Istanbul turned out to nothing like what I expected. My God! When you look up pandemonium in the dictionary, you'd absolutely have to find a picture of Istanbul. I've never, ever seen this many people in one place at one time in my whole life. It makes Disneyland look like the reading room at your local library. There is such a profusion of trains and buses and taxis and every other type of motor vehicle on the streets, you wonder how anyone gets anywhere. Naturally, since we're motoring around in a fifty or sixty-passenger bus, I'd swear that the driver was never going to get to pull out into traffic, let alone drive anywhere. But drive he did. We spent the morning visiting various mosques where you have to take off your shoes to enter and the Topkapi palace that served the last twenty-five sultans. The palace was built in the fifteen century and went through a succession remodelings up to the nineteenth century. The grounds are pretty neat, but Concetta and I had to beg off touring the three rooms they allow you access as there were just too many people trying to do the same thing at the same time.
The high point of today's tour was our lunch stop at a downtown four-star Istanbul Hotel where we were treated like royalty. White table cloths, bottomless wine glasses, dozens of salads and main course choices, and a dessert table that simply went on forever truly dazzled all of us. Though we had to hurry on to our next appointment, I would have been perfectly happy to spend the rest of the afternoon there chatting and sipping coffee.
Contrary to what I would have thought, Istanbul is incredibly popular with foreign tourists. For our afternoon's entertainment, we ventured into the covered bazaar, originally founded by Mehmet II in 1461. The bazaar turned out to be one giant sensory overload. There are 4,500 stalls in this bazaar selling everything from genuine fake watches, leather goods, and designer fashions, to the crafts of little old ladies selling hand-made, well, you name it. The bazaar is just an explosion of colors and sounds and smells in every direction you look. We walked down the main artery of the "Souke" only, but every few yards side arteries took off left and right that held the promise of equally fascinating things. I swear you could go into the bazaar and not re-emerge for hours. My only objection to venturing out into the tourist environment is that the Turkish vendors are very aggressive, much more so than in Greece. They're not particularly threatening. On the contrary, we've felt quite safe here in Turkey. The Turks appear to just love Americans and other tourists and have a smile ready for everyone.
As we near the end of the shipboard part of our vacation, a few thoughts on our experience are in order. Doing one of these academic cruises is both extremely rewarding and extremely frustrating. Using today's Istanbul trek as an example, we didn't get to experience any place thoroughly enough. That was true all the way along. Because of the amount of people that all the various tour groups are cranking through these archaeology sites and museums, the guides just move you through way too fast. Of course, since this type of activity tends to be pretty tiring, it can also be a plus if you don't spend too much time on your feet. But for the academic who wants to learn about the history and the culture of your destination, I'd have to suggest that you read about it way in advance. You won't have time to learn it on the fly. I would have to say that one of the marathon academic cruises is most valuable when taken as a way to acquaint one with what's available in a given area. But you have to come back at some point and spend some time in order to absorb all there is to absorb.
The biggest problem for me in taking these whirlwind tours is that I think the photography has suffered. I simply don't have time to study the area and come up with the most advantageous shot. Time after time I've fallen behind the group as I climb to the top of a nearby knoll to set up a shot. So far I haven't been left behind as the bus pulls out, but I know that I've probably missed some good shots in the process. Once again this year I brought the Nikon D70s with the 18mm-200mm lens. It's quite a bit heavier than your average point and shoot, but I like being able to use a polarizing filter for those bluer skies. The wide range zoom lens makes it easy to shoot from however far away I need to be. Hopefully, when we get to Italy and I start posting some of the photos, you'll find something you like that will encourage you to visit Greece and Turkey. They are really wonderful countries.
