Ireland: Brilliant!!

Ireland and Rome were the two places on this trip I was positive I was going to love. I found Rome to be quite different from my expectations. Ireland, though, felt like going home. I loved it from the first minute I set eyes on its vivid green pastures while descending to the tarmac in Kerry Airport.

Granted, all Americans romanticize Ireland. And the Irish know it. I had a long conversation with the sons of the woman who ran my guesthouse in Killarney, and we talked about how Americans idolize Ireland. They found particularly amusing the fact that every American claims to be “from Ireland.” We had a laugh over the fact that even President Obama, who was visiting Ireland the same week, was also suddenly “from Ireland.”

That being said, my enchantment with the Emerald Isle could be chalked up to a severe case of American infatuation with all things Irish. Irish music, Irish beer, Irish humor, Irish accents… Americans love all of these things. So I suppose it’s no surprise that I fell head over heels in love with the place. But I like to think that it was something more.

New Friends!

Part of what made the whole experience so amazing was a fortuitous intersection of the right conditions. Ireland is English-speaking, which makes all the difference in the world. Being in a country where they speak another language is difficult and lonely, because you always feel like an outsider. Ireland is also easy to get around in, and cheap to stay in. And I met fantastic people everywhere I went! In Killarney I got to know a German girl also travelling alone, and we palled around for a few days. Then in Galway I met some crazy-fun American kids who took me into their little group. It was so nice just to be around Americans again! There’s such a cultural difference between us and Europeans; our senses of humor, social expectations, and idea of what is fun etc. Being with companions I could understand and joke with and hang out with minus awkward cultural barriers made experiencing Ireland that much more fun. Hurrah for new friends!

Killarney National Park

My visit to Killarney was brief, I had just enough time to visit my first few Irish pubs and see a little of the Killarney National park. Killarney is small and quaint, with traditional storefronts of wood and glass which make you feel like you’re in a storybook. It’s also very touristy. But spending time in the town made for some great pictures, and we managed to find a few non-touristy spots by taking advice from the locals. I had the stuffed pork loin special at a homey restaurant, and spent an evening in a small dark pub filled with Irish people avidly watching a soccer game on TV. Then there was the Killarney National Park, which makes a visit to the tiny tourist spot thoroughly worthwhile. I took a guided tour through the park, led by an eccentric Irishman named Cliff with a tendency for cracking unintelligible jokes and making outrageous political statements. Dressed in nothing but jeans and a polo shirt in 50 degrees of wind and rain, Cliff led us through the beauties of the park. Between telling us some strange stories, of which probably 15 percent were true, he pointed out to us the black Kerry cattle, golden wild irises, rolling hills in shades of green I never knew existed, gorgeous vista views of the lakes, and an old castle. He ended up having a joke-telling contest with Mary, an older lady from Kilkenny, while we sipped tea at the castle. “Why did ten get so upset? Because seven ate nine.” I felt like I was back in Augusta, hanging out with the O’Keefes on their patio.

Upon arriving in Galway, I braved the cold rain stinging my face to explore a bit, and was glad I did. I developed a pretty serious crush on the city then and there, despite the gloomy weather. Or even because of it- the weather was part of the whole experience of the place. Galway is an old port town, and the lashing rain brought to my mind images of ships and merchant-tribes in the old Irish sea ballads. It is a vibrant place with a vibrant history; a place where things not only happened “then” but are happening now. It’s known as the cultural heart of Ireland…exactly what I was looking for.

Music at The Spanish Arch

I can sort my experiences in Galway into three categories. 1. The Pubs. Galway boasts a veritable horde of pubs, each with its own distinctive flavor, and usually with live music- which, as I found, varies in quality (one band from the third night slaughtered The Band's "The Weight"- luckily we left before they had a chance to do any more violence). We visited Taffes the first night, a smaller pub with a more laid back atmosphere where some Canadians playing a drinking game kept knocking stacks of coasters all over the floor. The Quays came next, a roomy operation which manages to maintain a homey feeling, where we met up with Patrick from the hostel front desk. He deserved a drink after answering the steady stream of questions we shot at him every time we exited or entered the hotel. The second night we visited my favorite pub, the Spanish Arch, where an excellent traditional Irish band was playing, complete with bodhran and Irish pipes. They played fast, rhythmic reels while a few middle-aged people danced jigs near the stage. Kelly and I clapped along, enthralled, while trying to avoid the flailing arms of a group of drunken girls doing their own version of Riverdance. We also discovered Sonny’s that night, a huge joint with dance music, mostly of the American variety, though still fairly quaint and laid back. A great place to end the night, and we went back again to end third night there after the first two pubs we tried turned out to be a bust. What I wanted from the pubs was good music and good beer; I got enough of the former but not enough of the latter! Then again, I don’t think I could get enough of Irish music.

Outside Dunguaire Castle

The Burren

2. Nature. The Irish countryside has a careless beauty that lends it extra charm; it’s not pretentious, just breathtaking. We went on a tour through the area around Galway which ended at the Cliffs of Moher, and each new landscape we entered had a unique loveliness. Fertile green pastures contrasted with the stark landscape of the Burren, a windswept grassy expanse studded with limestone rocks in curious patterns. The cliffs themselves are hard to describe, and a picture is not worth a thousand words in this case since photography doesn't seem do them justice. Gigantic, rugged walls of rock loom hundreds of feet above a choppy ocean, atop which a soft carpet of flowers and grass moves in waves with the wind. Flocks of white gulls drift down currents of air against the rock face while the spray jumps up, and their cries mix with the salty smell of the sea. Our guide P.J., omnipresent over the loudspeakers, also took us to a few castles and a graveyard filled with Celtic crosses where we almost lost Sam, who was deep in conversation with a gravestone statue. I would have loved to have spent at least one more day in the peaceful Irish countryside.

