On this much we agreed: The Mediterranean, with its history, art, architecture, and cuisine, was our top vacation destination choice. But when my travel buddy, David, and I started discussing specifics, we couldn’t decide between a Roman holiday or a Greek islands getaway.

I voted for Italy. After all, my grandfather was named Rocco Guida; my great-grandmother, Antoinette SantoPietro. I grew up with ravioli on Christmas and spaghetti every Sunday, and I figured it was high time I met my paisanos. David had other ideas. A coworker bearing a tan, photos from the Greek islands, and licorice-flavored ouzo had told him about the enchanting whitewashed homes with charming blue doors and stunning beaches. How to choose?

The answer turned out to be easy: a Mediterranean cruise. Sure, it would be a whirlwind tour, covering six world-class destinations in a week. Although we’d have less than a day to spend in each port, we knew the trip wouldn’t feel chaotic—we’d simply check into our stateroom and let the boat deposit us at each of the marvelous cities. No packing and unpacking bags, no checking in and out of hotels, and no worries about finding our way around foreign freeways. And there’s nothing better than watching the world sail by, listening to the waves’ bedtime lullabies, or waking to ocean views.

On board our primary duties would consist of hanging around the pool or spa, and come nighttime, deciding whether we were in the mood for karaoke, gambling, or a show. On shore we could choose between spending time on our own or, for an extra charge, signing up for structured excursions. I’m usually not interested in group tours, but because this was my first visit to this part of the world
I wanted to be sure to see all the main sights. Local guides know the best shops and restaurants, what to watch out for, what to avoid, and where to find clean bathrooms.

Bienvenidos a Barcelona

We began our trip in Barcelona where our ship, Royal Caribbean’s Brilliance of the Seas, awaited us at port. Scooters and motorbikes whizzed up and down streets lined with beautiful old buildings. Music filled the air, fireworks exploded in the sky, and people danced in the streets. “Boy, these people know how to party!” I thought, as I sampled tapas and paella in an outdoor bistro. We soon learned the revelry was in honor of St. Mercedes Day—reason enough to celebrate in this town famous for its festivals and street fairs.
 
We wanted to view the city’s most beautiful and elaborate building, the Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Familia, an architectural wonder that has been in construction since 1882 and won’t be complete for another several decades. The intricate work in progress attracts throngs of visitors who cluster around, bending this way and that, trying unsuccessfully to capture the spiraling bell towers and chapels in their camera’s viewfinders.

There was, of course, much more to see and do in this city of almost 3 million—but it was time to board the ship. “I wish we could stay here another couple days, ”I said longingly. That sentiment would be the recurring theme throughout my journey.

The 2,501-passenger Brilliance of the Seas is among Royal Caribbean’s most elegant and luxurious ships. With its sparkling floor-to-ceiling glass walls, the mega-yacht offers unobstructed sea and skyline views. Sculptures and paintings from port cities around the world are placed along passenger corridors and stairwells, offering a bit of eye candy at every turn. David and I roamed the big boat with its Las Vegas-style casino, mini-golf course, aerobics/yoga studio, fitness center with treadmills looking out to sea, rock-climbing wall, jogging track, golf simulator, luxurious spa, five restaurants and coffeehouse, Broadway-style theater, cinema, billiards club, piano bar, karaoke bar, and disco—even a business center with Internet access.

We were on board a few hours when, in a burst of excitement, we realized the ship was moving. We were off!

The living is “Eze”

We awoke the next morning in picturesque Villafrance, the gateway to the French Riviera. Colorful homes were perched along craggy hillsides rising from the shore, and several outdoor restaurants and quaint shops beckoned. Our destination: the fabulously wealthy principality of Monaco.

Our driver took us up Grande Corniche—a winding, precipitous narrow cliff road that spirals high over the clear blue Mediterranean Sea with pebbly beaches below. We arrived at the prince’s palace in time to witness the changing of the guards. We toured Monaco Cathedral, where Princess Grace is buried, and took a walk through the famous Monte Carlo casino just above a yacht harbor.

Living a quick flight from Las Vegas, I had considered casinos garish, gaudy, and outlandish. But this one was elegant, beautiful, and reeked of wealth, with its well-dressed clientele, crystal chandeliers, mosaics, sculptures, frescos, and carved ceilings. We spied the Mediterranean sea through its draped windows. David was taken by the Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Jaguars, Rolls, and other luxury cars nonchalantly parked in front—as common as Toyotas and Fords are back home.

We proceeded to the medieval village of Eze, which, our guide explained, was built on a mountaintop to protect it from pirates. The tiny buildings along the steep cobblestone path house art galleries, boutiques, and perfume shops.

