When Yves Saint Laurent took up the reins of Dior from Dior, management was concerned. After all, YSL was only in his early twenties. Can you blame them? At first, everything was OK.
Trapeze to Trouble
The black dress and the floral print dress on the left were parts of Saint Laurent’s first collection on his own, called Trapeze. The exhibition guide talks about “trapezoidal” silhouettes and the “free spirit of the Sixties”, even though it was only 1958. It was a success, but but the success was short lived. In 1960 Saint Laurent called his collection “Beatnik.” Talk about the Sixties, leather jackets with mink trim! One short velvet evening dress featured bobble fringe trim. Gorgeous had almost left the building, but I think this black number with the swag of pearls might be worth its weight in silk crepe.
Yves was ushered out the door, but one wonders if the success of his own fashion house made the management of Dior regret running him off. When Yves left, they promoted Marc Bohan out of the London branch. His classical training returned the house and its clientele back to the safety of traditional haute couture without resorting to boredom. He borrowed from Russian tzars and the traditional Chinese cheongsam, keeping everyone happy for close to thirty years. Some of it is a little too Eighties for me, but I’d wear others.
Haute couture was being replaced by ready-to-wear around the world. Many of the French fashion houses had disappeared and others sold out to mass marketing. Dior remained. Enter an Italian, Gianfranco Ferre’. After Bohan’s freewheeling style references, structured suits and wafting evening gowns, Ferre’ took the house back to classicism. The exhibition guide gives him credit for everything from Baroque architecture to Impressionists, even Cubists and Surrealism.
To my untrained eye, he seemed to embody both the best of Dior himself and his successor, Saint Laurent. The simple column of the empire-waisted dress a la Josephine, which was named Palladio, spoke to me, but I think my bestie liked Glory, the black velvet number encrusted in gold, even better.
One thing I noticed about the Ferre’ dresses is that a goodly number of them had a lot of stuff on them. Like the stripped gown on the front row. I loved most of it, but then the bodice looked like someone’s granddaughter had come to work one day and glued a little of everything onto it. Same thing with the polka dot dress in the back. Just too much stuff.
And speaking of too much. How about that gray suit with puff sleeves and the really big bow. Sure, it’s too much but I love it anyway. I would hang it in my closet next to Dior’s houndstooth suit with the more conservative black bow.
Mr. Ferre’s designs finish out the first gallery of Creative Directors. Come back next week and we’ll look at three of the later directors. Meanwhile, enjoy the fashions.
Now that we’ve browsed through the entire Dior exhibit together, let’s go back and take a closer look at some of what is called fashion. I say that because to me, clothes should be designed to wear. They should look good and make me look good when I wear them. I can’t say that all the fashions in this exhibit would compliment the wearer.
Fashion and the Decorative Arts
I’ve said it before, the Decorative Arts are my favorite part of any museum. Paintings and sculpture are nice, but what I love most are practical items made sublime by their decoration. A Meissen vase can completely captivate me. My favorite museum ever was the Silver Collection at the Hofburg Palace in Vienna. Such a bland name for such an extraordinary place.
Many dresses in the Dior exhibition are certainly sublime. Would that my closet had such delights! Take the black and white number with the coolie-style straw hat above. Anybody with about an ounce of clothes sense would tell you it’s not in vogue. Fully pleated wool skirts and jackets with peplums are just not the thing. I don’t care. I’d wear that anytime. Not to a baseball game, of course, but give me an excuse to dress up and I’d put that number on. And in vogue or not, ooohs and aaahs would follow me wherever I went. The black taffeta, off-the-shoulder number next to it is pretty wonderful also.
However, I didn’t feel that way about everything I saw. As time marched on the dresses were less decorative and more arty. The show is partly chronological, but then it explodes into a kaleidoscope of eras. Dresses designed to grace the form of post-WWII damselles stand next to fashions better suiting an ancient Egyptian priestess or a Zulu warrior princess. Some of the outfits didn’t look like they would grace anyone or anything. When I put on an outfit, I don’t want people to say, “My, that’s an interesting outfit.” I want them to say, “Wow, you look great!”