3. The Little Things. I found so many little things to enjoy in Galway! The second morning there we decided to try and catch a walking tour of Galway, to get to know the culture of the city like sophisticated people. But after getting up early and waiting for our guide for twenty minutes in the cold and rain, it became clear that Culture was going to let us down. We took refuge in a small, ridiculously cute tea shop where the kind owner supplied us with hot chocolate and in my case a huge crumbly scone. An unexpected discovery and the perfect way to start the day! A small chocolate shop in Doolin where I bought an amazing rocky road truffle bar to share, having a longish conversation with an old man selling jam in Galway mall, laughing over a bowl of sweet potato soup with Bryan and Matt… ok maybe I should have called this category Food. But these were little moments of quiet where I could relax and enjoy good company and peace, and I may have enjoyed them most of all.

Cycling through the fields in Germany

In a lot of ways, Ireland was the culmination of my two-month journey. I did it alone, and with the benefit of all the knowledge I’ve gained on my trip so far. I was experienced enough with travelling at this point to be perfectly comfortable in a place as easy as Ireland. And I’m glad that it was Ireland that I left for last, because I felt it fit me. It has all the things I love:  Rollicking bittersweet music: check. Gorgeous countryside with peaceful sheep: check. Delicious dark beer: check. Casual pubs where you can chill and drink said beer: check. Super friendly inhabitants with a sense of humor: check. Thatched roof cottages and castles in spades: check. And the list goes on and on. I love their way of life, where human connection is foremost. They take the time to enjoy life over good music and good beer and good conversation, to slow down and experience the things that make life worthwhile. I could go on about how much I loved Ireland but I think you get the picture. Ireland was the one place on my trip I couldn’t stand to leave. On departing from every other place I’ve thought ok, I saw what I wanted to see and got a good taste of this place, now on to the next thing! Leaving Ireland I just felt sad; I felt like I didn’t get enough.

I’ve been in Germany now for about a week, unwinding and enjoying being comfortable in a place for a while. In two days I fly back to the United States. I’ll post one more time, and then that will be the end of this blog, and of my trip. The end in a way- but not really, because this trip has changed me forever. Each place I’ve been is now a part of me. I’m so lucky to have these places in my memory, and to have left little bits of myself everywhere I’ve been. More than anything I feel blessed by all the people I’ve been able to meet. And when I look at my almost empty bank account, I know only that I would not have spent a penny on anything else. In fact I’m emptying it completely tomorrow to buy a few last souvenirs before I head back Tuesday. Here’s to being thoroughly broke but thoroughly happy (I’m raising my glass of German Rotwein Halbtrocken)! 

Annecy, France and the Long Road Home

After soaking up the sun on the island of Santorini, the rather daunting journey from Greece through Italy and France to Germany lay before me. I had planned it so that the trek would be broken up by a few perfunctory stops to make it more doable. On the road again! And alone again.

Making your way through several countries over water and land in a just a few days is complicated. Especially when Greece is involved. I had to get from Athens to Patra to catch my ferry to Italy, so I went to the train station to ask what trains where available. I was informed that there were no trains that could get me there in time. No trains, between two of the major cities in Greece. These are the two most traveled through cities in the whole country, and there were no trains that could take me there within 10 hours on a weekday when the trip takes about 3 hours by car! Train strikes and rail construction were cited as causes, and I was informed I would have to take a bus, or rather two separate buses, for which no departure times were currently known. I bit back my irritation and caught a shuttle bus provided by the ferry company for 20 euro. That’s Greece for you; making money off tourists’ inability to deal with the poor flow of information and the Greek way of life where time doesn’t matter. As you can tell I was pretty disgusted, which perhaps shows an ugly American sense of entitlement. But I think it’s the German coming out in me. No trains?? Unacceptable incompetence! I appreciate the timeless feeling of Greece, the laid-back culture of bargaining and bantering, but when you want to get somewhere on time you start to miss the Germans. God Bless Der Deutsche Bahn.

These signs say "Please don't cross the railway tracks" and are placed every few meters along the tracks and above as well in Italian railway stations. It seems like overkill until you see people charging unashamed across the rails with luggage in tow! Gotta love the Italians. Needless to say they don't have signs like this in Germany.

I did eventually get to Patra and I rested much easier once I was on the ferry and on my way to Italy, where at least the trains run, even if it’s not clear when or where. I spent the night in Ancona, a fairly unremarkable port town which has nonetheless a decent pedestrian area and a pretty cathedral. I caught mass at the cathedral and had an apertivo at a small bar in the town square. This is a common way of having an evening meal in Italy- you go to a bar where they have all sorts of hors d’oeuvres laid out, and you can have as much finger food as you want plus a drink for 6 euro. I enjoyed a glass of red wine and mini bruschetta while watching the Italians eat. Which is quite entertaining. Three old men argue over giant fruity cocktails with pink umbrellas in them, a group of Italian women in bright colors chain smoke and talk over each other, two businessmen have another beer and pile their plates high with pizza bread. They are all loud, animated, and focused on enjoying their food and enjoying each other’s company. Everyone seems to know each other, and they often hop from table to table to say hello with a casual kiss on the cheek and energetic chatty greeting. And all the while the sun is slowly sinking over pointed terra cotta roofs, geranium-filled window boxes and locals enjoying their evening stroll.

On the train to France

Trains, trains and more trains! I switched nine times before I made it from Ancona to Annecy. Fifteen hours on the trains. I had a few congratulatory beers once finally the hostel, gazing at the stars shining over the Alps and enjoying the quiet. Annecy is situated in the southern part of France close to the Swiss border. It’s nestled at the foot of the Alps and near a wide, clear Alpine lake, the Lac D’Annecy. The newer part of town is pretty bland but the Old City is fantastic. It’s filled with quaint little houses and crisscrossed with canals with cast-iron railings which are topped with boxes of vivid orange and yellow flowers.

