'Shalom" says Rosy Soussis, who runs a tiny bakery in the old Jewish quarter of Corfu Town. "Come in. You look hungry. Try my spanakopita (a spinach and feta pie). My customers say it's the best in Corfu. My shop is even in the guidebooks."
We are tempted by the mounds of traditional Greek pastries in the window of her rustic café on a backstreet near the old synagogue. The voluptuous baker offers exotic pastries made with pistachio, hazelnut, walnuts, cinnamon, honey, rose water, kumquat and Arabic black vanilla.
"We make our pastries without milk or butter. We don't use dairy products - traditionally, we didn't have cows on Corfu," she says.
Over baklava and coffee Soussis tells us the history of the Sephardic Jewish community of Corfu.
Centuries ago her family, refugees from the Inquisition in Spain, fled Cordoba. She says only 75 Jews remain on the island today of the 2 500 Jews who lived on Corfu before the outbreak of World War II. She still uses many old family recipes to make the honeyed baklava she calls "iki", (meaning "my little children").
Papa Soussis, her father, started the agency for Olympic Airways and flew on the first monthly flight between Athens to Corfu. Soussis remembers that it took four-and-a-half hours to fly to the island from the capital back then - and that many of the island's residents were too scared to fly on the light aircraft. Today the larger planes fly in tourists several times a day. We left with a selection of pastries.
We'd worked up an appetite after climbing to the heights of the new fortress on a hill which overlooks the old fortress with its huge moats built by the Venetians in the 14th century. Corfu takes its name from koryfo (meaning summit). The lush island shaped like a scythe has been a strategic outpost in the Adriatic Sea for 2 000 years and was occupied by the Romans, Greeks, Byzantines, Venetians, Ottomans, French and British.
In the old fort we came across a nostalgic exhibition of black and white photos of diva Maria Callas with Onassis, Princess Grace and Hollywood stars.
Corfu has an ambience of faded grandeur, a mouldy patina of centuries of neglect on crumbling mansions and villas, cracked flagstones and disrepair on the overgrown cricket green and esplanade.
When in Corfu, the fashionable thing is to linger with the crowds in the cafes and shops of the Liston arcade - named after the patricians who were permitted to walk here in earlier centuries. Built during the French occupation, the arcade was modelled after the Rue de Rivoli.
We made our way through the labyrinthine old quarter, down steep, narrow alleyways with pastel shutters and sheets drying on washing lines stretched between ancient balconies and medieval tenements.
We stumbled into the fabulously ornate Church of Agios Spyridon, the 16th century shrine of Corfu's patron saint, whose silver coffin is paraded through the streets by pilgrims on Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday. Outside, souvenir shops sold holy relics, lace, sweets, olive oil and kumquat liqueur.
Corfu Town is built on a peninsular of gravel beaches, marina and fishing villages. The waterfront promenade leads past churches, palaces and museums with fabulous collections of Asiatic, Byzantine and Greek art and sculpture.
The Museum of Asiatic Art is in the neo-classical Palace of the Lord High Commissioner - apparently when the British gave the Ionian Islands back to Greece, the Greek king refused to maintain the 18th century palace and let it fall into disrepair - before it was restored as a museum showpiece.
"You must try Dubrovnik before you go home," sang Lisa Minnelli in Ring them Bells.
If it's Monday, this must be Dubrovnik. The Crystal Serenity docks early. Going ashore after breakfast, we set out by walking the ramparts of the Croatian city declared a Unesco world heritage site as one of the finest examples of medieval fortifications in Europe.
The massive stone walls lapped by the sea encircle the citadel with 14 high towers and a fortress perched on a promontory in the bay. At first sight it lives up to its moniker as "the pearl of the Adriatic" (Byron) if not "paradise on earth" (Shaw).
We enter Dubrovnik through the main Pile Gate. In the medieval era, the city authorities required new arrivals to wash away the plague at the Onofrio fountain (1438) located just inside the city walls.
Observing the age-old ritual, we rinse our hands in cold water from the sixteen stone gargoyles of the vat-shaped fountain, which originally supplied the fortified city with water from a well 11km away. A busker dressed in medieval costume plays the flute and fools for the crowds.
Ascending a steep stone stairway, we pay the gatekeeper a handful of kuna at the main tower and walk anti-clockwise on the 2km circuit atop the city walls.
An army of tourists tramp single file on the stone staircases up and down the towers, forts and ramparts which are 25m high in places. Many of the towers are named after saints in this ancient city of Dominican, Franciscan and Jesuit monasteries, convents and churches. A city under siege for centuries needs many places to pray.
The aerial view of terracotta roofs, whitewashed basilicas and the bright blue waters of the Adriatic is a dazzling play of elementary light and colour. The different shades of rose-coloured tiles tell a tale of sieges from Napoleon's conquest in 1806 to the shelling of Dubrovnik during the civil war of the 1990s. Formerly known as the Republic of Ragusa (until 1918), this ancient city state has been a strategic outpost on the Dalmatian coast for centuries - and once rivalled Venice for maritime power.
Descending from the city walls back to ground level, we join the throng on the placa stradum, the elegant pedestrian promenade which runs through the old town. We linger at many fascinating distractions along the way - the third oldest pharmacy in Europe (1317) with its apothecary of medieval pills and potions, the reliquary of the Franciscan monastery (complete with bullet-holes from the 1991 siege), and the treasure trove of baroque art in the churches, convent, cathedral and Rector's Palace.
Founded by Slavic refugees in the 7th century, Dubrovnik has been a sanctuary for some. On a quiet backstreet we come across the second oldest synagogue in Europe which now houses a museum of religious artifacts and torah dating back to the expulsion of Sephardic Jews from Spain in the 15th century.