Well, I guess that's about all for now. I'm headed off to bed. Ciao, tutti.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
We visit Troy and Gallipoli
Well, yesterday turned out to be quite a day. First of all, the ship had a big, big problem just tying up to the dock. The current and the winds were so strong that we had two big tugs alongside trying to maneuver us into position, but for hours and hours they couldn't seem to pull it off. It took until noon to finally have the gangplank safely on shore. That, of course, put us hours behind schedule. Our first bus trip of the day was to Troy. I wasn't really sure what to expect at Troy. You hear about it all the time and see movies about it, but you never hear much about the current archaeological site. So, when we arrived for our tour, now taking place hours late, it came as a surprise that there really isn't much to see at Troy. Unlike Ephesus and Aphrodisias, There aren't impressive mosaics and frescoes to ooh and ah over. There isn't much in the way of fortifications. What you see is largely small stone walls, rather crudely done, and a giant reproduction horse waiting patiently for tourists to climb in inside and have their picture taken. I'm glad we came to see it, for who would want to come all the way to Turkey and not see it. But if you only have so much time, you're better off with Ephesus or Aphrodisias for the shear size and quality of those sites.
Since we didn't get to Troy until 1:00 o'clock or so, we didn't get back on the boat for lunch until well after 2:30 p.m. We were certainly hungry by then, but since Concetta and I have been having a little stomach distress the last couple of days, we didn't even care.
After lunch we reboarded the buses and headed for Gallipoli. Once again, we have reached a subject that I know little if anything about. I know Mel Gibson did a movie, but aside from that, the Gallipoli battle site was an entirely new experience for me. To visit Gallipoli, we had to drive all our buses aboard a ferry and ford the Bosporus. That was pretty exciting. Turkey is the only country (says Mehmet, our guide) that sits atop two continents. For some reason I expected Galliopi to be some kind of level battlefield where the participants charged at each other on horses or tanks or something. But that didn't turn out to be so. The place they took us to see was perched atop a tall mountain with a sweeping view of the Bosporus and the surrounding countryside. Evidently, the British, Australian, New Zealanders, and others were forced to fight their way up this steep terrain and they died by the hundreds and thousands. And it wasn't just a simple charge to take the summit, the Brits were dug in for nine months. When all was said and done, huge numbers of soldiers, both allies and Turks, had been killed and for a long time no one even came to bury the fallen. Very sad tale. Today, the Turkish government has erected a very impressive and sensitive group of memorials to all the participants on both sides. Well worth a visit and I wish we'd be able to spend more time there.
Today we're off to visit Istanbul, so stay tuned.
Ciao, tutti.
Since we didn't get to Troy until 1:00 o'clock or so, we didn't get back on the boat for lunch until well after 2:30 p.m. We were certainly hungry by then, but since Concetta and I have been having a little stomach distress the last couple of days, we didn't even care.
After lunch we reboarded the buses and headed for Gallipoli. Once again, we have reached a subject that I know little if anything about. I know Mel Gibson did a movie, but aside from that, the Gallipoli battle site was an entirely new experience for me. To visit Gallipoli, we had to drive all our buses aboard a ferry and ford the Bosporus. That was pretty exciting. Turkey is the only country (says Mehmet, our guide) that sits atop two continents. For some reason I expected Galliopi to be some kind of level battlefield where the participants charged at each other on horses or tanks or something. But that didn't turn out to be so. The place they took us to see was perched atop a tall mountain with a sweeping view of the Bosporus and the surrounding countryside. Evidently, the British, Australian, New Zealanders, and others were forced to fight their way up this steep terrain and they died by the hundreds and thousands. And it wasn't just a simple charge to take the summit, the Brits were dug in for nine months. When all was said and done, huge numbers of soldiers, both allies and Turks, had been killed and for a long time no one even came to bury the fallen. Very sad tale. Today, the Turkish government has erected a very impressive and sensitive group of memorials to all the participants on both sides. Well worth a visit and I wish we'd be able to spend more time there.
Today we're off to visit Istanbul, so stay tuned.