Annecy, reflected

There is a tiny castle right in the middle, and the whole place is thick with swans. In the background loom the Alps, violet colored and visible in the sky at the end of every narrow cobblestoned alley. The water in the canals, like the water in the lake, is perfectly clear when shallow and in deeper waters fades to turquoise. The whole place is insanely picturesque, and I could not stop taking pictures. The thing I liked best about Annecy was that you get to see everything twice: once above ground and once reflected in the glass-like canals, so that it looks like there is a shaky ghost-city under the water’s surface. The mighty Alps themselves waver upside-down on the surface of the Lac D’Annecy, along with sailboats, puffy clouds and brightly colored parasails floating in the sky above the misty peaks.

The incredibly clear waters of the Lac D'Annecy

In such a civilized, peaceful, pretty place where flowers cover the ground and around every corner is a new panorama that belongs in a coffee table book entitled “Beautiful France,” there’s not a lot of opportunity for something interesting to happen. Interesting things, usually known as “adventures,” happen when something goes wrong. And in this city even the trash receptacles are cute and rustic looking and everything runs like a well-oiled Alpine cuckoo clock. I thought I would be happy to have a few days to relax in the sun after the chaos of Greece and Italy, and I was happy, but I found myself getting a bit bored. I found myself wishing that one of the well-groomed, reserved French people I met would turn Italian on me and start waving their arms and yelling. Or that one of the decorous motorcycle drivers would pull a Vespa and speed around Mercedes into the middle of the intersection on a red light.

French biker passing me

I did get to bike around the Lac D’Annecy, which was nice, although I was put to shame by the biking skills of the French. Snowy-haired old ladies on pink bikes with baskets would zip around me while I labored up a hill, and most of the other bikers were decked out in legit spandex and cool sports-grade sunglasses. Everyone was on bikes. These people love their bicycling- I’ve never seen anything like it. Tour de France, anyone?

Uneventful though it was I really enjoyed my time in Annecy. The pure beauty of the place filled my senses and I felt like I’d gotten several good nights of sleep filled with lovely dreams upon leaving. And don’t forget the FOOD! I was running out of money at this point so I couldn’t eat like I wanted to, but I managed to sample some essentials. I had a warm, crispy crepe filled with creamy cheese and onions and bacon. The brown edges of the crepe melt in your mouth. I had a puffy éclair filled with rich cream and covered in smooth chocolate sauce, several flaky buttery croissants, and a giant chocolate merengue studded with whole hazelnuts. Local sausage made with wine and herbs, nutty, soft local cheese and a baguette made for a few dreamy lunches in the grass. It took quite a bit of self-control to keep from splurging on an all-out French dinner with courses. The only thing that held me back was my shrinking bank account which I knew had to last me through six days in Ireland. I like France and I like food, but I had a feeling I would LOVE Ireland. So, with pints of Guinness and green rolling hills fixed firmly in mind, I zipped up my purse and ate a baguette.

Flowers, bakery items and canals... the essence of my trip to Annecy

Onwards to Germany, and then after a few days of doing laundry and repacking the long-awaited trip to the Emerald Isle! I’ve wanted to visit Ireland for as long as I can remember, ever since I heard my first sweetly melancholy Celtic ballad and read my first historical romance about the potato famine. All Americans romanticize Ireland, and I have a pretty severe case of this national ailment. Excitement and suspense filled me as I left for the airport, along with the secret hope that I would not be disappointed…  I hope to post about it soon!

Santorini: Sailboats and Sunsets

Let’s just say our cruise to the island of Santorini did not begin according to plan.

When you need to catch a ferry in the am and you’re a sleep deprived non-morning person, I would advise you to set at least two separate alarms. Neither Tessie or I are morning people. For those of you who know us both, it might surprise you to be informed that I was actually better than she was on this trip, at least in the beginning. I was the one getting us up every morning and being peppy and upbeat to try and get the day going. And the day we needed to catch our ferry to Santorini was the day I accidentally set the alarm for 5:30 pm instead of 5:30 am. So, when Tessie woke up with a jerk and looked at the clock and it was 6:30, and she shook me and I awoke with an even more sudden jerk, what followed was a flurry of fevered packing and spastic scraps of conversation. We were somehow on the metro by 6:50, and there was the slightest chance we could make it to our 7:25 ferry if we hurried! Both of us kept reassuring the each other that we could make it, without making eye contact so the other couldn’t read the doubt in our eyes. We ran or rather lumbered around the port with our huge packs on our backs like a pair of deranged buffalo chased with cattle prods. And, panting violently, finally arrived at our gate! Right as the ferry pulled away.

Neither of us had any words as we stood at the edge of the dock in utter dejection watching that ferry pull away- all we could do was stare at its disappearing bulk like a pair of thwarted bovines, our eyes large and sad. There it was, our ship to Paradise Island, moving inexorably into the mist just out of our reach. The men at the ticket booths along the gate surveyed us with a little listless pity, and I’m sure we looked utterly pathetic: no makeup, clothes and hair a mess, over-burdened with luggage and completely crestfallen. Tears stung in my eyes as I thought with self-pity that I hadn’t even remembered to put my earrings in and that my clothes didn’t match.

Trying to look happy over a waffle after missing the ferry

Thankfully we had each other to fall back on, and withdrew to a dingy green bench to regroup. I’ve had recurring nightmares about missing boats and planes, and they all came rushing back to me as I drooped on the bench in defeat. For me it literally was a living nightmare.

