(written April 20, 2006)

    I woke up gloriously late, at least compared to the last few days.  I had breakfast with Mikki, since everyone else's schedules were so disparate.  At 1130, we attended mass.  Attending mass with four languages was certainly more interesting than celebrating the Eucharist with a language I know only minimally for a whole night (oh, that was fun).  All parts of the service were divided into language, and foe every couple of minutes we would hear Spanish, Italian, French or English.  All songs were sang in English; I wished that they would throw in some Filipino for good measure, considering that we were a large group.  But alas, nada.
    Oops, cancel the breakfast.  I actually didn't eat, since we ended up rushing for the mass.  After it ended, Mom Risa, and Mikki ate in the pizzeria for lunch.  Dad went to the infirmary to tend a pain his left hip, and I attended the lawyers' cocktails.
    Tee hee.  Lawyers are amusing especially when they start to get tipsy.  For awhile I hung out with the Baloises, but Dad came in and I once again drank alcohol, this time a fruit-punchy Tequila Sunset.  It was pretty sweet, too—they celebrated Sir Sig's birthday, though that came a few days after.  The cake looked delicious, even if I didn't taste it.  By then Dad and I were really hungry, so we ate lunch.
    Afterwards, I finally got to play cards.  It was a stroke of luck that I saw Raffy, Michelle, and Sam.  Pusoy Dos, Heart Attack…Tong Its, Black Jack.  Little by little, more players came; Carlo (Sam and Michelle's cousin), Owen and Bika, Mikki and Risa.
    By four I grew sick of playing cards with everyone, and Raffy and I went to the gym (Gossiping all the while about our batchmates.  Eep).  Man, I'm out of shape.  There's going to be hell to pay when I get back from this trip.

    EDIT (July 16, 2006):  I didn't gain a pound.  Ha!

    My exercise lasted for 45 or so minutes, and then I went back to my room to change for dinner.  Only, dinner was really confusing.  Originally, I was just going to go to the buffet or the pizerria, since I had no desire to dress up for the last dinner (which required formal wear).  After some more ado, however, it turned out that the Boticelli Restaurant was the only place serving dinner.  I grimly wore fancy attire.

    It was all good though.  Since Risa was hanging out with the Lichaucos, Mikki, my parents and I ate with Papot and her family.  Tito Mario and Dad and Mom kept talking about UP dorm life—funny.  The food, of course, was delicious.  For some reason, the ice cream I received for dessert was larger than any of the other ones (so naturally I gave half of it to Mom, and didn't eat a third of the remaining).  Chocolate Egg was yummy.  I excused myself to hang out with Steph and Jojo in their table, ended up going with the Ricaldes to watch Cinecitta Oscars, the last show.
    It was horrible.  Philip would have had a field day with it.  Basically, the mediocre dancers showed the worst of their acting chumps.  Bika (Beka?) even said our regular class projects were far better.  Owen noted that the only interesting parts were the little movie bits meant as fillers.  I found it utterly kitschy, boring, and sad.
    Afterwards, to rid the taste of the tackiness, the Ricaldes and I played Scrabble.  Poor Raffy—his ates really ganged up on him.  Poorer me, with my surplus vowels; I managed to be the fourth winner.  Bravo, Dana.
    Steph and Erman arrived then, and I had to say goodnight to finalize my packing.  By then it was midnight, and I was pretty tired.  Our malletas were outside our room by 1, and I promptly fell asleep.

    Soon, we were rocking in the Kasbah.
    The Old City, otherwise known as Medina or La Kasbah, was named so because ‘kasbah’ in Turkish meant ‘fortress’.  I wish I could say more about the place, but our tour guide only took us to the Main Street of the Marketplace.  Our group went inside one of the shops and climbed up the stairs to view the city skyline.
    It struck me how different it was from most of the countries I’ve been to; in lieu of skyscrapers and Baroque cathedrals, there were flat-roofed white buildings, minarets, and weathered domes that made up the landscape.  Just at that moment, while we were admiring the view, a gong sounded.  Then voices of priests called out all over the Kasbah, marking the afternoon prayers.            
    We went back inside then, and a man (everyone except the tourists were all male, since traditionally the women all stay at home and make handicrafts.  In the more modern part of Tunis though, as we returned to the port, I saw women walking around in Western business suits and the current tight-fitting fashions) showed us the different types of carpets.
               