Ciao, tutti.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Living it up in Turkey
What do you call a guy who can speak Turkish, English, Russian and Bulgarian? Well, I can tell you what we called him and that's Mehmet. Mehmet was our guide for the last two days and an astoundingly educated and articulate Turkish man. We just love him. He seems to know just about everything there is to know about Turkish life, culture and history, and -- get this -- just about as much about American life, culture and history as we do -- sometimes more. He actually seemed to know things about the U.S.A. that I had long forgotten. I had to sort of slink down in my seat so he wouldn't call on me for the answers.
Anyway, after our usual breakfast on the ship's fantail this morning as the sun dawned red and orange over the harbor here in Kusadasi, Turkey, we loaded up the buses and headed for Aphrodisias some two and a half hours away. Now I'm sure you're going, "two and a half hours -- ugh!" But let me just tell you that the countryside in Turkey reminds me greatly of what southern California looked like when I was a kid there in the 1950s. Thirty-five percent of the natives (says Mehmet) are involved in small-farm agriculture. As you travel the highway north toward Aphrodisias, farm after farm growing olives, figs, oranges, grapes, strawberries, corn, and a host of other fruits and vegetables line the highway. Just to the west, is a small range of mountains much like California's San Gabriels. Right next to the highway runs a narrow-gauge railroad. As I sat there, gazing out the window at the passing countryside, I couldn't help but draw a parallel to California as I know it existed one hundred years ago when orange groves and grape vineyards covered the San Gabriel Valley. The tracks became those of California's Pacific Electric red streetcars that serviced the far flung communities in the L.A. basin. The many Turkish farms looked just like photos I've seen of their counterparts in California. It was almost surreal, like time traveling. All the serenity and beauty of old California is right here in living color in Turkey.
Speaking of living color, large parts of the country, even as it was in Greece, is covered in olive trees. They're everywhere. I'm sure you probably eat olive oil on a regular basis. Everyone does nowadays. Its health benefits are widely advertised. But on our ride yesterday our guide filled us in on some of added benefits of growing olive trees. First of all, our guide told us, the first pressing of the olives is used for the oil you find in your supermarket. Extra virgin, if you please, says Rachel Rae. But did you know that the second pressing, made predominately from the olive pits, is used here in Turkey for frying in restaurants and even at home? Yes, the guide said, this oil makes the most delicious fried potatoes in the world. And there's more. The pulp that is left from the second pressing is used as winter fuel, the burning of which produces a blue smoke and village after village that smells like fried potatoes.
The olive trees must be kept at a reasonable size to facilitate olive harvesting. So, the trimmings of young shoots that result from keeping the growth of the trees in check is used to feed the sheep and goats, which, the guide informed us, makes for a most delicious milk. The woody parts, that are left over from trimming or when trees must be cut down, are used for barbecuing, a process that makes for equally delicious lamb chops.
So, there you have it. I'm not sure that olive trees will grow in northern Nevada, but I'm sure going to check it out. If you see blue smoke coming from my chimney, you'll know I succeeded.
But more on our trip to Aphrodisias. Aphrodisias, as well as the site of Ephesus we visited yesterday, are absolutely FABULOUS archaeological sites. In most ways, they are on a par with Pompeii in Italy. In some ways, even better. First of all, the sites are huge, combining both outdoor and indoor displays, reconstructions, restorations, and ongoing digs. If you like towering marble pillars, hundreds of yards of marble walkways, and simply awesome frescoes and mosaics, you'll like these sites. I know without photos it's impossible to generate any enthusiasm for these Turkish treasures, but until I get off this boat and find a WiFi site, please look up the names and see what I'm talking about.
Today was extra special for our lunch stop. At just past 1:00 p.m. we were treated to a spectacular lunch at a roadside restaurant that encompassed many courses including Turkish beer, shiskabob, homemade pita bread, and prize-winning baklava and Turkish coffee. The meal took place under an arbor that featured drying peppers for decoration above our heads. Just a short distance away, green and purple ripened grapes hung from trellises and a strolling minstrel playing some sort of three-stringed instrument serenaded us while his pet parrot perched and danced on the instrument's neck.
