baked brown under the italian sun
dust of pompei
limoncello and fresh mozzarella
tears echoing in the sistine chapel
sticky gelato and red wine
walking through history and dreams

The cruise: Celebrity Silhouette; Spain & Italian Mediterranean July 30 – August 13

How I became an art collector

My first cruise was with an unlikely companion and one that continues to shock people, to my absolute delight: Steve, a wonderful English teacher and now ex-coworker and friend of mine, who happens to be around my mom’s age. We had interacted minimally before this opportunity came up, but how could I say no when he had an extra, free ticket for a two-week cruise to the Mediterranean? First cruise and first time in Italy, with someone I was sure I’d get along with—there was no way I was passing that up.

And thank god I didn’t. 

Park West Gallery was the beneficiary of this trip; Steve won the cruise tickets through the gallery, where he buys his art. He warned me that there were either cocktail parties or auctions (both for the purpose of selling more artwork) just about every day of the cruise, but that I didn’t have to go to them. I went to every damn one and enjoyed myself more than I thought I would.

I mean, it was an open bar, it was pretty much impossible NOT to enjoy myself. Plus the gallery paid for a drink package for everyone, so the drinks were endless. Which was good and bad, because the first piece of art I bought was under the influence of a couple mimosas, and the second was the result of three rum punches. I’ll be paying those off for the next two years (unless I win the lottery) and I won’t have them in my possession until then, but I can’t say I regret my decisions. The rush of bidding itself is enough to keep my regret at bay. And it didn’t hurt that everyone was congratulating me on my first auction experience.

Copious amounts of alcohol aside, there were so many history lessons during the cocktail parties and the auctions. Sometimes I was bored out of my mind, but sometimes I was fascinated by art facts I didn’t know. I didn’t expect to learn so much on a cruise but it was a welcome surprise.

Meeting famous artists

The best part, though, was meeting the guest artists. I met Daniel Wall and his 15-year-old daughter Sarah, both unique, amazing artists. I sat with Sarah at dinner one night and kept her company. She said it was difficult for her to present her art to a group of adults, but I thought she was a natural and was composed and sophisticated in a way that not many 15-year-olds are. It was special to be a comforting, younger person for her to connect with.

I met James Coleman, famous for his work in Disney movies, including “Beauty and the Beast” (my favorite), “The Black Cauldron”, “The Rescuers Down Under” and many others! His was the first piece of artwork I bought. He’s equal parts talented, friendly, and funny. And so incredibly humble; he said to us “I got to a place where I started to wonder if my art was influencing Disney, or if Disney was influencing my art.” The auctioneer, Will, responded with “Without a doubt, you influenced Disney,” and it was such a wild thing to hear James even question that, while I was surrounded by his gentle, soul-stirring, heart-warming artwork.

I met Viktor Shvaiko and his wife Valentina, both of whom I ended up dancing the night away with on the last few nights of the cruise. This is the artist who convinced me to hike up the Rock of Gibraltar with him, an avid hiker and a man who in the late 80s trekked through the woods of Russia for weeks by himself and who also journeyed on foot from Yugoslavia to Italy. 

I look back on the relationship I formed with them, how easy it was, how full of life and joy they were, and it just feels so surreal that they chose me to spend their time with. Me, someone less-than-extraordinary, someone who has barely seen the world or experienced its brutal hardships, someone who’s young enough to be their child. But they did choose me and I will forever be honored by that decision, and I will never forget the moments I shared with them.

Italia e amici

It’s safe to say I was the only 22-year-old in the Park West Gallery group, but Steve and I managed to make friends with two couples on the first night!

Marian and Greg, and Cheryl and Andy. Four of the best people we could’ve chosen to sit with during dinner that first night. Fate is a funny thing. God, the laughs we shared together and the stories they told, the advice they gave me…I don’t think a day passes that I don’t think about them. They’re old enough to be my parents but they truly became great friends.