The curator, one of 45 Jews still living in Dubrovnik, tells us that the nearest rabbi and functioning synagogue is in Zagreb.
The exhibits document the dispossession and genocide of Croatian Jews during World War 2 - from anti-Semitic proclamations, arm bands and the yellow star to a roll-call of city residents killed in the holocaust.
Behind the stone veil, we discover more fragments of Dubrovnik's troubled past. In the Sponza Palace, a shrine of photographs pays tribute to the two hundred young men who fell during the siege of the city by the Yugoslav army in 1991/92 - when more than 2 000 shells rained down on the city.
At a gallery called War Photo, we watch a multi-media exhibition entitled "Blood and Honey" which showed shocking images by war photographer Ron Haviv of ethnic conflicts in Bosnia, Serbia and Croatia.
Dubrovnik is a survivor. The washing hanging in the rooftop gardens of the medieval tenements are testimony to a living city - alongside all the bars, cafes and people on the streets.
Looking out at a green skyline of cedar and cypress trees and the blue waters of the old harbour, Dubrovnik seems at peace today. We leave via the main gate with a choir of angelic voices from the Convent of St Clare ringing in our ears.
We could spot the Crystal Serenity at every port of call on our Mediterranean cruise. Like trainspotters and shipspotters, I slowly built up a collage of photographs of our good ship taken from every vantage point ashore, from Mount Tauro in Sicily to clifftop castles in Corfu, Dubrovnik and Trieste.
Whenever we were done exploring a new destination, there she lay at anchor out in the bay faithfully awaiting our return at the end of the day. Our mother ship was like a cocoon of luxury after a day ashore.
Sasa Minic, our Serbian butler, awaited our return to ship in the same style, with a tray of canapés and champagne on ice. The butler came on a complimentary basis with a penthouse suite on the top deck - along with a complimentary mini-bar and pillow menu which ranged from king-size goose down pillows to round neck poly-fibre, standard feather, sleep-sensitive and hypo-allergenic pillows. Take your pick.
Not having travelled butler-class before, we weren't sure what we should ask the butler to do. To avoid making him feel unwanted, we debated suitable tasks.
An American old hand on a world cruise who rarely bothered to go ashore, enlightened us. "Ask your butler to unpack and iron your clothes, do the laundry, shine your shoes, brush your dinner jacket, chill champagne, book a dinner table, deliver your wine to the sommelier or lay the table for room service." And that was just for starters.
While we were cruising in the Adriatic Sea from Corfu to Durbovnik, I asked the butler what was the strangest request he'd had in six years on board.
Well-versed in the art of discretion, Sasa said he'd have to go away and think about it. He later reported a passenger once asked him to make up the bed on her private terrace - and that a honeymoon couple (in a yin and yang mood) had once ordered two fish for dinner in their suite - a male fish and a female fish. The chef was unable to oblige.
Smartly attired in a bow-tie, black suit and tails whatever the time of day, the butler was always better-dressed than us - and most other passengers. This was especially so on our arrival when our luggage was lost en route in Johannesburg.
By the time it magically materialised in our cabin, our wayward luggage had seen more of southern Italy than us, travelling via Naples down the coast to catch up with us in Sorrento. The crew were very helpful, especially when we appeared at dinner in T-shirts and shorts - our only belongings for the first three days of our cruise aboard the Crystal Serenity.
The Crystal Serenity docks in Trieste at the quayside of the Piazza dell'Unita d'Italia, the largest square in all of Italy built by Bruni in 1879. Our luxury liner towers above the marble statuary and grand neo-classical facades of the town hall, the clock tower and the palatial headquarters of the Lloyd Triestino line.
Everyone comes out on deck to watch the toy soldiers and brass band in ceremonial dress march across the piazza, waving flags and banging drums, their boots ringing out across the cobblestones.
We are welcomed in style by the northernmost city in the Adriatic, the old port of the Austro-Hungarian Empire set on a strategic panhandle on Slovenia's doorstep.
Like the conquering bronze statues coming ashore and erecting a flag on the quay, we climb the steep hill to Castello San Guisto to gain the commanding heights of the city.
The Venetians used to spy on shipping movements from the ramparts of the castle - a place of intrigue with fine armoury, Roman mosaic and classical sculpture museums.
Venice has long since displaced Trieste on the tourist map. Yet Trieste yields a delightful sense of discovery to visitors who call with no preconceived notions.
Walking around the stately avenues of Trieste, we stumbled across surprises in every corner - from the wonderful mosaics of Cathedral di San Giusto, the two thousand year-old ruins of the Roman amphitheatre, the neo-classical pediment of Teatro Verdi, the belle époque cafes with art nouveau interiors (try historic Café Tommaseo or La Bomboniera) and one of the largest Jewish ghettoes in Europe before World War 2.
The tourists may not have discovered Trieste - but many great artists and writers did. A quirky statue of James Joyce stands on a bridge across the grand canal - crossing the city where he spent a decade in exile writing some of his best work in the early 1900s. Verdi, Freud, Rilke, Svevo, Burton (British consul in Trieste in the late 19th century) all lived and wrote about Trieste. More recently, Jan Morris wrote Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere (2001) about her lifelong love affair with Trieste.
That night, Trieste waved us off in style with a spectacular fireworks display high over the harbour and hills of the city set on the high ridge of the Carso plateau. Joining the passengers out on deck, we toasted Trieste with champagne, waving a grand farewell to the crowds on the quayside and the piazza.
The ship's band played Louis Armstrong's inimitable What a wonderful world as we weighed anchor and set sail on the last leg of our Mediterranean cruise to Venice, journey's end.
- For information on Crystal Cruises, contact Development Promotions at 011 442 0822, e-mail [email protected] or log on to www.devprom.co.za