We found our Turkish hosts to be extremely friendly and helpful and made our stay memorable. When it didn't look like the waiters would get enough Turkish coffee distributed before the buses started pulling out, I ventured back into the kitchen and the owner himself insisted on making me a custom Turkish coffee to order. I complimented him on his outstanding service and his outstanding coffee.
It's hard not to love it here. Let me tell you, I could easily see myself buying ten acres of olives and setting up a retirement retreat. And, if YOU'RE interested, foreigners are allowed to own real estate here in Turkey, though Mehmet tells me that that prices have definitely started to rise.
There was something else that made today's drive extra special. Some of you know that Concetta and I have been long-time Fiat owners. We purchased our first Fiat before we were even married back in 1977. The sedan Concetta drove to work for twenty some odd years still rests peacefully in the sanctuary of our garage. Other than that one example and the parts car in our back yard, seldom do we ever see an example in northern Nevada of a Fiat 131 Mira Fiori sedan. They are definitely on the endangered species list. But, much to our surprise, as we headed north out of Kusadasi this morning we immediately began to see numerous examples of our forty-year-old car. By the end of the day we had encountered perhaps more than a hundred. Now I know where all those Mira Fioris went to die. Except, they're not dead. They're alive and well and living in Turkey. Hooray!
At this moment, the Aegean Odyssey is gliding north through the "wine dark sea" as we make our way along the Turkish coast toward tomorrow's destination of Troy. At this point I have not done any reading on Troy so don't know what to expect. In fact, tonight's lecture on the subject is taking place without me as I type this blog. So, you and I will find out together what tomorrow brings. Until then, I bid you good night and good traveling. I don't know how to say any of that in Turkish, so you'll have to be content with boring old English. Ciao, tutti.
Anyway, after our usual breakfast on the ship's fantail this morning as the sun dawned red and orange over the harbor here in Kusadasi, Turkey, we loaded up the buses and headed for Aphrodisias some two and a half hours away. Now I'm sure you're going, "two and a half hours -- ugh!" But let me just tell you that the countryside in Turkey reminds me greatly of what southern California looked like when I was a kid there in the 1950s. Thirty-five percent of the natives (says Mehmet) are involved in small-farm agriculture. As you travel the highway north toward Aphrodisias, farm after farm growing olives, figs, oranges, grapes, strawberries, corn, and a host of other fruits and vegetables line the highway. Just to the west, is a small range of mountains much like California's San Gabriels. Right next to the highway runs a narrow-gauge railroad. As I sat there, gazing out the window at the passing countryside, I couldn't help but draw a parallel to California as I know it existed one hundred years ago when orange groves and grape vineyards covered the San Gabriel Valley. The tracks became those of California's Pacific Electric red streetcars that serviced the far flung communities in the L.A. basin. The many Turkish farms looked just like photos I've seen of their counterparts in California. It was almost surreal, like time traveling. All the serenity and beauty of old California is right here in living color in Turkey.
Speaking of living color, large parts of the country, even as it was in Greece, is covered in olive trees. They're everywhere. I'm sure you probably eat olive oil on a regular basis. Everyone does nowadays. Its health benefits are widely advertised. But on our ride yesterday our guide filled us in on some of added benefits of growing olive trees. First of all, our guide told us, the first pressing of the olives is used for the oil you find in your supermarket. Extra virgin, if you please, says Rachel Rae. But did you know that the second pressing, made predominately from the olive pits, is used here in Turkey for frying in restaurants and even at home? Yes, the guide said, this oil makes the most delicious fried potatoes in the world. And there's more. The pulp that is left from the second pressing is used as winter fuel, the burning of which produces a blue smoke and village after village that smells like fried potatoes.
The olive trees must be kept at a reasonable size to facilitate olive harvesting. So, the trimmings of young shoots that result from keeping the growth of the trees in check is used to feed the sheep and goats, which, the guide informed us, makes for a most delicious milk. The woody parts, that are left over from trimming or when trees must be cut down, are used for barbecuing, a process that makes for equally delicious lamb chops.