But, I am happy to inform you, it wasn’t actually the end of the world! After a certain amount of lumbering back and forth between ticket booths and travel agents, we finally found a suitable solution and booked a ferry leaving at twelve noon. And this is where you find out that our apparent disaster was actually a blessing. Our original plan for finding lodging in Santorini was to bargain with the hotel people who always hang around ports in Greece and get a great deal on accommodations. After the morning’s events, however, neither of us felt up to dealing with any more uncertainly or stress, and instead we bargained with the travel agent and booked a hotel. The Hotel Princess. I will admit the name sold me. The cheap rates sold Tessie. This ended up being providential because once we did get into the port in Santorini, it was late and it was dark and every hotel person waiting at the port and looked like someone you would not want to meet in a dark alley. So, God used our discomfort in missing our boat to keep us from getting into the even more uncomfortable situation of having nowhere to stay late at night in a strange town alone. Not really sure what we were thinking in the first place, expecting to get a hotel in the port without it being kind of an ordeal!

SO HAPPY to be on the ferry at last

So it was that after several hours of lingering awkwardly in a café in Athens and several more hours on the ferry we did in fact arrive in Santorini. With rising excitement we stepped off the rocking ramp and looked for the people from the hotel sent to pick us up. A chubby middle-aged Greek man with a dark tan, a Puma t-shirt and gold chain necklaces was jerkily waving a sign reading “Hotel Princess,” and when we approached him he grabbed our hands energetically. “Hello, hello, hello! Welcome, welcome! I’m Roberto, I run the hotel, nice to meet you, so nice to meet you! Here, here is the car! Right over here! Go ahead, let me take your bags, get in, get in!” As we climbed into the back of the tiny beat up car and took a seat on an old beach towel adorned with a smiling dolphin, we could already tell that this was going to be an interesting stay.

Hotel Princess Santorini

The beat-up car, beach towel-covered backseat and unprofessional demeanor of our guide did not really inspire confidence in us. As we sped up and down winding mountain roads in the dark, with no idea where we were being taken and no information offered to us by Roberto, we were both a little tense. We kept glancing at each other and chuckling nervously through our small talk, each hoping in the back of our mind that we weren’t the victims of an elaborate scam. But, to our relief we were after some hair-raising driving deposited safely in front of the hotel. And even though we had to go knocking on several doors before finding our warm and welcoming hostess, a middle aged woman in a stained sweatshirt looking kind but worn and tired, we found ourselves enchanted with the tiny hotel! Roberto and his wife run the place, and it has a family owned and operated feel, from the hand written signs to the mismatched cups to the fact that there is almost never anyone at reception and you have to go knocking on their house door to find someone to talk to. She even told us to drop by around 8:30 the next morning for information about the island since that is when she would be back from taking the kids to school. In appearance, the hotel is impeccably neat, small and picturesque. Patterned bedspreads, a tiny balcony, blue flowered curtains and brown tiles combine to make it feel comfortable and cute.

Clouds over the Caldera

Santorini, like our hotel, is small, homey and enchanting. The houses are miniature adobe huts bleached white with blue roofs and fences or surrounded by low rocky handmade walls. In the vineyards the vines don’t grow upright on trellises as in Italy or France, but crouch and crawl on the ground like rows of little bushes. Even the wildflowers that cover the island are not fancy or exquisite but small and humble; little yellow and white daisies carpet the rocky fields, and tiny purple violets grow by walls. Restaurant signs and menus are often at least partly handwritten, and businesses are family owned and operated with less emphasis on professionalism and more on personalized service.

The Red Beach

The island is only about thirteen miles long, low and rocky with mountains in the middle. It’s shaped like a crescent, forming a giant lagoon lined with rugged cliffs. Here and there narrow beaches slide smoothly into the Aegean Sea. The water is clear, bluer than the sky and glows aquamarine in places, especially at dawn and dusk. What makes the island unique, though, is the color and texture of the rock. Since it’s a volcanic island the rock is porous, much lighter for its bulk than the granite this Georgia girl is used to, and comes in rich red, coal black, chalky white or warm yellow. The beaches are colored correspondingly; there is a Red Beach, a few Black Beaches and White Beaches. The sand on the beaches isn’t soft and fine but is coarse and even pebbly in places; like the cliffs and the rocks that cover the island it is light but rough. It sticks to your skin like normal sand but it’s colored, so you get up off the beach with a layer of tiny black or red pebbles clinging to the backs of your legs. The effect of the ruddy or coal-colored pebbles against the teal-to-violet sea is absolutely fantastic; I could just loaf in the surf and gaze at the coastline for hours.

The small size of the island, its homey atmosphere and all the bright coloring make it feel sort of like a large playground. And that’s essentially what it is- a playground for tourists. The only Greek people who live there are hotel and restaurant owners; everyone else is a tourist, and the whole island is set up to be a kind of giant tourist playpen. You can’t really get lost there because there are only a few roads, and if you start driving in the wrong direction you will hit a coast (the playpen walls) before long and know you’ve gone too far. Although Tessie and I did manage to get a little lost. We couldn't have cared less, though, because most of the fun was in the driving itself and I’ll tell you why. We rented a four-wheeler for our stay on the island, and motored noisily, sometimes clumsily and always very slowly from one end of that little island to the other! The ATV was rented to us by the nicest little family who gave us driving lessons, bulbous helmets, directions to all the major sights, driving advice and windbreakers in case of rain or cool night weather. The dad and son watched in amusement as we set off slowly and precariously, Tessie driving and me on the back “navigating.” The vehicle maxed out at an impressive 30 mph and had no reverse- if you want to move in reverse you have to get off and pull it backwards yourself. Taking turns driving our little red ATV on the small winding roads surrounded by villages, vineyards and fields of wildflowers was possibly our favorite part of staying on the island. Having a bottle of wine on the beach wasn’t too shabby either.

