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And,
as it is all over the Mediterranean, at six in the afternoon, or
even seven-thirty, the shops don’t seem very busy if busy
at all. One of the guests on the boat asked a shopkeeper how
long they stayed open (this was at almost eight o’clock).
She laughed and shrugged: “oh, as long as we think ...
maybe eleven, maybe later.”
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The
big boys on Thurs morning |
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Big
boys not so big
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On our only
night there, we decided to go out to dinner rather than eat on
board – although
the chef’s fare is extraordinary; she outdoes herself every day. We booked
a table for eight at eight, at a lovely fish restaurant at the foot of the bay,
adjacent to the main building, with an open terrace on the water. Crisply picturesque:
red tablecloths, candles, a low-slung thatch-like roof, red tile floors; kind
of rustic Mediterranean with Villeroy and Boch plates made for Michel Rostang
for place settings along with crystal and lantern candles. Small menu which included
a pasta and a risotto and a large buffet, a combination of vegetables and seafood.
It was a beautiful night for dining on the water, and within earshot and purview
were the sun-tanned visiting throng at the center nearby. The service was excellent
and the food did not compare to what we were used to from Wendy,
our American chef on the Big Eagle. But then, we figured, what could?
We finished up about ten. The
sun had finally gone down and the crowds seemed to materialize
out of nowhere — all those villas in the hills, the guests
at the hotel. We were only several hundred yards from the dock,
a very short walk back to the boat. By this time, the crowds
were making the promenade also. For it is a tradition at these
ports that everyone takes a leisurely stroll along the waterside
and views the yachts, backed up to the dock as they are, lighted
and ready for life.
In my book it’s called ogling and gawking. People stopping and standing
in front of each ship, watching the passengers and the crew go about their business
and their life, as if on display in a shop window. It’s the curiosity-seeker’s
dream come true, for no one – and I mean no one – has any
compunction about staring into everyone’s boat. They just stop, and stare.
And ogle and gawk. While those on the boats go about their business – having
their meals, leisurely taking the night air, chatting, drinking, whatever, as
if no one is there. |
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The Big
Eagle, second from the left
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It
is fun, that’s for sure, since no one feels the slightest
bit self-conscious
about it. Well, not no one. I felt slightly self-conscious. Although
I got over it in no time. The main attraction on this night, however, was the
biggest boat which was parked at end of the quay — the gigantic Montkaj,
said to be owned by some Arabs — about 220 feet long, with four decks and
a tender about 100 feet long.
Clearly the
star of the yacht basin, you couldn’t just stand and look
in
this honey, however, because the Montkaj had a white sheet covering
the midsection of its rear deck to avoid such impositions of the hoi-polloi.
It also had a couple of security guards (besides the crew) standing guard. Nevertheless,
you could kind of look around the white sheeted obstruction and sort of see
(not much) inside. By ten thirty, there were probably forty or fifty people gathered
on the macadam, just standing there, as if waiting for a celebrity to appear.
In fact, I was beginning to wonder if one would. Sharon Stone,
anybody? Elvis?
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Early
Thursday morning in Porto Cervo
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America's
future, the Smart Car
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Letting
go
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Then
by eleven there were three Mercedes, two sedans and a convertible,
as well as an Escalade with tinted windows, lined up on the quay
also, as if waiting for someone to appear. Finally several individuals
emerged from inside the ship, all rather innocuous looking, getting
into their sleek cars (the Escalade was for the bodyguards) and
driving way. Not very far, no doubt, as the hotel is only several
hundred yards across the parking lot.
I finally went into the main saloon to go onto the Internet and check my email.
By midnight the crowds on the dockside had grown, milling about, stopping and
staring, moving on, eventually congregating down by the Big One, waiting for
whatever and what-all. I went to bed.
Thursday
morning, it was overcast and foggy. We were leaving
by nine and so I got up early to be sure of getting a picture of
the lineup. The parking lot was empty and the gawkers had long
ago gone home. There were a few cars in the lot including a black
SmartCar with a red parking ticket on its windshield. This is the
car of the future, at least in New York; that’s my prediction.
By nine we were all aboard and on the upper deck watching the Big
Eagle being precisely maneuvered by Captain Ed out
into the harbor and back out to sea to continue our voyage of stupendous
leisure and luxury, heading south. |
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