To see the most egregious examples of these interesting outfits, you’ll have to go to the exhibition yourself. The photos I’m using in these posts were taken by Bill during my first visit. He’s as drawn to gorgeous as I am, so he didn’t waste his focus on interesting, much. During my second visit I was so busy trying to match the various dresses to their description in the exhibition guide that I failed to get a single picture.
In the chronological part of the show, the focus is on the various directors of the House of Dior. First, of course was Christian Dior, himself. The suit on the far right with the big black bow? I want it so bad I can taste it. It’s name is Adventure.
I didn’t love everything he did as well as that one piece, but it’s probably safe to say I love everything he designed better than anything anyone else did. For instance, the black double breasted belted jacket next to MY ensemble is entirely too bulky for my frame. I’d look like someone’s living room drapes which have decided to take a walk.
Bill only took one more picture in this section of the exhibit, a lovely gala gown from 1950 called Oceanie with an ‘ over the e. The amaranth red tulle dress is embroidered with sequins and beads, so I have no idea what that has to do with the ocean.
In fact, many of the names assigned to the ensembles had little to do with the ensemble it is assigned to. Some of the directors labeled everything as a “Look” and assigned it a number. I found that as disappointing as a red dress with a blue name.
There’s more to the exhibit, of course, but let’s put Mr. Saint Laurent off until next week.
Just when I thought Dior From Paris to the World was the best fashion exhibit the DMA had ever had, I found out it wasn’t even over yet. Certainly the gallery with all the celebrity gowns had to be the climax and end of the exhibit, but no, there was more gorgeous to enjoy! Come along and I’ll share the rest of the goodies.
Pretty in Pink
My bestie teases me about my OCD tendencies when we are visiting exhibitions, bazaars and galleries. I’m very systematic about it, because I don’t want to miss anything. As alluring as this confection of evening wear will be as you exit the big central gallery with the celebrity dresses, I recommend detouring to the left as soon as you enter this gallery. Two treats wait for you there. One is called “Lengendary Photographs” and for my husband the photographer, it was one of his favorite parts of the entire exhibit. For me, it was the area called “Total Looks” that deserved all the attention.
Pictures are not allowed in this gallery, so you will have to use your imagination, but there is a semicircle of vignettes displayed. Each vignette is based on a color and is decked out with everything imaginable in that color. You could easily lose yourself for an hour trying to comprehend the items in each vignette. There is no one season or look that is focused on, so the timeless nature of Dior’s designs and their versatility is well-demonstrated. Perfume bottle is juxtaposed with a pillbox hat sporting an outrageous hat pin. Shoes, jewelry, handbags, dresses, capes – literally, you name it, is served up in delicious coordinating hues. It’s truly mind-boggling!
Eventually you will have to shake off your obsession with “Total Looks” and see the next gallery. There’s a section here called “Dallas and Beyond” which highlights memorabilia from Dior’s visits to Dallas and elsewhere. If you have room in your brain to take in more, then this is a good place to soak up some more information about the designer himself. I confess, I’ve merely glazed over it so far. I hope to go back soon and have another stab at details like this. All the galleries have displays full of idea books, videos of fashion shows, swatches of material and other items I really want to know more about, but the brain can only absorb so much at any one time.
Finally, with a guilt-free conscious you can gaze on “Splendors of the 18th Century.” According to the Exhibition Guide, Christian Dior wanted to bring flamboyance back to Paris after the dark days of World War II. His fashion house was decked out in all the glory of Versailles and the pink confection at the beginning of this post is the DMA’s attempt to capture that. It was also a chance to show off one of the DMA’s most gorgeous paintings – The Abduction of Europa by Jean Baptiste Marie Pierre.
The Final Morsel
You’re almost through, as if anyone actually wanted to be. Beside the “Splendors” display is the entry to “Field of Flowers.” This gallery is devoted to all looks floral – a floral dress for every occasion. Samples from all eras of the fashion house are displayed together. Some you will love. Others you will wonder why they bothered. I was particularly impressed with some of the handiwork. When you realized that every bead and ruffle is applied by hand, some of the dresses will blow you away.
I’m planning to revisit the exhibit as often as I can between now and September 1st. So far, hunger is what eventually dragged me out of the exhibit. Maybe next time I’ll eat BEFORE I go, rather than take a turn at the exhibit first. In fact, if you’re panning your visit, eat first. You’ll need your nourishment.
