting to get on my nerves.  No matter what Abbas said, she would bring up how oppressed the women of Saudi Arabia are because of the dress code.  Evidently, she thought we were on a tour of...Saudi Arabia.

Finally, Abbas got a little exasperated and said, "Madame, this is not Saudi Arabia!  Muslim countries have many different customs, just like Christian countries have many different varieties of beliefs and customs.  We are not anything like Saudi Arabia in custom or government."  She folded her arms across her chest, looked a little miffed, and shut up. 

This did bring up an interesting discussion about the role of women in Libya.  One person asked if it was true that Qaddafi's guards were women, and if so, was that just for show?  Abbas answered that Qaddafi's body guards were women, and that they actually did protect him and were trained to do so.  I later learned that one of them died saving Qaddafi in a 1997 assassination attempt.  Abbas mentioned that there are many Libyan women in the military and in the police force, and that women were represented in many professions, including doctors, lawyers, and teachers.  He said that in Libya, more women than men go to university and finish. He said he thought that women were just smarter and more focused than men, who were too easily distracted. 

"Distracted by what?" inquired someone from the back of the bus. 

He thought about it for  a moment and said, "Soccer."  I guess with no booze or porn to interfere with their education, sports would be next in line in the list of male distractions. 

The Diamond Ring

The day after Total Solar Eclipse '06, we spent another restful day at sea.  All over the ship, there was an air of excitement and people were talking about the experience in the restaurants, lounges, and hallways.  I heard many people say that this was their first eclipse experience and it would not be their last.  At the Gala Night dinner immediately following the eclipse, our table mates from Kentucky expressed their enthusiasm and appreciation for what they had witnessed.  It was their daughter's idea to come on the trip, and they were so glad they had been there together.  Since we were still in Libyan waters, we were not allowed to break open a bottle of wine, but we did our best to toast with bottled water.

Prior to the eclipse, Alex had attended a lecture called "Eclipse for Kids" by an astronomer from the Adler Planetarium in Chicago.  Alex got a notepad and pencils from the planetarium people, and was told to draw pictures of what he saw and bring them to the t-shirt making activity the day after the eclipse.  So, we took Alex and his drawing pad up to the top deck and found a group of kids drawing eclipse pictures with fabric pens on t-shirts.  Alex drew a sun and colored it in, and wrote "Eclipse" on it in blue marker, and declared it a masterpiece.  Alex is not a child who enjoys arts and crafts, so getting him to sit still long enough to draw a circle and color it in meant that he was really into it.  Now, If it had been an activity involving a video game where you try to shoot the sun out of the sky, he would have been there all day.

One of the Sky & Telescope trip organizers was collecting photos from passengers to put together a slide show for everyone to view later in the day.  Frank went down and stood in a long line with other hopefuls to submit his best photos of the corona and the diamond ring.  After we got the prints back from the photo shop, we realized that his Mylar-and-band-aid filter actually worked well, and that he had gotten some decent photos after all.  He came back a little discouraged after seeing how many people showed up with their digital cameras, ready to download a masterpiece or two.  He wasn't optimistic about having a picture chosen for the presentation, given all the fancy and professional camera gear that everyone else brought along, but it didn't hurt to try.

Alex and I had started going to the room designated as the "Library" onboard to do his homework while we were on the ship.  The ship's Library consisted of a bookcase with some abandoned paperbacks (mostly in Italian) and some board games that passengers could use.  The tables had chessboards on one side and green felt for card playing on the other side.  Most of the time it was quiet, but on this day, it was full of Italians playing a boisterous game of cards.  I didn't recognize what they were playing, but they were having a great time with whatever it was. 

Alex's homework, meted out by the Best Kindergarten Teacher on the Planet, aka Teacher Janice, consisted of some math worksheets, a writing workbook, some puzzles and pages to color, and a trip journal.  We used some of the photos that we had developed in the ship's photo shop, and glued them in with the purple glue stick she packed for Alex, along with markers, crayons, and pencils.  His job was to label the photos with a word or two and come back and give a Show and Tell presentation.  Given Alex's propensity for public speaking, I think she could plan to take the day off that day.  We also glued in some Egyptian money, a few ticket stubs, and other memorabilia from the trip. 