    We were given an hour and a half to shop before going back to the boat.  The marketplace was a more cramped version of Sidi Bou Said, and a sinister one at that.  Or was it just my paranoia?  As I’ve mentioned earlier, the vendors and the non0tourists were all men, save for the odd middle-aged mother running errands.  I did NOT like the way they stared at us, the aggressive pursuit of a sale, and the fact that many of them called me ‘my lovely’.
    It frightened me that a few of them even grabbed my arm.  I tried to stay as close to Dad as possible.  Even the young handsome men, with their slicked-back hair and expressive eyes, unnerved me.
    Back on the boat, I quickly changed into my jogging pants.  Risa, Mikki and I stayed in our cabin watching Monster In Law until we realized that it was time for dinner.  After leaving the buffet table I tried to arrange a massive game of Heart Attack with all the lawyers’ kids, but it was in vain.  After buying the shoulder carpetbag in the ship’s store that I’ve been eyeing, I watched TheMalambo Show with Owen and Raffy.
    Luis Viana, ‘El Gaucho’, was frigging cool.
    Dad and I joined up after the show, and I coerced him to buy me a drink.

    Sidi Bou Said, the Tunisian village, reminded me of Mikonos (an island in Greece) with its blue-and-white coloring.  Everything was in blue and white.  The white was because of the heat—it is in Tunisia, our guide Multa said, that the hottest temperature (45 degrees Celsius) was ever recorded.  Blue is painted on the roofs, doors and windows to match the sky and the seas, which in the Mediterranean was an endless sapphire.
    In the village, we were taken to a museum that depicted the marriage rituals of Tunis.  The costumes the brides wore were elaborate, stitched works of art; the statues of men wore flowing robes and smoked from huge pipe contraptions.  After entering the ablution and prayer room, our group was served hot Tunisian tea.
    Though I had less than half an hour to browse around, I saw that the streets of Sidi Bou Said were nothing short of amazing.  Along the lanes were shops filled to the brim with tourists.  Hanging on the white walls were carpets and fabrics, bright colors bleeding out into the sunlight.  Artfully lying on the ground were tiles and mosaics, representing scenes of African-Arabic life more vibrantly than the detailed prints in postcards.  Intricate silverworks and glossy wood antiques beckoned from the glass displays.
    But alas, we had to leave the picturesque (though bustling) village, and head for the Old Town.  On the way, we saw the Lake of Tunis, which had a channel leading to the Mediterranean Sea.  It was azure, pretty.

    Tunisia was dampened by my accursed low-rise denim pants.  Wince.  This is painful.  Absolutely mortified.  Enough said.  I'll write more later tomorrow when we're at sea the whole day.   
    Margaritas and Lindt eggs.  Mmm.
(The following was written two days after.  Ha ha ha.--Dana)
    So we went to Tunisia, yeah?  Those stupid pants hampered the whole experience.  I could talk about how debased and humiliated I felt when I realized what everyone was seeing, never mind that American girls regularly display that much flesh (What?  You know it's true.  I'm a VERY conservative dresser, even by my society's standards).  But I'd really rather not dwell on that.
    I  snapped that Saturday morning.  Mom and Dad gave me orders that I had to relay to my sisters.  Of course, with them it's 'kill the messenger'.  Ma told me to remind Risa to give her the charger when I returned to the room.  I did, kindly, and she muttered, "Stop nagging."
    "Risa, I heard that," I softly told her.
    "Then you were probably meant to hear it," she replied, before slamming the bathroom door on me.
    That's ever so polite and grateful.
    I cooled off, they got their comeuppance, and we left for the excursion.  The tour guide's name was Yusef.   
 

    We saw a couple of ruins in Carthage, mostly Roman architecture.  Then we went to the village of Sidi Bou Said (si-DI BOO SAYD).

    Tee hee).  Man, I miss training.  I’m so out of shape.
    I first checked in the card room, and found Mikki and Risa playing crazy eights with the Lichauco kids.  I taught them Heart Attack.  >:) I think I created monsters.
    The three of us ate dinner afterwards on Deck 10, since the pizzeria was closed.
    I then went to the ship store, which pretty much sold crap or expensive jewelry.  I went back to the cabin, and soon Risa and Mikki entered, thoughtful enough to bring me a pear.  At around 915 we went to the teatro to watch the show “Cinemania”.
    On the way, the Scottish/English people who were with us on the Tripoli tour joined us in the elevator.  They recognized me as the girl who took down copious notes (Yes, Camille.  Even up till now).  Somehow the conversation went around to drinking, and the nice gentleman said that he’d buy me a beer when I turned legal.
    “I am legal!”  I cried.  Sisters laughed.  The foreigners looked shocked.  I explained that I was turning 19 in June.
    “But you look so young,” protested one matronly lady.  The man earlier said it was a good thing.  As they walked away, the woman replied, “Not at that age.”
    Sigh.
    The show, “Cinemania’’, was kitschy and mediocre.  I wanted to claw my eyes out when they did Star Wars.  And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