On the ATV

Wine on the Black Beach

I’ll end with a description of two beautiful sunsets. Since Santorini is shaped like a crescent, both tips of the “moon” are surrounded on almost all sides by water. Watching a sunset over 270 degrees of the bluest ocean in the world is quite an experience. We watched the sun set from the northern point of the crescent our first night there, over the cluster of tiny white houses that compose the village of Oia. The second evening we were treated to an even better sunset from the southern point next to an old lighthouse, where the sinking sun stained the reddish rock to a crimson hue which offset the deepening indigo of the waves and sky. We drank beers in contented silence, just soaking it in, gazing at the sky and the coasting birds and tiny sailboat which alone broke up the vast plane of glowing ocean. A picture is worth a thousand words, so here you go. It was misty both days so the colors weren't that great, but the experience of being surrounded by water as the sun sinks into the silvery sea was still wonderful.

Sunset over Oia

Sunset by the Lighthouse

After our two days in Santorini Tessie and I returned to Athens for a night, where she caught a flight to the U.S. and I a ferry to Italy. We were sad to part ways, I especially because I had before me the task of working my way up by ferry and train from Greece to Germany. Along the way I stopped in the beautiful Alpine town of Annecy, where I encountered The French for the first time in my trip! And how did it all shake out? I’ll leave that for another post!

Athens: Pickpockets and Ports

The goal of our trip to Greece was to relax on the exotic beaches of a Greek island, and the only way to get there was to stay in Athens for a few nights first. Flying into one of the islands is very expensive, and I figured we would take a few days in Athens to adjust to Greece, where even the letters are strange and unfamiliar. And while we were there, we could take the opportunity to go and see some of the oldest and most famous buildings in the world which also happen to be foundational to Western Civilization! You know, just as a side project.

Greek Translation of "Retail Therapy"

Athens was one of those things that makes trips so fun and worthwhile- a pleasant surprise. I expected it to be dirty, big, loud and difficult to navigate. But we found that the metro system was well laid out and had stops at every major attraction, and that the area around our hotel (the Plaka) was pedestrian friendly and crowded with shoe stores, little restaurants, souvenir shops and little round-roofed churches made of red and yellow brick. The hotel itself was good but cheap, served an excellent breakfast, and sported an old-fashioned elevator with nothing but metal grate doors at every floor (it’s fun seeing the floors flash by as you ride up!). The first night we got there we loitered in the streets around our hotel and enjoyed the sights and sounds of the place. Cobblestone roads lined with shops out of which the shop people pop to try and persuade you to come in, lots of scarves and jewelry, restaurants with outdoor tables and waiters who also accost you and try to get you to come in, little yellow taxis honking at each other and most of all Shoe Stores. Racks of leather sandals of every variety and color, all cute and of good quality and temptingly cheap. The shoe-shopping girls’ dream, really. Luckily I was able to limit myself to buying only one pair, but it was an act of the will. Also there were stores selling spices and olives, stores full of items beautifully crafted out of olive wood, music stores selling bouzoukis (a round-bodied mandolin) and every now and then a roadside cart peddling paper bags full of all different kinds of nuts. Chocolate-coated cashews, pistachios, caramel-coated peanuts and these little red nuts that I could not identify. Around these carts old Greek men would be clustered playing cards and shooting the breeze, talking all at once and cracking nuts in their hands. We ate at a lovely tavern in a quiet courtyard where they gave us impeccable service and a free dessert of crumbly warm honey cake.

These dogs just lie around everywhere in Greece like they are dead...

On Sunday we had planned to see the sights and sallied forth maps in hand, trying to recall what we had learned in our History of Western Civilization classes about Ancient Greece. As we approached the Acropolis I found myself excited to see the famous Parthenon, one of the most beautiful buildings in the world despite its state of disrepair. I’m not big into history but felt that this is one place you really need to see if you get the chance. We walked into the Acropolis Park and up to the gate, only to find that it was closed tight! One of the vagrant dogs that populate Athens in hordes stared up at us lazily from his spot flopped on the ground while we peered mournfully through the bars at the Wonder of the World we could not approach. And it was the same story for every major sight we went to see, until we stopped to think for a moment and realized that it was… Labor Day. Suddenly the riot in the streets over the train strike that we had seen earlier made sense, and we realized that our sightseeing was not meant to be. At least we were able to see a few things through the metal bars that seperated us from History and Art! The Temple of Zeus in particular was very close to the gates and easy to see, and really a neat ruin.

Locked out of the Acropolis

SWAT team type people with gas masks coming to break up the Labor Day protest

Our consolation was found in enjoying a quiet beer and some stuffed tomatoes at a street side café in the Athens Flea Market. The café had a view of the Ancient Agora and the Acropolis, and was set back from yet looked out onto the busy pedestrian main street of the flea market, a prime spot for people watching. We thought our trials were over, and relaxed into our seats despite the curt waiter and the sounds of the street. But our peace was again disturbed by a teenage boy approaching our table and asking for money, mournfully yet persistently. I had to practically yell at him to get him to leave, and as he walked away I found myself thinking with irritation that there was no peace to be found in this city.