While we were doing this, some of the Italian card players came by and stood admiring Alex's journal over his shoulder, especially Frank's Diamond Ring photo.  They started talking to us in rapid-fire Italian.   I shrugged and said, "Inglese?"  which is just about the only Italian I know besides "un caffe con latte, per favore" ("Coffee with milk, please.").  When they asked me if I spoke Italian, I said no, since I didn't think they wanted to take my coffee order.  One of the ladies asked,  "Francese?  Parlez vous francais?"  and one of the men inquired, "Espanol?"   I reached into the dark recesses of my memory and mustered up some college French.  "Le père d'Alex est le photographe," I stuttered, which either means "Alex's father is the photographer" or "Alex's father is a photocopier." 

"Molto professionalista!" they exclaimed, which I took to mean that they were impressed and they understood what I was trying to say.  Either that, or they thought Alex's father the copy machine reproduced these pictures beautifully.

Later in the day, we dropped Alex off at Kids Club and went to the Eclipse Redux lecture, that included some really cool mpeg movies of the scene.  One of the movies was made by pointing the camera at a silver hubcap, giving the full 360 degree view of the scene.  What astonished me was that someone had the foresight to pack a hubcap in their luggage and traveled halfway around the globe to capture this scene.  I thought that must have given the TSA something to chuckle about when searching his suitcase.  When they got to the actual eclipse photos, we were thrilled to see that Frank's Diamond Ring made the cut, eliciting several "oohs" and "aahs" from the crowd.  I was very proud of him.  He was thrilled and just beamed.  This was one of the highlights of our time on the ship for me.  After the slide show, people had the opportunity to share their impressions of the day, and some spoke movingly about how warm and friendly the Libyan people had been, and how much this shared experience transformed them. Over all, the eclipse junkies turned out to be a pretty friendly lot, and we were glad to be counted among them.

Later that night, Alex was incredibly antsy at dinner, and wanted to hurry to get to the Baby Disco.  Tammy agreed to take him so we could finish our dinner in peace and talk with John and Stella a little more.  When we arrived at Baby Disco to pick up Alex, were were startled to see him wearing his pajamas, and not the shirt and shorts he had been wearing at dinner.  I asked Mary Beth (who was also wearing pajamas) what was up.  She said that it was pajama night at the Baby Disco.  She said Alex arrived alone, and that when he saw everyone in PJs, he said he wanted to wear PJs and ran out, returning a few minutes later in his pajamas.  I was seriously alarmed that they let him run off by himself, but she said, "I thought since he came by himself you were letting him be more independent."  She apologized profusely for not keeping better track of him.

We sat Alex down for a chat and asked him why he left the Baby Disco without a grown-up.  He said, "Well, you know, Tammy came with me and left me here.  I wanted pajamas, so I went to our room, but the door was locked, so I got a cleaner lady to open it with her key.  I got my PJs on and came right back."  He stared up with big eyes and looked like one of those Precious Moments figurines my mom's friends are so fond of,  complete with a please-don't-be-mad-at-me-mommy look.  Our room was only one floor directly above the disco, so he didn't go far.  I alternated between being horrified that he was wandering the ship alone, and being secretly pleased at his resourcefulness and ability to take care of himself.  I sometimes don't give him enough credit for being able to do things for himself, since I am so used to just doing things for him.  I don't think that letting him wander around a 12-story cruise ship by himself is a good idea at age 5, particularly given the news stories about bridegrooms being mysteriously tossed overboard.  But, little by little, he's proving that he is a resourceful, intelligent and independent person.   I suppose I should just be happy about that, but as a mom, it makes me a little sad to know that his baby days are coming to a rapid and inexorable end.

Where the Wild Camels Are

After the jubilation of Solar Eclipse '06 reaching totality at exactly 12:38 pm, right on schedule, we all watched for a while longer.  The mood in the encampment was lively and upbeat.  Frank was ecstatic, and had that same look on his face that I had seen in Austria in 1999.  I love that look, and it made traveling halfway around the world to the middle of the desert all worth it.  As the moon's shadow moved across the sun, we could see sunrise occuring all around us, a full 360 degrees of dawn.   We ate some boxed lunches provided for us that consisted of a hotdog roll, some Laughing Cow spreadable cheese, and an apple.  Lunch didn't matter so much, since everyone was too excited to be hungry.