So, there you have it. I'm not sure that olive trees will grow in northern Nevada, but I'm sure going to check it out. If you see blue smoke coming from my chimney, you'll know I succeeded.
But more on our trip to Aphrodisias. Aphrodisias, as well as the site of Ephesus we visited yesterday, are absolutely FABULOUS archaeological sites. In most ways, they are on a par with Pompeii in Italy. In some ways, even better. First of all, the sites are huge, combining both outdoor and indoor displays, reconstructions, restorations, and ongoing digs. If you like towering marble pillars, hundreds of yards of marble walkways, and simply awesome frescoes and mosaics, you'll like these sites. I know without photos it's impossible to generate any enthusiasm for these Turkish treasures, but until I get off this boat and find a WiFi site, please look up the names and see what I'm talking about.
Today was extra special for our lunch stop. At just past 1:00 p.m. we were treated to a spectacular lunch at a roadside restaurant that encompassed many courses including Turkish beer, shiskabob, homemade pita bread, and prize-winning baklava and Turkish coffee. The meal took place under an arbor that featured drying peppers for decoration above our heads. Just a short distance away, green and purple ripened grapes hung from trellises and a strolling minstrel playing some sort of three-stringed instrument serenaded us while his pet parrot perched and danced on the instrument's neck.
We found our Turkish hosts to be extremely friendly and helpful and made our stay memorable. When it didn't look like the waiters would get enough Turkish coffee distributed before the buses started pulling out, I ventured back into the kitchen and the owner himself insisted on making me a custom Turkish coffee to order. I complimented him on his outstanding service and his outstanding coffee.
It's hard not to love it here. Let me tell you, I could easily see myself buying ten acres of olives and setting up a retirement retreat. And, if YOU'RE interested, foreigners are allowed to own real estate here in Turkey, though Mehmet tells me that that prices have definitely started to rise.
There was something else that made today's drive extra special. Some of you know that Concetta and I have been long-time Fiat owners. We purchased our first Fiat before we were even married back in 1977. The sedan Concetta drove to work for twenty some odd years still rests peacefully in the sanctuary of our garage. Other than that one example and the parts car in our back yard, seldom do we ever see an example in northern Nevada of a Fiat 131 Mira Fiori sedan. They are definitely on the endangered species list. But, much to our surprise, as we headed north out of Kusadasi this morning we immediately began to see numerous examples of our forty-year-old car. By the end of the day we had encountered perhaps more than a hundred. Now I know where all those Mira Fioris went to die. Except, they're not dead. They're alive and well and living in Turkey. Hooray!
At this moment, the Aegean Odyssey is gliding north through the "wine dark sea" as we make our way along the Turkish coast toward tomorrow's destination of Troy. At this point I have not done any reading on Troy so don't know what to expect. In fact, tonight's lecture on the subject is taking place without me as I type this blog. So, you and I will find out together what tomorrow brings. Until then, I bid you good night and good traveling. I don't know how to say any of that in Turkish, so you'll have to be content with boring old English. Ciao, tutti.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Mykonos....Ah, Mykonos
Back when I was making my living (such as it was) as a crewman aboard a sixty-foot wooden sailboat here in the Mediterranean, Mykonos easily qualified as one of the most interesting and exciting of our ports of call. I actually visited the island twice, both in 1973 and 1974. At that time Mykonos was on its way to becoming a premier fun spot in Greece for world-traveling twenty somethings. Tavernas abounded amidst the maze of tiny lanes and alleys that made up the town's thoroughfares. One, called the Minotaur, was my favorite, not because of the alcohol sold there, but for their signature dish -- waffles, peaches and whipped cream -- which tasted wonderful to a sailor far from home. But I also loved the Minotaur for its homey atmosphere, complete with books and places to read as well as listen to music. The Minotaur was where I was sitting when I first heard Pink Floyd's album, "Dark Side of the Moon." Lovely Album that even today invokes in me those long ago feelings of wanderlust.
