the avid cruiser

With deck chairs and lounges like these, it's tempting not to leave Regatta, docked today in Oporto, Portugal.

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Sunday morning and Regatta has arrived on schedule in Oporto, Portugal. Yesterday, was a relaxing sea day. We've had two of those so far on this itinerary, with more to come. Many passengers have told me that they chose this particular sailing because of the itinerary, not only the ports of call but also for the fact that the port calls are pleasantly punctuated by the sea days. Oceania cruisers, in general, are people who appreciate the cruise line's destination-intensity. Regatta, for example, typically arrives early in port and leaves late. As a pediatrician from New Orleans told me, "Our routine is to get off the ship early, do our tours, come back to the ship, have a nice dinner and crash on the pillows." I've found that to be pretty much the norm. The passengers on this cruise are people who want to extract as much as they can from the destinations while Regatta is in port. Thus, Oceania's passengers aren't just cruisers. They are destination-seekers.

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In addition to a variety of flavors of ice cream and sorbet, milk shakes, malts and smoothies are served at no extra charge on Regatta.

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Regatta has done something that few other ships have done. She squeezed behind the breakwater and dispatched her guests into St. Jean de Luz.

From my table here in the square "Place Louis XIV," I am witness to a scene so lovely that it engages the aesthetic sensitivity of the soul.

Locals outnumber tourists; Spanish mixes with French. On the border between two countries, we are in the land of the Basques.

The square is encircled by plane trees (think sycamores) and cafes. Aproned waiters sashay between tables with trays of wine, beer, coffee and water.

A church bell rings, a boy rides his bike, white-haired ladies sit on a bench, one clutching the leash of her white miniature poodle, the pooch's hair matching hers.

An obese man in a wheelchair sits at a table with friends. Tanned and with bushy white brows, he sips a beer while talking and gently gesturing with his hands. The sun illuminates his kind face; his friendly demeanor infects those nearby. Apparently he is well known in the village, as many people stop to talk to him. Standing, they bend, supporting their bodies with hands on their thighs. The heavy man listens, then speaks, gesturing carefully so as to not to spill the beer that his wife allows him. I say this because it appears that she is his caretaker. The blue bathrobe he is wearing and a flotation device tied to his wheelchair suggests they've just come from a therapeutic swim. A good heart gone bad?

The pleasant scene is disturbed by a boy who crashes to the pavement while running. He screams; his mother comes to the rescue. The church bells chime again. An hour has passed with no consequence.

If I cupped my hands, I could scoop up a handful of the sunlight filtering through the plane trees and stick it in my pocket. To capture the light's tangible texture on canvas, artists poise at their easels. I too try to make the afternoon indelible.

Time has little relevance here, except for 7:30 p.m. I half think of missing the last tender. Would that be so bad?

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Today Regatta is anchored behind the breakwater in St. Jean de Luz. Situated in Basque country, near France's border with Spain, St. Jean de Luz is an exquisitely lovely town that relatively few cruise passengers get to see. Pity. Aside from the town itself, the region serves up much of interest. Tours are offered to Bilbao's Guggenheim Museum, to Biarritz, Pamplona and various Basque villages. Then there's the gorgeous stretch of beach for those who only want to 'bask' in the September sun. Certainly, part of the appeal of small-ship cruising is the ability to visit destinations that the big ships can't reach, beyond the breakwater and far from the crowds.

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When I disembark Regatta a couple of pounds from today (that would be Tuesday), I have a trifling travel challenge. Regatta ties up in Cadiz, Spain, and I need to get to Wind Surf, which is in Monte Carlo. I could fly - if I were rich. A one-way flight would set me back several hundred euros. But even if I won the lottery, I would likely travel by train. And why not? Air travel has lost all sense of joy, while train travel still romances the traveler. This past summer, I nearly always chose train over plane when going to Stockholm from southern Sweden. The five-hour rail journey took less time (collectively), and doled out far less frustration, than the hurry-wait-hurry-wait, take-off-your-belt, remove-your-shoes, laptop-please, liquids-too procedure to board the plane and contort myself (I'm 6'5") into what the airlines sentimentally refer to as a seat. I refer to it as a remnant of the Spanish Inquisition. When SAS dangled doilies reading "Reserved for Comfort" over headrests in business class on their intra-Europe jets, I applauded the airline's attempt to clarify what the other 95 percent of the seats were designed for. And so I go by train. It will be quite an adventure from Cadiz, because although Spanish rail's website is quite good, I still haven't sorted out the logistics or price of the journey (the cross-border planning is challenging.)That's why I am calling on savvy travelers to come to the rescue, should anyone have a suggested itinerary or a relative with a private jet, a few extra days on his hands and a desire to see Monte Carlo. But alas, it is my challenge and no one else's. I actually look forward to it. While I am uncertain of what is ahead, I am confident in one thing: Adventure awaits. After all, perfectly planned trips don't always result in the most memorable ones.

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There is no picture from my day that would give further justification to the proclamation my ex-wife inevitably put forth each time I called her from some breath-taking place: "You want to live in every place you visit," she rightly accused. That occupational hazard was indeed present on this idyllic September day in Bordeaux, a city that has left me, and certainly others cruising with Regatta, euphoric and enthused. The easy life of the French, the fact that they embody le joie de vivre, their aesthetic appreciation of everything (flowers, parks, even croissants) conspired to create a vow-I'll-come-back mood as I walked back to the ship. We depart at nine tonight, but a part of me stays behind. I would rather live here than leave here. Is Bordeaux France's most beautiful city? It was today.

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A crescent moon hangs over the rosy stroke-of-lipstick horizon that crowns the French city of Bordeaux. I am seated on the 10th floor at a window table at an elegant Italian restaurant. The view is stunning; the cuisine is "ooh la la" delicious. This could just be Bordeaux's best Italian restaurant. Unfortunately for the locals, it leaves town tomorrow. Toscana is to Regatta what Harry's is to Venice. The photo above is of Chocolate Lasagne (trust me, it's delish) with homemade biscotti in the background and of course, a glass of limoncello. What's more to love: No additional charge to dine at Toscana, serving Bordeaux's best Italian, tonight only.

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Died and gone to heaven? Only 30 minutes from Bordeaux, Saint-Emilion is not only a wine-producing but also a beautiful village. "People here believed that the wine alone was enough to make the village famous," says our guide, Isabelle Auzely. "They took it for granted that their village was also very beautiful, and that hasn't been widely communicated." Saint-Emilion has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1999.

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Oceania's Regatta is docked city center overnight in Bordeaux. Yes, awash in sunshine, Bordeaux is beautiful. Back on the ship, Regatta is delivering a top-notch experience. Though priced much lower than the luxury lines, Oceania provides a near-luxury experience, albeit with smaller staterooms and bathrooms and fewer inclusives, such as alcohol, prepaid gratuities and as on the ships of sister company Regent, shore excursions. There's even a charge for soft drinks for now. Spring of 2010 will reportedly usher in free soft drinks and bottled water. Food is as good as I've had on any ship, especially the specialty restaurants Toscana and its wheel of Parmigianno Reggiano the size of a Ferrari tire, and Polo, with USDA prime beef prepared to perfection. Internet, however, is so mired-in-the-mud slow that is rendered nearly non-functional for me. An anomaly perhaps. Meantime, I'll rely on my trusty Blackberry and cheaper-than-dirt access at internet cafes ashore, even in France. Blackberry's picture quality is nothing to email home about (apologies for the pun and for the photos), but I'm doing the best I can. In a coming post, why Oceania spends five times what it need to on flour and why it matters to you.

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