Sometime before Fourth Contact, when the sun is completely uncovered by the moon, people started to pack up their gear and head toward the buses.  We cleaned up the site and made our way to the buses parked behind the shelter.  The buses all sort of looked alike, so many people were wandering around a bit dazed confused as to which bus to take.  We found ours and settled into the front seat, and waited patiently for about thirty minutes for the stragglers.  At one point, the ship's crew just told people to pick a bus, any bus.  A few of them stayed to the bitter end to make sure that no one got left behind.  All that was left as we pulled out were some lonesome plastic chairs, tire tracks, five overused port-o-potties, and a garbage heap. 

The last person to board our bus was a man wearing a police uniform.  As we made our way across the desert, he took up the microphone and introduced himself.  He spoke English fairly well, and seemed to enjoy having the opportunity to use his English.  He welcomed us and told us a little about the area, and said he was a police officer and that he was born and raised in Tobruk.  He joked that he never thought he would be a tour guide, since there were usually not many tours to guide in this part of the world.  Several people asked questions, and he enthusiastically answered them.

We noticed that he had a gun in the waistband of his pants, and Alex whispered to me conspiratorily, "Mommy, that man has a GUN!"  with eyes wide.

I assured him that it was just fine, that the man was a police officer, and that he was there to protect us.  "Protect us from who?"  Alex asked.

"Bad guys,"  I replied.

He thought about this for a moment.  "Do you think any bad guys will come on our bus?"  I think he was envisioning some kind of mutant monster attack, like the ones in Power Rangers Mystic Force that look like a cross between a machine gun and a head of lettuce.  I reassured him that I didn't think any bad guys were lurking about, but if they were, this man looked very capable of protecting us.  "If there are any bad guys, I will use my karate on them!" he said, striking a pose when a menacing look on his face.

"That's nice dear," I said. "Now sit down while the bus is moving."

As we drove down the highway toward Tobruk, the police officer answered questions amiably, and enjoyed looking at Frank's Lonely Planet Guide to Libya.  He seemed astonished that there was an entire book written in English about Libya. When Frank told him we were a little worried in the morning about the fog, he replied, "Our God is a merciful God.  We thank God for making that miracle happen!"

As we drove down the highway in a long line of buses, we could see many more people out on the roads.  Some set up lawn chairs on the side of the road and waved as we went by.  I don't know if this is a normal Libyan pasttime, sitting out in the desert waving at traffic, or if it was to see the spectacle of busloads of Americans passing through.  Some guys on the back of a track waved at us excitedly  and did a little dance.  I suppose as foreigners invaders go, a bunch of astronomers would would  be highly preferable to  the German Afrika Corps.

Since the visibility was much better now than it had been in the morning, we could see small villages off in the distance, low, single story-structures with women carrying water back from a well, and people just going about their daily routines.  In some ways, this area looked like time had stood still, and was probably much the same as it had been during World War II, when the last large group of foreigners landed here.  Out in the desert, we could see a herd of camels wandering around, and we asked the police officer if they were owned by the villagers.  He responded that they were wild and just liked to be near the village.  He said sometimes they wander out onto the road and sit down on the cool asphalt at night, which can create a major traffic jam.  Evidently, wild camels are incredibly uncooperative and don't like to be told what to do.  I admired them for their tenacity and their unwillingness to be bought, unlike their domesticated cousins in Egypt.

Darkness at Noon

At last!  The day of Solar Eclipse '06 had arrived!  Those of you have who have been reading this blog for a couple of months now probably thought this day would never come. Neither did I. It seemed to me as though the trip was years in the making, and that we would never get to see the Main Event.  But, never fear...the eclipse met all expectations (and then some), and was a beautiful sight to behold.  It was well worth waiting for, and an unforgettable and exciting experience for all of us.  Now to the excruciating detail...

We woke up early on Eclipse Day to eat a hearty buffet breakfast and to catch the bus at 6:00 am.  The trip organizers had scouted out a spot that was about a 2 hour bus ride from the pier.  We thought we were early-birds, but the line for the buses was snaking its way around the entire 5th floor by the time we got there.  While we were waiting, a group of peppy and friendly Australians in line behind us told us that they had taken the shuttle bus the night before and gone into the town of Tobruk to check it out. 

