That's all the sniveling you'll get out of me. On the other hand, the weather improved immeasurably as we putted through the Med. It was like motoring on a calm lake, although the attentive captain pointed out to me, "While we will be in Genoa, Greece is being hit with major storm."

Being on a ship is like being the mercury in a thermometer in the cockpit of a jet. We muscle our way from one climate to another. Hamburg and Antwerp were freezing, so we headed west out of the Black Sea. As soon as we did, we headed into the Gulf Stream then turned south and rolled into the summer zone and milder weather. As we turned into the Med the weather calmed even more and the seas flattened, then it cooled slightly, but stayed calm as we headed northeast to Genoa in the Ligurian Sea.

Genoa is not like the previous ports. We didn't have to take on three fastidious port pilots to dodge bridges and piers up a 40- to 80-mile river. This harbor was built right on the coast in the 11th century and there are few flatlands. Hills opened to winding streets and tall baroque buildings that now house a city of 650,000. It's predominately a medieval city of weaving narrow streets, vast cathedrals, ornate museums and spectacular galleries. Again, the cabbies know where to find the ships and arrived on the dot. The people don't speak as much English as the folks of Belgium or Germany.

I found that even the dark-haired beauty who spent time with me spoke very good English, but struggled with the words, always attempting to put an A on the end. She spent a year in Baltimore training to speak the language. That must be the problem.

It was a little cool the first day, but we didn't need scarves or gloves and the sun shone constantly. Oh shit, I forgot to finish my description of the harbor.

The port in Genoa is much more picturesque. It has a breakwater that runs across the front of the harbor and inlets to afford the ships entry. Cruise ships are moored very close to the brightly lit town. Since we're a scurvy lot, they put us on a decrepit dock as far west of town as they could stuff us. The port and related businesses are the underpinnings of Genoa. Since the 1100s shipping has been the mainstay of the region. Just like all the other ports we've visited, the industrial portion of the harbor, especially where we sat and rocked back and forth as cranes shifted cargo to get the Genoa stash aboard, was a dump. The roads were a mess, with potholes the size of manhole covers. Containers were stacked everywhere. Old cement buildings sat abandoned between docks with the windows busted out and the exterior metal cranes and hardware bent and rusting.

Columbus was born in Genoa and we went past a house he lived in, but he wasn't home. I only had two days to chase women and on the second, my time was running out as the sun set on the starboard side of the ship. Dierk, the cargo supervisor, searched the area for the remaining items to load. It's a riot watching these guys in action. The departure times change as fast your girl's sex drive. She's hot to trot one minute and slowed to a stop the next. I had to check with him every four hours for an update.

Finally, at about 7 last night, we pulled away from the dock and headed out to sea. The chief officer still didn't know what was on board. He had a stack of invoices and manifests that he couldn't make sense out of if he had an accounting license. He's still waiting for a report from the abrupt port agent.

We're heading to a narrow strait between Sicily and the Italian Peninsula after passing an erupting volcano called Stromboli. Right now we're passing the islands of Corsica (French controlled) and Sardinia (Italian island) on the starboard and the peninsula on the port. In a couple of days we'll be entering the Suez Canal. I sure hope the captain picked up a case of Marlboroughs or we'll be in deep shit again.

That's it for the news. I'm kicking off chapter 20 of Chance's second dice-rolling book based on this world-wide run. Each port gives me new ideas and a fresh set for the next chapter. I'm up to 17 of the original Chance series, which is being published in HORSE- the chopper rag, and I'll get caught up with No. 2 before we throw lines over the side in Singapore.
Ride Forever, Bandit.

On to Part 8