But I hadn’t even realized the worst of it. As he turned to go, I saw that behind the sign he clutched a fifty euro bill. I glanced down at the table and realized that it was in fact our fifty euro bill that we had placed on the table for the waiter to pay for our meal. Little Mr. Quick Fingers had pulled the wool over our eyes and was escaping with our money. What ensued is kind of a blur. Apparently I jumped up rather energetically from the table with a dark face and ran after the boy, shouting “HEY! NO! Oh no you don’t!!” But all I remember was my thought process: ok he might be fast, but there is a giant crowd of Japanese tourists blocking the road, there’s no way he can get through, I have a clear path to him … ok if I start my spring in a few feet I will jump and collide with him and tackle him, I’m bigger than him so I can easily take him down and them I can somehow wrest that money out of his hands.. That and the dismay on the boy’s face as he looked back to see me in hot pursuit, which only heightened my determination to regain our pilfered cash. Tessie says I had an intent look on my face like a hunting tigress after her prey. Fortunately the waiters at the restaurant realized what was happening and two of them tackled the boy before I could carry out my hare-brained scheme, while the fifty euro bill fluttered gently to the ground. I snatched it up and returned to my seat feeling nettled yet triumphant, my heart thumping with adrenaline, while the waiters manhandled the boy in the background knocking over several chairs and a podium in their struggle.

Our waiter was quite nice and respectful to us after that.

At the cafe where we were almost relieved of some of our wealth

Despite a few small challenges Athens was a great experience, and our first taste of Greece was filled with new and exciting flavors! The Greeks talk a lot with their hands, almost more than the Italians but with more contained and purposeful motions. Shop and restaurant owners are friendly to the point of being obsequious, and it’s a game of wits to keep them from adding extra charges onto the bill or talking you into buying things. They can also be generous, though, usually adding in a free dessert or giving you little items for free. I found their overly friendly and jovial manner off-putting at first, but once you know how it's fun to banter back and forth and insist on the seating you want or decline an extra charge. We didn’t meet many non-tourism related Greeks, but we did run into a man named Pani on the ferry with whom we struck up a conversation. He was fiercely patriotic, and actually said something similar to the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding about most English words coming from Greek words. Once we got him on the subject of Greek music, he pulled out his laptop and played a variety of old and new Greek songs, explaining each one building a case for the superiority Greek composers and songwriters. He was friendly, opinionated, and clever, and wanted to talk about American politics and the impact of American culture on Greece as well as tell us all the best places to go in Greece and the best food to eat. When I do get the opportunity to talk to the locals, it's one of the things I enjoy most because it gives real insight into the culture and way of life in a country that you just don't get as a tourist. 

Greek Salad!

Greek Beer- Alfa

Speaking of which, I’d be remiss if I did not give a short description of Greek food! Warm pita bread is paired with a variety of dips as an appetizer, either with creamy fava (like hummus but made from fave beans) flavored with olives and dill or cool garlicky tzaziki garnished with cucumbers. French fries are not considered fast food but are seen as a vegetable, and are served with nice full-course meals as a side dish and placed with tomatoes and cucumbers and other vegetables to enhance a gyro pita. Gyros are shaved off, seasoned pieces of meat roasted on a rotisserie spit over a grill that come with pita and tzaziki and vegetables. And are AMAZING. Moussaka is a kind of Greek lasagna, of which the bottom is eggplant, meat and spices and the top layer is a kind of fluffy white layer that melts in your mouth (I looked it up, it's called bechamel sauce). And my favorite dish, the Greek salad, is made up of fresh ripe vegetables like cucumber and zucchini and tomato and olives chopped up and topped with olive oil, spices and a slab of crumbly feta cheese. Common desserts include custard topped with honey, grainy loose honey cake and Greek yoghurt drizzled with honey. This just covers the food we actually tried, there were other dishes such as Greek meatballs and lamb chops that we never got around to ordering. Mostly because we got stuck on the gyros and didn’t want to try anything new.

View from the Acropolis Park

Ferries continue to be the cause of my rapid posting rate. I got off my last ferry today, and am in Ancona for a night before moving on to France in the morning. I treated my ferry trip like a mini cruise, enjoying a Warsteiner with peanuts on the sunny upper deck and such things. I enjoyed a last evening in Italy tonight, having appetizers and a drink followed by gelato and a stroll through the center of Ancona. Tomorrow its on to the next big thing, the quaint city of Annecy, France, called the Venice of France because of its canal roads and the last stop on my tour of southern Europe. I’m hoping that the baguettes and brie will abound!

Rome, Round Two

I could not help but have a sinking feeling in my stomach as the plane landed in the Rome airport and Tessie and I got ready to face the music and find our way to the convent we were staying at. The airport at Rome is much older, dingier and dirtier than the shiny marble Barcelona airport, and I was already imagining the equally old, dingy and dirty buses and trains and trams we would be dealing with in just a few minutes. As we got on the train, looked for the bus stop, found the right bus and got on, I kept waiting for it to get bad and for us to get lost and uncomfortable. Then, suddenly, we were at our convent and it only took two hours to get there, and we were never really lost even once!

Rose Garden at the Convent of the Little Sisters of the Holy Family

This experience was echoed by all my other experiences as I got a second chance at Rome; I found that knowing the ropes and having someone to share the little burdens of travelling made all the difference. Rome, Revisited was absolutely charming! Our convent turned out to be a full-blown hotel type operation with automated window shutters and American plug converters on the outlets at the end of a nice shady pathway lined with rosebushes. We went out and had lunch at a little roadside café in the Monte Verde area around our convent, and met up with Keith for a lovely evening strolling the streets of Rome’s historic district. Rome when it’s relatively quiet on a spring evening is quite different from Rome under the blazing daytime sun filled with tourists. Visiting little churches, getting a cappuccino, and watching the entertainers in Piazza Navona followed by a delicious dinner at L’Archetto, home to 50 different pasta dishes… we enjoyed every moment. Especially L’Archetto. Though it takes about thirty minutes to decide what to order, because it’s all so delicious, when the pasta does come in a steaming savory heap cooked to perfection the thirty minutes it takes to eat it are heavenly. If you are ever in Rome and you want a big plate of insanely delicious spaghetti served with cheap sparkling wine and soft bread, this is your place, and I am somewhere in the world envying you. We finished off with gelato and a visit to the Trevi fountain, which though crowded is still magical at night. The fountain is lit up, and the light plays on the water making it seem clearer and purer than in the daytime and throwing beautiful water-reflections over everything. Visinting Rome last week I basically refused to throw a coin in the fountain since I was not sure I wanted to return, but this time I threw in my little coins and took cutesy pictures and generally made my peace with Rome.