It’s taken three posts just to get you from the entry to the final gallery. To exit you’ll have to make another dash through the fashion show themed hall ways. Then you’ll find yourself on the other side of the small entry area with its red lights and samples of Dior’s Revolutionary new look. If you come back next week, we’ll talk about some of my favorite and not so favorite pieces in the exhibit.
While the rest of the world gets rich and famous with social media, I blog on in anonymity – at least for the most part. I’m famous among my real life friends and on Facebook among my followers, but beyond that it does me little good. However, anyone driven to write, the way I am, needs a place to express themselves, so I blog on. However, from time to time my blogging does get me a few perks. That happened last week.
Dallas Art Fair
If you’ve been paying attention, then you know this is my third post about 2019’s Dallas Art Fair. If not, some details about the main event are here and I also attended an introductory event I described on Monday. Last Thursday morning I reported to the FIG (Fashion Industry Gallery) for the Opening Press Conference. There among other media types, I perused the event’s art offerings and listened to a series of speeches by the designated dignitaries.
One of my favorite parts of the day was wandering around the space with a tag identifying me as “MEDIA.” My thoughts about the media are not always congratulatory, but it’s nice when a lowly blogger like me can be of service.
It meant skipping an MLS meeting, but I felt that was a small price to pay to attend the event as media. Deciding what to wear was a bit of a challenge. I’d been disappointed in my fellow females’ fashion choices the evening before, but encouraged by the men’s sartorial offerings, I pulled out a recent purchase, a long blouse from one of my favorite designers, to pair with leggings and some lacy wedge sandals.
My next challenge was making my way from my almost-rural home in Heath through the morning traffic to Downtown Dallas. That went better than I anticipated, but my hope of parking in the DMA parking lot was dashed. They don’t allow public parking until 10. I parked in the First Baptist lot, so all I had to do was cross the street to The Fashion Industry Gallery at 1807 Ross Avenue.
I was not completely ignorant of the FIG’s existence and I knew it was in close proximity to the DMA, I just had no idea it was right there, nestled between the DMA and the Fairmont. The most prominent feature on the building where I crossed the street was a restaurant. My first guess at a possible entry was a false lead, but I saw someone who looked like they knew where they were going, so I followed. Voila, I had arrived.
I have a sneaky feeling that anyone with chutzpah and a knowledge of the event could have gotten a media pass. I saw them selling tickets at one kiosk, so I went up to the next one, where the lady asked, “Media?” I said, “Jane Sadek, local blogger.” She handed me my anonymous media pass, but it was the key to a weekend of art, so I was glad to get it – in spite of the casual offering underlining I was certainly no VIP.
Inside the Galleries
Then came the pay off for missing the meeting, fighting the traffic and searching out a parking spot – I was in. I had about a half hour before the press conference would begin, so I wandered through the galleries. I’m never sure what to expect from Contemporary Art, but I was happy to discover most of what was exhibited was at least interesting. I found a little of everything, from robots to hand woven rugs. I also found craftsmanship. These weren’t just ideas thrown together for their shock factor. These were works of love, executed with skill and attention to detail. To me, that’s art.
Satisfied the exhibit was worth part of my weekend, I planned to return with fellow art lovers in tow. It was time to make my way to the press conference – which, by the way, was 10 minutes late. Someone had overlooked tagging the first piece of art in the gallery which would provide the backdrop behind the podium.
As I surveyed the room I realized the female sector of the population had resumed their domination of the fashion scene, in contrast to the previous evening’s disappointing turn out. Now, the guys were back to boring and the women were strutting their stuff. I giggled a bit to myself over the “Dallas in Spring” vibe. One woman in a fringed-wool, hounds-tooth micro-miniskirt, paired with turtleneck sweater, teetered over high rise booties. She chatted up a friend in a frilly sundresses over suede boots. A pair of Asian women, speaking a language I didn’t recognize, wore voluminous layers I couldn’t quite identify above comfortable walking shoes. Then the denim skirt with the shell anklet over Adidas joined them. I couldn’t resit taking a few pictures to respond to the rod iron shoes I’d seen in a gallery on the floor above.