"The people here," one man said, "Are lovely.  We went to a coffee shop and everyone there came over to greet us and welcome us.  They told us that the town has been waiting for this ship for six months.  They don't get many tourists in this town.  When we tried to pay for our coffee, the owner of the shop refused to take our money and said we were his guests. Every where we went, people came out to greet us and welcome us."  Hearing this alleviated the butterflies in my stomach about entering into this uncharted territory, only recently lifted from the "terrorist state" list.

One of the ship's crew members waved us out of the line and took us down a set of stairs and onto a bus that was primarily for disabled and elderly people.  I guess they figured traveling with a child was a handicap, since Alex was grumpy and kept insisting that Frank carry him.  He was hanging around Frank's neck like an baby chimpanzee or a large human necktie.  Alex is tall for a 5 year old, and is over 4 feet already, and so carrying him is not an easy task.  If I do it, I feel as though my vertebrae are going to compact together, like one of those collapsible drinking cups.  Most of the carrying falls squarely on Frank, and he is usually quite stoic about it.  So, when they pulled us out of the line, our spines were grateful, even though we had to leave our entertaining Australian line buddies and heard grumblings from some passengers further ahead in the line.  In the end, it didn't make much difference which bus you boarded, since none of them were allowed to leave until all the buses were filled.  We were glad to just put Alex down on a seat where he could rest, after his late night out partying at the Baby Disco.

We heard from some of the ship's crew that there were not enough buses available in all of Libya for our group, so some of the buses had been brought by ship from Egypt.  So, basically, they were the same tourist buses we had experienced in Egypt.  We settled in to some seats in the back and Alex fell asleep before we pulled away from the pier. 

Looking out the window, there was not much to see in the town of Tobruk.  A few officials stood at the dock and cheerfully waved at our bus as we pulled out.  There were a couple of cars on the road that were stopped to let our caravan pass, and the people inside were hanging their heads out, looking at us with amazement.  Most of them waved and smiled, and I got the feeling that they were actually happy to see us.   I guess that not much really happens in Tobruk, and I suppose that if 40 busloads of Libyan tourists came rolling through my little hometown in Ohio, I'd be curious to see the show, too.

We saw a number of billboards with Muammar Qaddafi's photo on them, with Arabic writing and the number "36" prominently displayed.  We did not have a guide on this bus to ask about these signs and what they meant.  I don't think this meant that Qaddafi was turning 36 this year, since I remember him from when I was in junior high school and he was the New Totalitarian Dictator on the Block.  In the pictures, Qaddafi looked like an Middle-Eastern movie star, with black wavy hair, strong jaw, and fierce macho expression.  I remember Qaddafi being the subject of a number of "Saturday Night Live" news reports in the 70's, and he looked much the same as he did then.  I sometimes confuse him in my mind with Generalissimo Francisco Franco, who, I believe, is still dead.  Either these were old photos or Qaddafi is about as well preserved as King Tut.

As we rolled past the town of Tobruk and down a long, straight highway into the desert, we noticed something disturbing:  there was a heavy cloud of brownish dust all around us.  We were pretty much assured that there would not be rain (it was, after all, the freaking Sahara Desert with a mean annual rainfall, um, zero), but the organizers were  concerned that a dust storm might kick up and obscure the view of the eclipse.  The people on the bus twittered nervously when they realized that this was not letting up.  Outside of town, the brown cloud turned to gray, and it was apparent that this was good old fashioned fog.  Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, a fog bank in the morning is not an uncommon sight, so I felt pretty confident that this would burn off eventually.  Initally, Frank sloughed it off as well, but after about an hour, he started fidgeting in his seat nervously and asking me, "What do you think?"

"Don't worry," I told him.  "This too shall pass."  I didn't let on that I wasn't sure when it would pass, but I was confident that it would let up at some point.

The rest of the bus seemed to take on a collective air of anxiety about that time.   Visibility was poor and just seemed to get worse the further we drove.  At first, we could see small houses set back about 100 yards from the road.  Then, we could couldn't see the houses at all, just a few mosques that were closer to the road, with spires mysteriously disappearing up into the fog.