    We assembled in the Piazza Italia at 8:30 am for the excursion.  There were much less English-speaking tourists today than there were yesterday—partly because the Americans were banned from going down (US has no relations with Libya *cough*dictator*cough*), and partly because most of the Filipinos were afraid that if their passports were stamped, they'd have problems obtaining a US visa.
    That turned out to be a lost cause, deciding no to go down.  As long as we were in Libyan waters, our passports would be stamped.
    So, my family and one of Dad's friends were the only Filipinos who went on the 'Tour of Tripoli'.  Our tour guide's name was Multa, Arabic for 'key'.  Once again I went into dork mode, and started scribbling notes.  Since we were only allowed to use one camera, I lent mine to Mikki, who was acting as our official photographer.
    Libya has a population of 5 million, all Muslim.  Tripoli, the capital, has 1.3 million people.  The dictator's Khadafi, and his picture is plastered everywhere.  Ma said he once danced with Imelda Marcos. 
    The city's alternately sunny and windy.  It's pretty warm, but once you're in the shade it's really cold.  The whole city smelled of fish, even inside the buildings.
   



    After the museum, we went walking around the Old City.  It was a pity, but the shops were closed every Friday for religious reasons.  Some notable sites were 17th century Koran college; a 2nd century Roman column still standing; Jami Shaib al-ain's mosque, built in 1699; the Tripoli Historical Exhibition, known as 'Harem House" during the rule of Ali Garamanly; a Bank of Rome; a Greek Orthodox Church, still functioning, and a now unused Roman Catholic Church called Santa Maria.

    Then we saw the Arc of Marcus Aurelius, which used to have a statue of him and his brother Lucius.  The Roman city, as evidenced by the Arc, was lower than modern Tripoli; in the ruins I could see roof fragments on the ground.

    Our excursion group entered the Jami Gurgi Mosque, and watched our guide pray—it really was a beautiful ritual.  The mosque itself was beautiful too, ornate and geometric; like all the churches and temples I've been to, it had an air of holiness.  Our tour ended in a hotel still under construction.  Looked to be a pretty interesting hotel too, of Arabic design rather than the usual western luxury.

    Afterwards, our bus took us back to the ship.  My family had lunch, and my sisters and I returned to our room.  Million Dollar Baby is icky, and depressing.

    We're going to Tripoli, Libya today.  If you can't spot the irony…Too bad.  Then again I do have an odd sense of humor.

    Since we're in a Muslim country, the restrictions are pretty stiff.  No religious items such as crosses or rosaries are allowed on our persons or in our bags.  All alcohol onboard must be hidden away.  For women, the dress code is just as strict.  We have to be covered from head to toe, and bring our shawls and pashminas in case headscarves are necessary.

    Yay!  I'm wearing my blue cowl turtleneck.  It's much bigger on me now.  This means I weigh less than I did five years ago in Spain.  Joy. :D

    The second time I woke up, it was nearly 11 am.  After getting dressed we ate in deck ten for a quick lunch.  We had to hurry a bit, since the excursion that my parents signed us up for were leaving at 1 pm.  I made the mistake of wearing those stupid low-rise jeans today, so I quickly changed to my more comfortable blue denims.

    We boarded the bus.  Our tour guide's name was Marisa.  The driver was on the right.

   

    Malta is really pretty and golden.  It's as if I was in Greece and Granada at the same time.  For etymology geeks (cough) the reason for its name is pretty obvious.  'Malta' comes from the Roman malita, which translates to something like 'honey'; they used it to describe the limestone that makes up most of the infrastructure in the city.


    I've mentioned the knights, right?  The knights of St. John (or was it Jerusalem?) are also known as the Knights Hospitallers because they built the first hospital of Europe here in Malta.  Just before we entered the city proper, our tour guide pointed out an islet with beautiful, familiar-looking ancient walls.  She then mentioned that Brad Pitt stayed there for six months filming Troy. :D

    That's not the only place in Malta that was used in a Hollywood film.  Much of Munich was filmed on a street we passed called Trio San Paul.

    Valleta, the ancient main (and now commercial) city of Malta was very unique.  Its Renaissance-and-Baroque building lined up in a perfect grid system.  The balconies were of Turkish design.  City ordinance prohibited front steps, and the corners of corner building had to be decorated.  As a result, it was a very beautiful city.


    Our first stop was the National Museum of Archaeology.  The building itself had a history—it was completely original, untouched from the time that the Knights of St. John came from Provence built it in 1575.  Being the huge history geek that I am, I took EVEN MORE notes.