A series of dignitaries made speeches at the podium, that’s when I learned I’d seen something cooler than I even realized the evening before. The whole thing is dedicated to the idea of pop-ups and a permanent home for the Dallas Art Fair. With that kind of synergy, I bet it will be a very interesting spot, so put River Bend on you list of things to check out.
On the evening before, I’d wondered about the significance of choosing 214 as the name of a gallery. It certainly wasn’t the suite number. Like the characters in The Purloined Letter, I’d overlooked the obvious – it’s the Dallas area code. Apparently in international art circles it is a familiar number, one to be proud of. That cheered me.
Then I was momentarily taken back to my previous disappointment with idea-over-craft art. As they announced the pieces which the DMA would purchase from the Fair, among the others was an odd, idea-driven installation which I’d seen at 214. To me it looked like a room which was being set up for a presentation of some kind, but the workers weren’t finished. Instead various tripods filled the space and the walls had random video showing on the screens. I peered through the glass plates attached to the tripods, but nothing was gorgeous.
I shook off my disappointment and congratulated the artist in my head for capturing the curator’s attention. Everyone doesn’t have to like something for it to be art. Thankfully, the DMA had purse-strings long enough to wrap around other pieces and many of them were enchanting, even to me.
So, I hope you made it to the event. Thanks to the Dallas Art Fair for expanding my horizons and giving me the opportunity to share the Fair with my friends.
So, on Friday, I begged you to go to the Dallas Art Fair. I hope you did. It certainly loomed large in our weekend. However, the Fair’s Opening Press Conference was actually Chapter Two. Chapter One played out on Wednesday evening. Come along and I’ll tell you all about it.
Out of the Loop
The Dallas Art Fair just had its 11th event and somehow I was completely out of the loop for the first 10. I’ve been busy, but I thought I was paying better attention than that.
However, I love me some Dallas and I take the drive over the I-30 Bridge quite frequently, usually headed down to the Dallas Arts District. My membership in the Dallas Museum of Art has never wavered. I keep my eye out for Nasher events. So, I’m not sure how I became so disconnected with an event like the Dallas Art Fair.
Back in the Loop
While I may not be as plugged in as I used to be, as a regional blogger, some organizations do keep me in the loop. The DMA, the Perot, Preservation Dallas and the Arboretum all have me on speed dial, figuratively speaking. So, when I got an email from the Cultural Counsel inviting me to an artsy thing in the Design District, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. I checked my calendar and then invited the hubby along.
Happy on All Counts
As principals of a real estate photography company, we are always interested in new construction and new developments. We arrived at River Bend eager to find out exactly what was going on in this new addition to the Dallas Design District. At first glance it was comparable to other business/retail spaces all over the Metroplex. The invitation had mentioned “Late Night Gallery Openings, Clare Woods Book Signing, and SOLUNA Performance.” Galleries we understood, but the rest had to be discovered.
The invitation had not mentioned comestibles at all, but a happy Art Fair associate greeted us and pointed us towards the serving lines. Gladly the choices were not limited to cheese cubes and bad chardonnay. Bill tried a local brewery offering from a series of kegs (I’m dieting again, so I was going to wait for the promised mineral water) and then we headed to the buffet line. Caterers were whipping out chicken and pork street tacos, shrimp tostadas and corn-on-the-cob. I loved it all, but that probably had a lot to do with the avocado crema. Bill wasn’t as crazy about the entrees. He doesn’t do avocado and I’m guessing the other offerings were a poor substitute, but he loved the corn. I’d recommend the caterers, but I never found out who they were.
Next stop was a door with a large sign advertising Soluna, the musical portion of Dallas’s Art Month, sponsored by the Dallas Symphony Orchestra. I was there to get a bottle of Topo Chico Mineral Water. The space was devoted to the evening’s audio entertainment, an “Icelandic musician” with “signature trolls”. The music wafted out of the performance space and I could tell it was a little out there for me. Bill ducked his head in and his main complaint was the overuse of volume.
Continuing down the way we visited a couple of gallery spaces. One only had a few pieces and the other seemed more actively devoted to the consumption of Modelo than the presentation of art. It was time to head back in the other direction and see what we could find.