Andy was the comedian of our group and regaled us with stories that had us laughing our asses off, until tears were streaming from our eyes. Marian taught me about “STD” (not at all what you’re thinking). Greg taught me about red wine and about pivotal moments in life, how each human only has three to five of those moments and how I need to always be aware and not miss mine when they come for me. He thinks I’m going to find my person soon and that it will be one of my pivotal moments. Cheryl and Marian gave me advice on how I can fulfill my dream of traveling and writing. 

I happened to book the same excursion for Pisa and Florence, Italy (Firenze, I learned is the Italian name for Florence) that Marian and Greg did, before I met them—talk about fate! We saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa and Greg bought me my first Italian cappuccino. We marveled at the architecture in Florence, and we enjoyed not one but two gelatos. I sat between them as we ate a group lunch that included two types of pasta: ragú, which in Italy is the name of their meat sauce, and pesto. Dessert was biscotti, also called cantuccini, and sherry. It felt like I’d known them my whole life.

Steve booked most of the same excursions I did. I tried my first gelato with him in Sorrento, where we also went to a local farm and enjoyed fresh mozzarella, white wine, bread, olive oil, and limoncello, all made from products grown or made on the farm. We saw hybrid trees with lemons and oranges growing from their branches, the doings of humans from years and years ago. I brought home orange marmalade, lemon-infused olive oil, and of course limoncello.

We sunned ourselves in Sardinia—well, I sunned myself off and on while Steve stayed in the shade— where the sun was brutal but the water was gorgeous. We walked through the ruins of Pompei, where I learned it’s spelled with one ‘i’, where I learned that many Pompeians were actually able to escape before the eruption choked them out with gasses and ash, and where we walked the dust-covered cobblestones in between buildings that were resurrected from the ashes. I saw Mount Vesuvius and tried to imagine what it would have felt like to be there in 79 CE.  And then I took pictures in front of it, naturally. I also learned that Herculaneum was another city destroyed by the eruption, one much less talked about and one that I plan to visit someday.

Park West paid for us all to go on a VIP excursion in Rome, which included a tour of the villas of the popes and their serene private gardens in Castel Gandolfo. Then we saw the Sistine Chapel, and even if we had been able to speak I don’t think I could’ve come up with any words to convey the majesty of Michelangelo’s work. It was vast and detailed and beautiful, so much bigger than I thought. More emotional, too. Pictures are forbidden, but mere photos wouldn’t do the artwork justice anyway. St. Peter’s Basilica was rich with deep, warm tones and impressive artwork. You don’t need to be religious to appreciate the artistry in these holy places.

What I found at the top of the Rock of Gibraltar

Italy wasn’t the only country we visited; Spain, France, and Gibraltar were each one-day stops. I went alone to Spain and France, and the tours I chose weren’t as exciting as the others, so it was harder for me to enjoy myself. In fact, I might as well come out and say that for the most part I barely enjoyed myself, but that only makes me want to go back again and do it right next time.

Gibraltar, though…

The original plan was that me, Steve, Cheryl, Andy, Marian, and Greg were going to leisurely stroll through the streets and grab some fish n’ chips and beer. Actually, the original original plan was the excursion I’d bought to go up the Rock of Gibraltar with a tour group. But I’ll be honest, I was tired from dancing late the night before, I was hungover, and I wanted to hang out with my pals. So I skipped the excursion, drank a cappuccino for breakfast, and walked off the ship with everyone.

How did I end up at the top of the Rock of Gibraltar surrounded by friendly apes, you ask me? Well, not five minutes into our walk, Viktor and Valentina call out from behind us and suddenly they’re walking with us, having debarked the ship not far behind us. Fifteen minutes later and we’ve lost Cheryl and Andy.  Five minutes after that I am walking alone with Viktor and Valentina at a much faster clip than “leisurely.” Ten minutes and I realize that the ground is getting steeper, and it didn’t take long after that to realize that holy shit, we are going to climb all the way to the top of the damn rock.

I could’ve turned back many times. Once I figured out what was going on, all I had to do was turn around and head straight back to find Steve and everyone else. But I didn’t, and then we took too many turns and the crowds fell away and then it was like I had no choice.