Mykonos was exciting for another reason: the entire town is not designed on a grid system as are most towns, but like a giant maze, with streets wandering in a seemingly aimless pattern. Back in 1973, it took me several days to figure out how to go into town to find the Minotaur and then get back to the boat in any reasonable amount of time. Generally you had to just wander until you accidentally fouund your destination, then wander again until you found the waterfront. While it was fun and intriguing at first, it soon got to be irritating when I spent most of my time lost. Still, after those several days I began to recognize landmarks and navigate the town more quickly.
Last night our trusty ship, the Aegean Odyessy, pulled into Mykonos harbor and announced that we had several hours to spend there. HOURS? I couldn't conceive of even being able to pull that off in view of my previous experience. Nevertheless, Concetta and I, along with the Chicago couple we've become acquainted with, set out to find a dinner location, realizing that we simply wouldn't have enough time to do any sightseeing.
The transformation in Mykonos over the past four decades has been nothing short of incredible. They've added giant piers where the big ships can dock, where in the past ships had to anchor out. With at least a half dozen ships in port, all ablaze with hundreds of lights, the whole harbor area looks like one giant carnival ride. Mykonos town itself looks like Disneyworld on steroids. Whereas forty years ago the lanes and alleys were lined with tiny shops selling handmade leather and linen items, now you find huge emporiums selling everything from fine jewelry and watches, to expensive paintings and clothing. In the early seventies, you found a few quiet restaurants tucked away under shady arbors, most with just a handfull of customers. There you might easily find someone playing Greek bouzouki music and a couple of old Greek fishermen dancing. Now, the restaurants are big business. Not only are there seemingly dozens of them, all containing dozens of tables, but each one is filled to the brim with tourists speaking a dozen languages. I was skeptical that we would be able to find any tradional Greek food, but we actually had a very fine Greek meal at a charming, if slightly "rockus," establishment under a flower-covered arbor choosen by Concetta and Katherine.
Unfortunately, all too soon, it was time to return to the ship. I would have liked to wander the maze-like alleys for a couple more hours at least, even though I knew that the Mykonos of my youth was dead and gone. The quiet little lanes with the old Greek women sitting in the doorways of their shops do not exist anymore. Only handsome greek gods, modeling the latest in leatherware, and curvaceous, miniskirted godesses draped in form-fitting fashions, lounge in the doorways. If you're looking for the ancient, dusty relics of Greek history, you won't find them here. However, if you're reading this and happen to be just a couple of birthdays past your teens, I think you'd be crazy NOT to find your way to the island somehow, some way.
As for me, well, I'm off looking for the dusty relics of ancient Greece again. As Mykonos grows smaller off our stern and finally disappears into the mists of the Mediterranean morning, I say antio Sas! Goodbye, maybe for the last time. It was good to see you again, but the glitz and glitter of your new face is not for me. Ahead lies the island of Samos, where in classical antiquity, there existed a centre of Ionian culture and luxury, an area renowned for its Samian wines and its red pottery. Yes, it's time to go and discover more of ancient Greece, drink a little wine, and reflect on what has been.
Antio Sas!
Mykonos was exciting for another reason: the entire town is not designed on a grid system as are most towns, but like a giant maze, with streets wandering in a seemingly aimless pattern. Back in 1973, it took me several days to figure out how to go into town to find the Minotaur and then get back to the boat in any reasonable amount of time. Generally you had to just wander until you accidentally fouund your destination, then wander again until you found the waterfront. While it was fun and intriguing at first, it soon got to be irritating when I spent most of my time lost. Still, after those several days I began to recognize landmarks and navigate the town more quickly.
Last night our trusty ship, the Aegean Odyessy, pulled into Mykonos harbor and announced that we had several hours to spend there. HOURS? I couldn't conceive of even being able to pull that off in view of my previous experience. Nevertheless, Concetta and I, along with the Chicago couple we've become acquainted with, set out to find a dinner location, realizing that we simply wouldn't have enough time to do any sightseeing.