Eclipse Junkies

We sailed through the night toward Libya and spent a nice morning at sea en route to Tobruk, Libya for Solar Eclipse '06.  We were exhausted from the race through Cairo the day before, so it was nice to just hang out on deck, play video games, and enjoy the ship's amenities, some clear skies, and the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean.

We heard rumblings onboard the ship that we might not be able to enter Libya, depending on the mood of the government.  The back-up plan was to take the ship out to sea to find the center line of the eclipse, but that would mean all 2,000 people and their gear would be on the top deck during the event.  The guys from Sky & Telescope Magazine who were leading the tour showed a video clip of a previous eclipse tour at one of the lectures.  In it, the lecturer is heard to start screaming at the point of totality, "Oh my God! Oh my God!  There it is!  There it is!"  which sounded like he was in the throes of an orgasm.  It was kind of creepy and I seriously wanted no part of standing on a crowded deck with 1,000 astronomy zealots in the throes of ecstasy.

In 1999, Frank dragged me out into the middle of a field in Austria to view my first (his second) total eclipse.  I sort of bitched and moaned the entire way to the site, thinking that this a big waste of time, since it was going to rain, and we could have been, say, drinking Viennese coffee and eating pastries. Frank graciously ignored my whining and started driving through the Austrian countryside looking for a spot where the clouds had parted and it didn't look like it was going to start pouring at any second.  We parked our rented car along a rural road bordering a field where a lone farmer was plowing.  There were a few other cars parked along the road, a respectful distance from each other, and off on the horizon, we could see a line of telescopes.  We waited and then, suddenly, the sky cleared, and then grew dark, and the earth got quiet and still. We used our solar filters to view the partial eclipse.  Our fancy "solar filters" were actually some welder's glass and some cheap paper sunglasses that were in a magazine we bought about the eclipse.  They did the trick, so we didn't end up with permanently scarred retinas and could see everything just fine.

When the sky grew dark, the birds stopped chirping, the farmer stopped plowing, and everything was calm and still and the twilight all around was breathtaking.  There was something so magical and so mysterious about this that my pulse raced and I got tears in my eyes.  The sun was covered with a black disk, and only the corona showed through, streaming golden light around a black circle in the sky.  You could see it without binoculars or a telescope, and it was utterly fantastic. I didn't feel like whooping and hollering at that moment, just a profound sense of wonder.  The joy on Frank's face is another sight I won't ever forget; it was like a child unwrapping the most wonderful, desired and magical present ever.  After that, I was eager to see another eclipse, and to see it with Frank.

After a week aboard the Sinfonia with a thousand or so hardcore eclipse-heads, I am now utterly convinced that eclipse-watching is similar to heroin addiction.  Years ago, I used to work with recovering drug addicts, and one thing they used to say was that they were always "chasing that first high."  The first high is evidently a chemical rush like nothing that person has ever experienced before; a sense of calm and quiet and euphoria all mixed together.  No matter how much of the stuff they took, nothing ever quite lived up to the first time.  These eclipse junkies were no different, only the drug of choice was staring at the sun while it went dark, and chasing down the perfect photograph.  I could hear them boasting in the elevators to each other, "Yeah, man, I was in Austria in '99, but nothing could ever top Baja '91.  Seriously, it was six minutes long!" 

To which the other person would reply, "But dude, the corona streamers in Hawaii?  No way you could beat that one."  Then the two conversants would enter into a deep reverie, heads bowed, in silent prayer to the Sun God who allowed them to bear witness to such sights.

I overheard these kinds conversations in buffet lines, in the elevator, in the theatre, in the coffee lounge, and pretty much everywhere on the ship.  They wore their eclipse experience on t-shirts, on hats, and in the ginormous camera and telescope gear they lugged halfway around the world for this event.  These people were serious about this eclipse business and would stop at nothing to get the perfect shot of Bailey's Beads or the Diamond Ring, as if they were stored in the vault at Tiffany's and only brought out for viewing once in a blue moon.  I seriously thought these people might want to join the "Friends of Bill W." meetings that were being held in the Irish Pub on board, and form their own 12 step recovery program.