Travel experiences: Italy

Milan Misadventures

Giorgio Armani and me, we don’t often cross paths. Tina Turner sends him a panther every Christmas; I watch Peterborough Panthers speedway team occasionally. He’s got an estimated fortune of 4 billion; until recently I spent Friday nights sitting on a Tesco till. As he sat in his mansion, I was hunting down my 13.50-per-night hostel.

After a day spent investigating the Duomo cathedral, I sought some less sophisticated entertainment; there’s only so much refinement you can stand on a Saturday afternoon. Even though Milan is a destination known for fashion, style and elegance, these were far from my mind when entering a pub imaginatively named The Football Bar’ to watch some British sport after a day of continental culture.

With Six Nations rugby on TV, I grabbed the last remaining table. A few lads wandered in, briefcases in tow, fresh from a conference. I offered seats, and was soon explaining the morals behind England fielding a Tonga-born former New Zealand international in a match against Wales, to a Scotsman, an Australian and an Italian. This seemed to go down well, the suits suitably impressed with my passable sporting knowledge.

They were interested enough to keep the drinks coming my way, and convinced me – through the persuasive power of Peroni – to join them for dinner. With only 15 Euros in my wallet, thankfully they were picking up the tab. I felt slightly out of place as champagne and lobster began to be served. Finally, I asked: “So what exactly is it you do?” Turns out I was in the midst of 16 international law firm partners, which came in handy when the bill reached two grand.

I thought it was time to depart, only to find I was on the guest list at “some club or other.” This was Armani Prive, Giorgio’s private nightclub, noted by theworldsfinestclubs.com for its “exclusive, luxurious atmosphere of personal expression.” My personal expression was crazed bewilderment, being the only non-millionaire/supermodel inside, dressed more H&M than D&G.

Realising the best way of fitting in with my newfound friends was a combination of polite nodding and gratuitous leering, I exited at 4am. But, unbeknown to me, the paparazzi were waiting. As they snapped away I considered a Bjork-esque attack on them for daring invade my privacy. Instead, I made my way to the hostel, reminiscing about my night of glamour before reality hit in the form of stale-bread for breakfast.

Travel experiences: Muscat, Oman

Muscat, Oman.

February 21-23, 2008

Our weekend in Muscat, Oman, got off to a good start and never looked back. Passing through passport control, a young kiwi guy, Andrew, overheard us talking. “You guys kiwis as well?” Turns out he runs most of the restaurants my boyfriend Ben and I frequent in Abu Dhabi. Common ground cemented, he skipped us through the fee paying visa line, overriding the fierce border control team with a raised hand and “New Zealanders, no visa”. Apparently us and the Australians are the only nationalities that don’t need them. If you march though the airport with the air of complete control and assurance he did, everyone assumes you know what you’re up to. We had no idea.

Once through customs with ease, two smiling Omani men welcomed us with a banner and airport transfer. As we piled into yet another foreign taxi (the only way to travel in the Middle East it seems, although in the transition from camel to car they seem to have omitted the necessity of seatbelts and road rules), these two Omani guys cranked up some Arabic hip-hop. Our handy airport transfer was probably a good excuse for them to hit the road. Though clad in the traditional ankle length robes and embroidered caps, young men in Oman seem not to be such a far cry from young men in New Zealand. “Welcome to Oman!” (Ok maybe they have more manners.) “First time? Oman is very good!”

The Coral Muscat, where we stayed, is a real treat. Shaped to resemble a ship, the interior is clad in navy theme, the porter delivering our suitcase in his sailor outfit. All aboard!

The following morning we began to make our way through a list of recommended local must sees’. Our friend from the airport, Andrew, had also given us the name of his taxi driver, Sultan. He was expecting our call. “Mr Bin?” (How Ben sounds with our New Zealand accent.) “Yes! Mr Sultan?” There was no need for small chat; any friend of Mr Andrew’s was a friend of Mr Sultan’s!

Ten minutes later, our dark skinned personal driver was at our service, white teeth flashing occasionally as he grinned en route to Kaargen, a highly recommended local caf. Only thing was, we hadn’t counted on it being Friday – holy day. In a Muslim country, a holy day really is that everything shuts, no-one works and the city disperses to spend the day at one of the many mosques. Everything is closed until nightfall, including, as we discovered, Kargeen. We stared hopelessly at each other, stomachs grumbling noisily. Now what?!

Travel experiences: Cruising the South Pacific

Orange ants swarm over my toes, tiny crabs fight each other for shells, and in the water a slim sea snake swims lazily towards us. The sun is shining, a warm breeze gently blows, and all along the beach people chatter happily. This is paradise. Paradise Cove, that is a pretty beach 20-odd minutes by boat from Vila, Vanuatu’s capital.

I’m on a 12-day cruise on Pacific Star, the latest ship in P&O’s Australasian fleet. With 11 decks and room for 1350 passengers, Pacific Star is a small cruise ship by today’s standards, but to me it is perfect.

In Auckland, Pacific Star sits serenely at Princess Wharf, awaiting her passengers like a queen waiting to greet her subjects. Stepping on board, I watch the city lights recede as we set sail. Gentle rocking wakes me the next morning, and it’s a strange feeling to step outside and see nothing but ocean.

It’s two days straight sailing to our first stop, Vanuatu’s Mystery Island, but Pacific Star’s entertainment staff, under Kiwi cruise director Michael Whitmore, do a marvellous job of keeping everyone occupied. Passengers are spoilt for choice with a range of restaurants, shops, a gym and several bars on board. The Duke Piano Bar rapidly becomes my favourite. The friendly Filipino bartenders, who know my name and always greet me with a smile, keep me entertained with various bar tricks and juggling.

All the ship’s staff seem to enjoy their work, and passengers are treated like royalty. According to Captain Lorenzo Paoletti, Pacific Star has 549 staff from 24 nationalities, and the camaraderie among them helps make the trip memorable. Their happiness is infectious, and it creates a great atmosphere.

We arrive in Vanuatu early on a Wednesday morning, and the rain which has been threatening hits soon after we’re ferried from the ship to Mystery Island. I’m determined to enjoy it anyway, and I splash around the island’s market, which sells a range of bright sarongs, bags, hats and other goodies.

Later, sitting beside the ship’s pool drinking cocktails with new friends as we sail into the sunset, I think this is exactly how I imagined a cruise would be.

Vila, renowned as one of the South Pacific’s best shopping spots, is the second stop on the trip. We leave the ship early and join a sail and snorkel tour, which takes us to the aforementioned Paradise Cove. The clear turquoise water is brilliant for snorkelling and fish in every imaginable colour are there in abundance.

Later, one of the tour staff leads us through