Bella Italia

It’s Tuesday, so it must be Florence. Today’s guide, an intense young college student, pointed out the chestnut, olive, cypress, and umbrella pine trees along the one-and-a-half-hour bus ride to town. She explained that Florence, or Firenze, was named after the lilies that grow along the riverbanks.

“I could never live anywhere but here because of the history,” she said, proudly explaining that the area was settled by the Etruscans in 5400 B.C. Galileo spent his life here, Michelangelo is buried here, and his “David” sculpture is here—but we didn’t have time to stand in the Accademia Museum’s long lines, so we settled for viewing one of the numerous replicas instead.

We hopped off the bus and dodged the ubiquitous Fiats and teeny-tiny, bumper-car-sized Smart Cars, as well as scooters and clamoring tourists. Pizzerias, trattorias, and gelaterias lined narrow cobblestone streets. People thronged about in piazzas, which are like open-air museums, with sculptures, towers, and cathedrals—some thousands of years old. At the Ponte Vecchio Bridge, built in the 1300s, our guide turned to us, her big brown eyes twinkling. “Ladies, close your eyes,” she instructed. We soon saw why. Dozens of jewelers and goldsmiths had set up shop under the bridge, their dazzling window displays tempting every woman who walked past.

The next day the ship deposited us near Rome. David and I had just three hours on our own before meeting up with our group in front of the Vatican. We managed to blast through the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, and the Pantheon. On seemingly every corner we’d spot another historical monument, sculpture, or antiquity. Despite the ever-present past interwoven with the present, the city is cosmopolitan, modern, and fast-paced, and the people are impossibly good-looking, well-dressed, and stylish.
 
We connected with our tour group in front of St. Peter’s Square, and, in spite of getting soaked by a sudden furious rainstorm, toured the Vatican, which has been an independent state since 1929 and has its own currency, army, and stamps. (Good thing we dressed conservatively, as no sleeveless tops, shorts, or short skirts are allowed in St. Peter’s Basilica.)

At the Coliseum and Forum, young men dressed as gladiators posed with the tourists for a price, vendors hawked all kinds of trinkets and souvenirs, and persistent gypsies begged for coins. Famished and exhausted, I spent a few euros on a tomato-mozzarella panini from a roadside stand, sat down on an ancient stone wall, and ate my lunch in the Coliseum’s shadow within view of the Forum’s temples, columns, and monuments. So this, I thought, is why Rome is known as the “Eternal City.” Before I knew it, it was time to board the bus, get back to the ship, and bid arrivederci to Roma.

Greek to me

As our ship approached the next port, David and I stood on our balcony and watched Mykonos, a tiny gem of an island on the Aegean Sea, move closer. With its whitewashed hillside homes and blue-domed churches, the lovely sun-bathed island looked like something from a painting or a dream. Once our ship docked, some people headed straight to clothing-optional Paradise Beach, but we chose instead to poke around in the maze of boutiques and galleries, delighting in artwork, glasswork, jewelry, leather sandals, and religious icons. We tried baklava, pita bread, and gyros; chatted with the amiable store owners; and grinned at the friendly pelicans.

Strong winds the next day prevented us from visiting Delos, an island of archeological importance in part because it’s thought to be the birthplace of Apollo. So we toured the vineyards of Santorini. Grapes grow close to the ground to protect them from the island’s strong winds, and vines are pruned to form circular “baskets” that cradle the grapes. We sampled wine; wandered through museums; browsed the boutiques, galleries, and souvenir shops; and stocked up on Olympic memorabilia. The highlight was our lunch at Taverna Katina, an outdoor seaside restaurant surrounded by colorful fishing boats, where we feasted on fried tomatoes, fava beans, grouper fish, and calamari.

Sadly, our vacation ended the next day in Athens after a quick tour of the Acropolis. With its marble temples, monuments, and other architectural masterpieces of ancient Greek civilization, it’s one of the world’s greatest archeological sites.

On the long flight home, I relived each day, gratefully savored each memory, and tried to sort out the blur of sights, sounds, and smells of the past week. On my next visit, I vowed, I will spend more time in museums and on foot—less time in buses. I will linger in local bistros and bars. I will drive through the Italian countryside, lie on the sands of the Greek beaches, and celebrate in a Spanish fiesta. Rather than awkwardly saying “hi,” I will greet shopkeepers, waiters, and taxi drivers with a cheery “buenos dias,” “bonjour,” “buongiorno”—and in Greece, something that sounds like “yahSU.” But I won’t say “arrivederci”—just “ciao” for now.