On our way back to the center of things, we focused on the ceramic murals of the exterior walls. A book signing by the murals’ artist was part of the evening’s offerings. Bill wasn’t fond of the mosaics, but I was more pleasantly effected by the thematic river vistas. Returning past the trolls, we happened upon some more gallery space and these spaces seemed to be more serious about the art portion of the event.
Our final stop was the 214 space, which serves as a gallery and as the offices for the Dallas Art Fair. Well-fed and having consumed as much as we could understand concerning the art offerings, we headed home. The next morning, I’d learn more about what I’d been looking at.
A Few Observations
I would be the first to admit that my taste in art leans toward the figurative and peters out some time shortly after the Impressionists. I find many things to like about contemporary artists who continue the figurative and classical traditions in art, however I have not given up completely on the non-figurative and alternate genres. I’m still trying, even if I don’t find myself enchanted. So, I’m not a good person to critique the art we saw that evening.
The people watching was spectacular. I was happy to observe jeans and yoga pants were not the dominating fashion statement. In fact, the gentlemen, rather than the ladies, were setting the bar. Socks were so last century for these guys and all the pants were tight and short.
Winning the award for tightest and shortest were those who wore cuffed pedal pushers. I have no idea of the proper name for these short trousers. We ladies used to call them capri pants, back in the day. But trend-setting short pants weren’t all I noticed. The top halves of these guys were also trendy. Those with longer pants had a sort of khaki/safari vibe to them. My favorite item on the men was a white straw trilby with a florescent orange band.
The women just did not measure up. They seemed more interested in volume than style, like a pair of harem pants in a loud plaid. Other versions of comfort were apparent. The crispest female fashion icon was a sweet young thing in black leather short shorts. Her long legs were shod in high-heeled platforms with an interesting collection of straps. Her other clothing and accessories were black and gold. Her hair was a slick black bob. Kudos to her for appearing to care whether anyone looked at her or not. The rest of the women certainly didn’t indicate whether they cared one way or the other.
Wednesday, we’ll head back to Cancun, then Friday I’ll chat about the press conference. Come back to visit!
Our visit to Chichen Itza was a very long day and there is no way I can cover all of it in one post, so I’ll start with the logistics of the day and we’ll work from there.
Finally Chichen Itza
Though Chichen Itza has always been at the top of my Yucatan Wish List, I didn’t make it either of the other two times we visited the area. Both of our previous visits have been via cruise ship to the port of Progresso and Chichen Itza is significantly inland from there, so we chose more accessible Mayan sites.
The first time we visited the ruins at Dzibilchaltan and it was a particularly enjoyable shore excursion, complete with lunch and a rodeo. The archaeological site was interesting and there was a wonderful museum. Last time we went to Xcampo. It was a smaller site, but still interesting. So, we’re getting pretty knowledgeable about the Mayans, but nothing can prepare you for Chichen Itza. It is both marvelous and horrid.
Up Early& Out Late
The first thing the guidebook I bought warned me about Chichen Itza was to avoid excursions from Cancun, because so much time is spent in transit. Well, I appreciated the advice and understood the reasoning, but this was it. If I didn’t go this time, chances are I might never again get the opportunity.
As we shopped excursions I saw two versions of the trip over and over. Either you had to be on a bus by 4 AM or you left between 7 and 8. The problem I discovered however, was that when you took later tours, you were in Chichen Itza during the hottest part of the afternoon, because all the tours stopped for lunch before going to the site.
Then Sandra Rubio, my travel agent at CTC Travel turned me on to ShoreTrips.com and they had a package called the Chichen Itza Plus. This version of the trip would pick us up between 7 and 8, but we’d go to the site before lunch. SOLD!
Since we were among the first to be picked up, we had to be in the lobby at 7:10. When we got there after a quick visit to the breakfast buffet, they were waiting for us. It was quite the ordeal to get out of town though. The bus they picked us up in was bigger than the airport transport vans, but not as big as the full-sized tour buses. We stopped at several hotels in the smaller bus and then traded to the big bus, but even then we had many more stops to make.
All that driving took a long time, but it was interesting to drive around and see other parts of Cancun. I’d say it was about nine when we finally headed to Cancun. They served a small breakfast – pastries, coffee and orange juice. We were glad we’d hit the resort’s buffet.