At L'Archetto

Trevi Fountain

When you only have two days in Rome, what do you go to see? It seems like quite a dilemma but for us the answer was pretty clear: St. Peter’s Basilica. We were able to drift around in the gargantuan cathedral for about four hours Friday morning, staring at the ceiling in awe at the scale of the place. Talk about imposing! Being outside makes you feel about six inches tall while being inside somehow makes you feel even smaller, and it can’t help but inspire awe. The thing I most loved about it, though, was the unity of the place. For such a huge place to have such consistency and harmony in its interior design and décor both aesthetically and thematically is a pretty great feat. The mosaics were beautiful, as well; what looks like a painting turns out to be made up of tiny bits of perfectly placed glass on closer inspection. So much detail, so many tall angular columns and larger than life marble statues, and what seems like miles of gold-scrolled ceiling... four hours was not nearly enough time to explore the whole Basilica. Though I will admit that after four hours it all started to run together anyways and I became primarily preoccupied with the thought of a warm yummy Panini for lunch. And a giant cone of cold, smooth gelato from the best gelato shop in Rome, Old Bridge across from the Vatican walls.

I would imagine that every Catholic who visits Rome would want to come away with some religious type items, rosaries etc., bought and blessed in Rome, and Tessie and I were no different. Our plan was to stop at some of the numerous trinket shops across from the Vatican and purchase some religious items, then go search out a priest in St Peter’s Square, were there were bound to be plenty, and ask one of them to kindly bless our things. That way, we could bring back items blessed in the Vatican, which though not blessed by the Pope himself or anything would still be special and a nice reminder of our visit to Rome. Hey, you can’t have everything in this life, and any priest that would be kind enough to bless our items would be perfect in our book! Blessed is blessed, after all.

Inside St. Peter's

So we wandered around St. Peter’s square for a while, scouting out our prospects in search of a priest who spoke English and who didn’t look busy so that we could ask for a blessing without imposing. The square was full of priests, partly because the Beatification of John Paul II was to take place in a few days and pilgrims were already arriving, but none of them seemed to fit the criterion. That one strode across the square looking busy, the other one was speaking rapidly in Italian, those two were actually seminarians so that’s a no go. Finally, my eyes lighted on one distinguished and kind looking older priest in conversation with a tall curly haired man. He was clearly a priest, and I could hear him speaking in American English, so we decided this was our man. We didn’t want to interrupt, and Keith saw a few other possible prospects but I had my heart set on this one. After standing nearby for a few minutes I decided to take the plunge and ask for his blessing, thinking that he wouldn’t mind the interruption since it was for a good reason and he would probably be happy to bless three young pilgrims. We approached, and I apologized for the interruption and asked if he would kindly bless some items for us. He immediately did so, with a humble air, and I felt a sense of accomplishment that we had achieved our goal so easily. Then, it happened. The curly haired man had been looking at us strangely, and after the blessing was finished he said with a smile, “I don’t think you know to whom you are speaking.”

Needless to say we were aghast. We had, apparently, in our search for a friendly simple priest from whom we could ask for a blessing, stumbled upon someone very important instead! Cardinal Stafford, former Archbishop of Denver and currently Retired Major Penitentiary of the Apostolic Penitentiary, to be exact. One of the highest-ranking English-speaking priests in the Church. And the curly-haired man was one of the head editors for Inside the Vatican. We were at a bit of a loss, but the Cardinal was very cordial and asked us about ourselves, making conversation for a few minutes. We walked away feeling a bit embarrassed, and laughing at the fact that we chose probably the most distinguished priest in the Square to approach despite our best efforts not to impose on someone busy or high-ranking. It was, however, a neat experience and we were happy to have met the kindly Cardinal and to have made such a great memory.

Piazza Navona in the Evening

Overall, I found on my second visit to Rome that it found its way into my heart. The fact that I had such a hard time my first several days there made it in a strange way dearer to me. I felt that I had earned my place here, had encountered the grit and difficulties and learned to look beyond them to the beauty of the place. The crazy driving, pushy loud Italians, cheap trinkets and depressing buses are just pieces of the larger and wonderful puzzle that is the whole of Rome. It’s a unique place with a unique charm. Filled with such a curious mix of people from all around the world, busy and hectic yet with moments of peace, the winding streets at times stressful and hot yet cool and lovely in the mornings and evenings. And definitely a place worth getting to know and taking the time to understand. I’m glad I was able to, in the end.

Now we are returning Athens on the ferry, and tomorrow Tessie and I will part ways as she returns to the States and I made my way back to Germany. A twenty-one hour ferry ride alone will be an experience, for sure! However, ferries are a great place to write, so I’ve found, and I should be able to post soon about my time in Athens and the beautiful, rugged island of Santorini. I’m really looking forward to getting back to Germany to my home away from home with the Senks. Some R&R is in order after four weeks on the go! Wish me bon voyage, all!

Barcelona!

I never thought I would love a city so much based on its metro system, but when I saw the sparkling clean, organized, and easy to navigate Barcelonian metros decorated at the stops with backlit pictures of leaves and mosaics, I felt like I wanted to give every public transport official there a big hug. Getting around Barcelona was a delight after five days in Rome, and I actually enjoyed spending time on the quick and efficient metro trains full of generally nice people. Funny old men with accordions accompanied by old ladies on the tambourine or young hippie guys with guitars would occasionally get on and give a friendly serenade, and all that was missing was a little café area to make the whole thing seem like a luxury experience. God bless you, Barcelonian Public Transport Council, from me and from all other tourists heavy laden with baggage and unwashed clothing longing to be cleaned.