No water, nothing in my stomach except coffee and mild nausea, no snacks. Valentina was so kind and we paused a handful of times on the way up, taking sips from Viktor’s half-filled water bottle. Halfway up, I considered stopping. I thought I was going to puke, pass out, fall off the edge, or all three. But somehow, I found it in me to keep going.

We were almost at the very top when we saw the first monkeys, called barbary macaques, Europe’s only wild monkey population. They were fascinating, and I almost cried when I saw the first one. I think it was a mixture of relief seeing that we were almost done, but also immense pride for myself and how I pushed my body to get to the top. And to see that it was worth it, to see what I would have missed if I had stopped halfway, if I had turned back at the beginning, had me overcome with emotions. So, so much joy and elation.

Those monkeys were EVERYWHERE. I almost bumped into so many of them, but they stood so close and weren’t afraid of anything. I, on the other hand, was afraid they would try to steal my phone while I took pictures or that they would pull down my pants or something (I’d heard some stories). But they left me alone as I stood there marveling at their existence on this rock in the UK, of all places. 

I learned a lot about myself from this experience. I can overcome mental and physical blocks and I can push myself further than I thought I could go. I realized that if Viktor had faith in me to keep going when I told him I was out of shape, when he was barely winded and yards ahead of us—if this artist who I’d just met the day before could have that faith in me, then why couldn’t I have that kind of faith in myself?

My legs shook from exertion all the way down, but the smile didn’t leave my face for a long time.

Cruisin’

As for the cruise itself, it was an incredible experience. The staff was friendly and the food was delicious. I did develop a little crush on one of the sweetest waiters ever named Nezdad. 

I tried escargot at Andy’s request, and ended up ordering it for myself the next night, to my utter shock and surprise.

Gede and Elrico were my drink guys and always had a mimosa or champagne ready for me at every art event.

Steve and I went to a few of the many musical performances held on the ship, and if we weren’t doing that we were hanging out at the martini bar.

There was a nightclub on the highest level of the ship and I participated in silent discos on multiple occasions, which I highly recommend. Unfortunately I couldn’t convince Steve to join me (maybe next time, Steve).

Our last night on the cruise, they had one last silent disco. When I walked in and put my headphones on, “Human” by The Killers was playing. I’ve since added it to my playlist, and every time I listen to that song, all I see are the strobe lights as I walked into the Sky Lounge, people dancing and singing to different songs, their headphones lit up red and green and blue. It felt like a movie scene, really.

Seeing is believing

I couldn’t feel the full impact of how tilted the Tower of Pisa was until I saw it with my own eyes. Walking in the grooves of the streets where horse-drawn carriages used to roll by every day proved that Pompei existed and isn’t just a story, the way it sometimes feels. 

Hearing Cheryl and Andy talk about how often they travel and how they are happy with no children showed me that despite what so many other people think and what they like to tell me, it’s okay to not want kids, and in numerous ways it’s better.

Watching Marian and Greg on the dance floor having the time of their lives, so in love with each other, showed me that it’s out there. That not every relationship goes sour, that true love does exist and that I can have something beautiful like that one day.

This experience was hard to let go of, and maybe that’s why I’ve taken so long to write about it. I came home with post-trip depression. It was a sadness that ached in my chest, knowing that I can go on a hundred more cruises and trips around the world but they won’t be the same as this one. There will be different people and different places, different journeys—ones that I’m excited for—but I mourned that this one had to end.

I suppose I’m finally writing the eulogy for this trip, but it’s not a funeral; it’s a celebration of life.

Being ALIVE

I felt how alive I could be when I stood in front of hundreds of pieces of art in the span of two weeks, and bought two.

I felt how alive I could be when I trekked up the Rock of Gibraltar with an artist and his wife with only a coffee in my stomach and a shared bottle of water half full, not half empty.

I felt how alive I could be when I sat drunk on the top deck of the ship smoking a cigarette with strangers.

I felt how alive I could be when I danced with strangers who became friends, when my skin pooled with sweat on the beaches of Sardinia, when I cried in the Sistine Chapel, when I drank Italian red wine, when I had a cappuccino by the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

I felt how alive I could be when I let myself live.