The drive to Chichen Itza was about an hour and a half. They stopped off at a shopping opportunity to use the restroom. I was focused on sightseeing, not shopping, so they didn’t get to sell me anything. Another short drive took us to the archaeological site – which I’ll go into in detail later.
After a couple of hours at the site, we went back to the shopping opportunity to have a very nice buffet lunch. In my opinion, they would have gotten a lot more shopping out of me if they’d have let me use the restroom at Chichen Itza and given me shopping time after lunch.
Then, after lunch we made another short drive to Ik Kil Cenote. I’ll also tell you more about that in a later blog, but it was a great way to end the day. Well, the day wasn’t quite over. We still had to drive back to Cancun, which seemed to take forever in the dark.
As we neared Cancun, the lights inside the bus switched on, a recorded version of “Tequila” was played on the loudspeaker and one of our guides had donned a wild get-up that I supposed was intended to be Mayan. They served shots of tequila to anyone who wanted one, but right then it didn’t even sound good to me. I was whupped.
It seemed like midnight when we got to the hotel, but I think it was only about 8:30. Come back next week and I’ll tell you about our time in Chichen Itza.
Three days into my tropical vacation I was finally excited about something. We pooled our resources for a limo (one way only) and headed to Freeport. I was happy to finally be on familiar ground.
We Hit the Sidewalk Shopping
Our limo dropped us off at a shopping area near the casino. Each of us had a list of people to buy for and some cash to spend. This one wanted a watch, someone else was looking for jewelry and I’d heard you could get good deals on porcelain and crystal. My list really just consisted of Mom and Aunt Edie, so I took an interest in what everyone else was looking for and helped them in their search.
When it came to understanding what was a bargain among the luxury items we saw, my friend Debbie actually had a better grasp, but I was the one with a good sense of direction. I was able to maneuver us around the shopping maze with ease. We browsed around all morning and at the end of it, I was able to direct everyone back to the place they’d seen their favorite thing for the best price. I got some Wedgewood pieces for Mom and Aunt Edie. I was going to get my dad a golf cap from the resort. That just about did it.
What’s for Lunch?
We’d heard from somewhere that the best place for lunch was at the Freeport Princess snack bar. Like the shopping area, the Princess was near the casino. I have to confess that when I got there I wished we were staying there rather than out in the boonies. This place was happening. The clientele was very different from the families with 2.5 kids and the college students we had out at the Grand Bahama Hotel.
That’s where we made the love connection. The guy in the solid yellow shirt and bell bottomed jeans was Michael and he was a hunk. It was one of those across a crowded room sort of things. He had a crew of friends and they sorted themselves out among my friends, but Michael and I had energy.
The guy in the white jeans and hat was the organizer of the group. He pointed the conversation towards the guys coming out to see us on our end of the island. Michael and I were happy to go along with whatever anybody else dreamed up as long as it meant our chance encounter would get an opportunity to develop into something.
It was nearing the time we’d arranged for our limo to return and pick us up. The guys planned to borrow a car from somewhere and drive to our end of the island. It seemed like a great plan. After all the disappointments I’d endured so far, it seemed as if my vacation prospects were picking up.
There was giggly girl talk all the way back to the hotel. While Michael and I had been an item from the get-go, the other connections were still pretty loose, so there was a whole lot of bargaining going on. We all agreed on one thing, Michael was the hunk of the bunch and he was all about me.
We had dinner at the buffet and started watching for the guys. Come back next week and see how that went.
There she is! Royal Caribbean’s Vision of the Seas. On our day at sea, we explored many of her charms and suffered a few of her deficiencies. Come along and see how it went.
Up & At ‘Em
First up, the gym! I’m an early riser, so I take advantage of it to get in an hour on a stationary bike. The gym on Vision of the Seas is nice, but quite small. On this morning, pretty much every spot on the equipment was filled.
I got my hour in and headed back to the room via the the buffet. I filled up my soda cup, got Bill some ice water and picked up a few pastries in case Mr. Bill was ravenous.