BCN Metro

Barcelona, like its metro system, is slick and modern. The streets are laid out in straight lines, everything connects in a way that makes sense, and the city is very clean and well maintained and full of glass and chrome and beautiful people. But it also has a more traditional side: in the historic sector of the downtown area, the narrow cobblestoned streets and gothic architecture create an Old World atmosphere. The city has done an excellent job of blending the old with the new in a tasteful and pleasing way. Las Ramblas, the big outdoor market lining the main pedestrian way in the middle of town, is a bit too touristy for my taste, as are the many tapas places with menus in English and overpriced wine. However, the grocery section of the market, which branches off from the main strip, is fantastic. There you can find freshly made fruit juices of all imaginable varieties, lamb’s tongue, all kinds of exotic local produce and spices and freshly caught seafood. I took lots of pictures here, continually surprised by all the weird and interesting goods for sale. Too bad fresh octopus doesn’t keep well, and wouldn’t fit in my pack!

Fruits and Veggies

Lambs' Heads

Travelling with my lovely friend Tessie was a joy from the beginning. It’s so much easier to find your hotel when one of you can look at the metro map while the other studies the street map. Two maps at a time can be rather overwhelming, especially if you are sporting a frontpack. And it’s not nearly as fun to ride in a little bike taxi alone! On the whole, we liked Las Ramblas but found our venture into downtown Barcelona and the beach didn’t really fulfill our desire to see local culture, since most of the people we ran into were Americans. I felt like I was in Florida, not Spain. So we went in pursuit of some local culture, and had not one but two very intriguing experiences.

The first one came about through my first walking tour of Europe- A Gaudi tour, to be exact. Barcelona is home to the greatest works of this architectural genius, and we were privileged enough to to see them! Gaudi’s works are fantastical in their strangeness yet mesmerizing in their beauty. The first house we saw, the Casa Batllo, reminded me of a Mardi Gras cupcake made by Tim Burton. The second house, the-Casa Mila, was more austere and the balconies were a bit disturbing, but I couldn’t stop staring at the strange shapes that represented nothing and a thousand things at the same time. Gaudi, strange and esoteric as he and his works were, is a master of evoking the imagination of the viewer. Our last stop on the tour was at his masterpiece and life’s work, the Sagrada Familia Basilica. Words cannot describe the beauty and awesomeness of this modern cathedral. From the tree-like columns to the brilliant profusion of light in the interior to the incredible detail on the nativity façade, its sustained excellence and unity on such a grand scale make it a true work of genius. It evokes reverence in the viewer in a way appropriate for a place of worship, yet in a totally different way from the traditional gothic or baroque churches I found in Rome. I could not help but compare it to St. Peter’s, and the two make quite a contrast to each other. While St. Peter’s inspires awe and respect, Sagrada Familia appeals to the emotions with a more approachable and intimate feel. Nature imagery, the depiction of the commonplace and the permeation of light make for, I feel, a very personal religious experience.

Casa Batllo

Stained Glass in Sagrada Familia

Our second cultural experience was found only after some travelling adversities. The direcions from Google Maps led us to a deserted warehouse, and we finally found the flamenco show Tablao de Carmen in a small medieval village now used as a large museum and marketplace for traditional Spanish glass, leather and metalworking wares. The village was empty as everything but the Tablao was closed, and we didn’t have a reservation to get in. After some negotiating with the entrance guard we got him to call the restaurant where the show was and get us a spot, after which he gave us a map of the pseudo-village and explained how to reach our evening’s entertainment. Our journey wasn’t over yet, though. We got a little lost in the winding streets that all looked the same, and ended up kind of jogging back and forth up creepy deserted alleyways of the little fake town trying with rising desperation to find the place before the show started. When we finally arrived and were seated at a little table right next to the stage, we both felt like we were characters mid-episode in an installment of The Twilight Zone. Or maybe The Three Stooges. We were served some delicious tapas and sangria, and waited expectantly for the dancers to emerge. It turned out there was no need to rush and we enjoyed our food for a bit before the lights went down and the dramatic music began, signaling the beginning of our “dinner and a show.”

The strange build of getting lost made the performance seem even more enthralling. The singers and guitarist set the mood with wailing voices punctuated by vigorous bursts of strumming in melancholic keys. The dancing was controlled, slow and smooth, offset by the crisp rapping of flamenco shoes and the graceful movements of arms and wrists and hands. Everyting about the dance is dramatic and intense: the vivid colors of the ruffled dresses, the stark lighting on the stage.  The flamenco speaks of a passionate people, but passionate in a different way from the gregarious animation of Italy- more austere, controlled and serious. The dancers took joy in the discipline and drama of the dance, laughing and smiling between sets, joking with each other but always intense and emotional during each performance. Even their faces were a part of the dance, wearing expressions of sadness, anger, and pride helped along by dramatic makeup and hair. These people seem to take joy in high seriousness. Not a loose carefree joy, but a joy in the intensity and the discipline and passion of the dance. I took a joy in it as well, especially after a pitcher of sangria and the delicious tapas they kept piling on our table! Fried octopus, thin cured ham and sausage slices, roasted salted peppers and Spanish cheeses topped off by some kind of baked custard with a sugary glazed top.

Overall, we really enjoyed Barcelona! Next up: Rome, Round Two. I'll be on the ferry from Santorini to Athens tomorrow, hopefully I'll have some time to write then!