Modern travel can be confusing, especially by ship. Ships are luxurious and convenient, but they don’t remain long in any given place.

A ship may dock at 7:00 a.m., and by 8:00 guests are pouring off onto buses for organized excursions led by knowledgeable guides. Five, six, or even nine hours later, those same buses bring the tired guests back to the ship. And a few hours later, poof, we sail to another port.

It’s dramatic, absolutely, and exciting. Visually, it’s beautiful, particularly when those buses cover physical territory we couldn’t possibly see on foot (like the Amalfi Coast!). We’re offered more history on each excursion than we got in a week of college classes. But there’s little time to absorb it, and so we take hoards of pictures, hoping to sort it out later.

A different way to handle ports, at least some of them, is our favorite. If we are docked not too far away, then we go in on foot. Or perhaps we take a port shuttle. If it’s raining, we get wet. If it’s hot, we get scorched. Still, we walk the territory, learning far fewer facts and seeing a more circumscribed territory. But we remember it. And I find we take far fewer pictures, since we’re able to look and see at leisure.

Still, there are frustrations. Yesterday was one of them. We were in Alicante, Spain, where we hoped to visit the Museo de Belenes, a museum renown for its Nativity Scenes (crèches). We had mentioned this museum in our book Journey through Advent. At the time, I had little hope of actually visiting it. But suddenly there was this chance.

We trotted into town, crossed the famous Alicante Esplanade, and found the series of alleys going up the hill. Everything was going like clockwork.

Yikes. The door was locked. No one was around. How was that possible? It was noon and was supposed to be still open. Yes, we’d checked the hours on the internet And they seemed confirmed on the sign, just as we’d read: Monday’s, Friday’s, and Saturday’s hours, just as we read. And Tuesday, Thursday, open 10:00 – 14:00 (10 a.m. – 2 p.m.) plus again in the evening after 5 p.m. (remember, it’s Spain).

But it was Wednesday. We assumed Wednesday was included somewhere in there between Tuesday and Thursday (as in Tuesday through Thursday). Nothing we’d seen online mentioned Wednesday as “closed.”

Nor did the sign say “Wednesday Closed.” Wednesday simply wasn’t mentioned.

I have no idea if that is Spanish style or this museum’s style. We did ring the bells for the building (six of them) in case some sympathetic person was inside, rearranging crèches or dusting. I didn’t really expect to be let in, although I have been let in unofficially to several small museums. Let me tell you, that is exhilarating, sneaking around a famous site with a generous employee who probably should not have opened the doors to you, but has, taking pity on the fact that you’d come all the way from Texas. I can’t name any of those places, however, because, well, I promised never to say. But you’d be surprised at some of them.

At any rate, we weren’t going to get lucky at this little museum. So, we walked on, spending the afternoon exploring Alicante. It’s a wonderful city at the edge of Mediterranean. Bustling but calm, it blends old architecture with new construction; old monuments set against striking street art. It’s clean and filled with parks, palm trees, and flowers. We could imagine ourselves living here (not true for every place we see).

We of course said, “We’ll come back one day.” Maybe, particularly if I return as a Smithsonian Speaker to this same ship. But . . . what if we again dock on a Wednesday? If so, I’ll know to write ahead and beg, “Please, Signora, I know you should be closed on Wednesdays, but is there any possibility. . . ?”