Breaking Our Fast
We enjoy the luxury of sit down service and convivial company, so we returned to the Aquarius Dining Room for our morning repast. There is no assigned seating, so you get the luck of the draw in table mates. The luck of the draw in food was pretty marginal, especially their sorry excuse for Eggs Benedict.
We ended up at a table with a bunch of round dancers, who were nice, but only interested in their dancing, so we were relieved when a mother and her daughter arrived. After a little chatting we discovered they’d been caught in all the flooding from Harvey and it was interesting to hear about their experiences. They became our new cruise buddies and we enjoyed seeing them several other times during the week.
We went back to the room so Bill could wrangle with his computer and the market. I took a shower and got ready for the day, in part by perusing the Cruise Compass and picking out the good stuff, like the Art Auction
Champagne Art Auction
One of my favorite things at sea are the Park West art auctions. How can you lose if you’re spending your morning looking at art and hearing tidbits about artists and the art world, while you sip free champagne? I’m probably not ever going to be bidding, but it’s relaxing, fun and interesting. Bill doesn’t exactly feel the same way. He’ll attend, probably more for the champagne than the art, but he sits there, giving me a running commentary on the dangers of buying art at sea, just in case I get the urge to lift my bidding card.
Were I to actually bid on something, it would be because I thought it was a pretty picture and I’d enjoy looking at it. Occasionally I’ll say something complimentary about a painting and Bill reacts as if I’m considering purchasing a fake Mona Lisa and he demands to know which wall we’d hang it on. It sort of takes the fun out of the dreaming, but I just shake my head in amusement and have another sip of champagne.
Beyond the champagne, there’s always a free gift of art. This time a 7×7 seriolithograph by Yuval Wolfson. If I had any space on our walls, I could frame it and hang it. Instead it will end up in my scrapbook. There was an extra bonus this time which will also find its way to my scrapbook. To hold the audience’s attention, they also have drawings for Royal Caribbean chotkies, like t-shirts and water bottles. To my amazement I won one of the drawings and I got two lovely 8×10 photos of the ship – one of which is shown above – and which will kick off my scrapbook of this adventure.
Winding Up the Day and Gearing Up for the Night
The auction lasted past the sit down lunch, so we were forced to go back to the Windjammer for a buffet lunch. It was marginally better than the Embarkation Buffet, but that’s not saying much.
Usually we would have explored more of the boat, but on this trip, Bill had to keep an eye on the market, so we went back to our room. I really can’t complain about the relaxation. The room was comfortable, the sea was just outside our window and after catching up on my travel journal I did a little reading.
Come back next week and I’ll tell you about formal night.
Royal Caribbean calls their internet service VOOM and it comes in two flavors – with and without streaming. We call it FAIL in either flavor.
First Impressions Matter
After a disappointing Embarkation Buffet and Sail Away, we were getting worried about out cruise, but the boat was nice, our cabin was fine and we liked our cabin attendant. All was not lost – yet. We’d made a stab at having fun. Now it was time to get down to business. As I shared a few weeks ago, even though he’d tried to offload his business for the few days we’d be gone, it hadn’t worked and Bill was going to have to keep an eye on the market. For that we’d need internet, so we made our way to Deck 5 to do a little business.
Literature I had read suggested there would be an internet cafe somewhere on the boat with free wi-fi. There wasn’t. Perhaps some of the ships have it, but not Vision of the Seas. There were a few computers you could log onto and there was some limited internet access, but if you wanted to check your email forget about it. Doing what Bill wanted to do would have been impossible.
We went to the Customer Service Desk and they said we could just log-in and get internet ourselves or we could see the Internet Desk. Since there were two different packages and he wasn’t sure which one he wanted, he went to the Internet Desk. He also only wanted internet on two of the four days, not the balance of the cruise.
There was no attendant at the Internet Desk, so we cooled our wheels until they came back. When she appeared, Bill really challenged her scripts. Everybody is supposed to want internet for the whole cruise and she didn’t know what to think of Bill. In the end, she also told him how to sign up online, because if she signed him up on his phone,he’d have to log out of the phone and then log back in on the laptop. See when you sign up for internet you only get it for one person on one device – and they mean it.
