Captain’s Log: Stardate 2023.02.12.9:55.
Second day aboard the MV Grimaldi.
The City of Brindisi. A little rough around the edges, though it retains a certain old world charm.
And with its deep harbor,
it accommodates vessels from many lands.
Strange it is, the custom of the city’s inhabitants to disappear in the afternoon. Mr. SPack informed me that it’s an everyday occurrence. From 2:00 until 5:00 nearly all businesses are shuttered.
I wish he would have educated me ahead of time. If I’d known, I would have taken lunch on the Grimaldi, coming to shore an hour or two later. But I hold no ill will for the dear man. We often learn of these things only upon disembarking.
Good that it is that we have our devices. Walking about in the chill of the afternoon, I thought to inquire of it. “Scorpius. Please provide directions to the nearest open restaurant.” Scorpius never ceases to amaze me. Its speed and acumen nearly that of Mr. SPack’s.
Within minutes, we’d arrived at Ristorante di Giublio. After what was quite a steep ascent up the single flight of stairs (if Scotty had been there, he would have beamed us up) we were greeted by Mr. Giublio himself. Quite an affable gentleman, he seated us in a pleasant corner, well across the room from a family with, should I say, one very exuberant child.
Unfamiliar with the menu, or its listings, we sought from Mr. Giublio a recommendation.
“Ovviamente. La Mia preferenza e Grandma’s Orecchiette With Fresh Sauce, Cacioricotta Cheese and Meatballs.
It was, how should I say, fantastica. Only later did Mr. Giublio share that the recipe is a family secret, formulated by his own grandmother.
After a most leisurely meal,
the wine as good as any we’d had for sometime, we prepared to leave. Bidding our goodbyes, I inquired of Mr. Giublio if it would be a busy evening. In so many words, he replied that Saturday nights usually are, but that night would be quite slow.
“It’s the finals of Sanremo, our country’s national voice contest. Everyone will be in front of the television.”
Descending the stairs, I directed Mr. SPack to inform me of the results as soon as they were available.
We arrived back at the Grimaldi well after dark,
just as the loading had concluded.
At 10:00 to the minute we cast off, leaving behind a city which I hope to return to in my later years.
Mr. SPack informed me that a return would likely never occur.
I think the world of Mr. SPack, but his total lack of romantic sentiment can be off putting. Nevertheless, I will dream.
Our passage was smooth through the night and into the early morning. With little to occupy my time, I detained Mr. SPack to educate me on the land of our destination.
“It has quite a history, Captain. A noble people have resided there for untold generations. They speak a strange language, however, and have a strange alphabet. I suggest you spend time familiarizing yourself.”
With that, he activated my monitor and directed me to the basics.
For the next while, before dozing, I did my best. But it was all Greek to me.
Sometime later I was roused. Mr. SPack, of course. The man never sleeps. Pointing to the map on the prompter, he informed me of our present location.
At approximately 15:00 we would arrive at Patras, an ancient outpost on the western frontier.
Soon after, signs of daylight appeared.
Mr. SPack and I, as is our practice, then made rounds,
determining all was shipshape.
Looking out to sea I reflected, as I tend to do at that hour,
and recalled the words of my great great great grandfather, Ole Hansen.
“The Sea is the Mother. Though a harsh disciplinarian at times, she is the lover of us all.
I never met Grandpa Ole, but he’s the reason I got into this business.
Addendum To Captain’s Log:
Commentaires