So we dutifully went down to the room. I finally started unpacking and Bill sat down to log in. Soon I was unpacked and Bill was headed back out of the room, because what had sounded so reasonable at the Internet Desk didn’t work on the laptop in the room. I stayed behind to finish unpacking and to start getting ready for the evening.
When he got back I could tell things did not go well. The VOOM lady had offered to give him a refund when he told her how much trouble he was having. I bet that was an interesting conversation. She quickly got the message that a refund wasn’t going to cut the mustard and soon he was working his way up the food chain to find someone on board who could get him online. They’d finally gotten him operational, but barely. He was one unhappy cruiser.
Obviously, things were not going well on this cruise – and guess what! The disappointments had only just begun. Come back next week and we’ll go investigate a few other shortfalls.
After our five mile stroll from the Four Seasons to The Cecil, Mr. Bill was ready to get to our room and take a nap. He suggested we forego whatever surprise I had in store, but I urged him to hang with me just a few minutes more.
Delighting Alex since 1922
Our balcony at The Cecil gave us a jaw dropping view of the Mediterranean Sea, but it also overlooked a lovely little park that filled the block next to the hotel. In one of my visits to the balcony I’d spied people sitting along the sidewalk on the south side of the park, chatting over coffee and pastries. Delices didn’t mean anything to me, but since they’d been around since 1922, I thought they must be doing something right.
With the front door to the hotel just steps away, I led Bill to my discovery and was he ever happy. The pastry store fronts two different streets and inside is case after case after case of amazing looking pastries. Bill’s desire for his nap disappeared completely as he wandered from case to case trying to decide which treat he would indulge in. After narrowing it down to a few favorites, Bill gave me the final choice for something to share. I chose the the chocolate treat above, of course.
We took our treasure back to the hotel to enjoy and then Bill promptly went down for a nap. I don’t do naps very well, so I used the time the way I usually did – updating my travel journal, catching up on social media (when there is wi-fi), doing a few crossword puzzles and reading.
It had been a long day for Mr. Bill. Museums always tire him and the Bibliotheca Alexandrine had been a humdinger. We’d had our stressful moments with the rogue hantoor driver and that wild taxi ride. Then we’d walked five miles. Quite a day! Even though I don’t usually manage to take a nap, this time I eventually dozed off to sleep.
Late Night Stroll
When we woke up, we both wanted a little something to eat, but not a full meal. Bill wanted ice cream and I reminded him Delices had ice cream. We were out of that room in a flash!
I had on a snakeskin printed lounging set I’d gotten from my Aunt Edie. It’s perfectly acceptable for wearing out in public, even though that’s not something I usually do. I’ll wear it down to breakfast or perhaps put it on when I know we’re going to spend most of the day in the car on a long drive, but it’s not my go-to outfit for a stroll around a big city like Alexandria – especially when a peek outside tells me there are more people out and about than there had been during the day. I suggested I change clothes, but Bill insisted that all we were going to do was pop over to the pastry store. I slid into a pair of canvas espadrilles and threw a windbreaker over my outfit.
Yes, we went right over to Delices. Both of us got some ice cream. Even though that’s not my usual snack, an ice cream cone sounded fun for our late night adventure. However, we did not immediately head back to the room.
Bill led me off down a side street full of action. All the stores were open and the sidewalks were lined with pop-up vendors. You could buy anything from toilet paper to an engagement ring along the street. Crowds of natives wove between the stalls and the stores, laughing, talking and occasionally making a purchase.
I’d had a moment’s hesitation when Bill veered into the side street. It was late. I wasn’t dressed right. I didn’t know if it was safe. I could have made all kinds of excuses to scurry back to the hotel, but I’m glad we didn’t. We got a look at the real Alex without any tourists (besides ourselves) in sight.
Water is a constant challenge in Egypt. There’s the need to stay hydrated in the desert sun and heat, but you can’t drink anything out of the tap. To meet this challenge every other store sells bottled water and on every block there’s a rickety wooden stand staffed by a burka-ed grandmother. We opted for the grandmother every time that we could. On our way back to the hotel we visited the grandmother we’d chosen to be our vendor in Alex. We also bought a Coke Zero from her so we could enjoy a little of my nephew’s bourbon.
A sweet ending to an exciting day. I’ll leave you with one final photo. More museums are in store for next week. Come back and visit me then.