The transformation in Mykonos over the past four decades has been nothing short of incredible. They've added giant piers where the big ships can dock, where in the past ships had to anchor out. With at least a half dozen ships in port, all ablaze with hundreds of lights, the whole harbor area looks like one giant carnival ride. Mykonos town itself looks like Disneyworld on steroids. Whereas forty years ago the lanes and alleys were lined with tiny shops selling handmade leather and linen items, now you find huge emporiums selling everything from fine jewelry and watches, to expensive paintings and clothing. In the early seventies, you found a few quiet restaurants tucked away under shady arbors, most with just a handfull of customers. There you might easily find someone playing Greek bouzouki music and a couple of old Greek fishermen dancing. Now, the restaurants are big business. Not only are there seemingly dozens of them, all containing dozens of tables, but each one is filled to the brim with tourists speaking a dozen languages. I was skeptical that we would be able to find any tradional Greek food, but we actually had a very fine Greek meal at a charming, if slightly "rockus," establishment under a flower-covered arbor choosen by Concetta and Katherine.
Unfortunately, all too soon, it was time to return to the ship. I would have liked to wander the maze-like alleys for a couple more hours at least, even though I knew that the Mykonos of my youth was dead and gone. The quiet little lanes with the old Greek women sitting in the doorways of their shops do not exist anymore. Only handsome greek gods, modeling the latest in leatherware, and curvaceous, miniskirted godesses draped in form-fitting fashions, lounge in the doorways. If you're looking for the ancient, dusty relics of Greek history, you won't find them here. However, if you're reading this and happen to be just a couple of birthdays past your teens, I think you'd be crazy NOT to find your way to the island somehow, some way.
As for me, well, I'm off looking for the dusty relics of ancient Greece again. As Mykonos grows smaller off our stern and finally disappears into the mists of the Mediterranean morning, I say antio Sas! Goodbye, maybe for the last time. It was good to see you again, but the glitz and glitter of your new face is not for me. Ahead lies the island of Samos, where in classical antiquity, there existed a centre of Ionian culture and luxury, an area renowned for its Samian wines and its red pottery. Yes, it's time to go and discover more of ancient Greece, drink a little wine, and reflect on what has been.
Antio Sas!
Whitecaps on the Aegean Sea
This morning the wind is blowing force six down the tidy teak decks of the Aegean Odyssey as we plough our way upwind toward the tiny islands of Delos and Mykonos. I was just up standing on the bow with a fellow passenger and we had to lean against the pilot house to keep from being swept aft. The only thing I could think of is that scene on the Titanic movie where Kate stood on the very bow with her arms outstretched. As you might guess, the surrounding seas are a mass of whitecaps and I couldn't help but visualize myself back on the MAR in 1973 as we fought our way out of Mykonos harbor late in the season amidst just such whitecaps. We had our mainsail up for both propullsion and stability and we hadn't gone very far when a tremendous gust of wind tore the top of the sail away from it's rope edging and we had to quickly lower it. The loss of stability with the sail down caused the boat to pitch and roll with even greater ferocity and we had to come about and return to Mykonos and the relative safety of it's harbor. Later, we would hire a Greek fisherman to come aboard with his mending needles and put our heavy sail back together again. He was as brown as the inside of a walnut, wore a faded black Greek fisherman's cap, and carried tools that looked like they could have mended sails for Odysseus on his voyage to Troy.
From Wikipedia we learn that: In the United States, winds of force 6 or 7 result in the issuance of a small craft advisory, with force 8 or 9 winds bringing about a gale warning, force 10 or 11 a storm warning ("a tropical storm warning" being issued instead of the latter two if the winds relate to a tropical cyclone), and force 12 a hurricane force wind warning (or hurricane warning if related to a tropical cyclone). A set of red warning flags (daylight) and red warning lights (night time) is displayed at shore establishments which coincide with the various levels of warning.
This morning Concetta and I did something we haven't done in, well, maybe we've never done it; we slept until nearly 9:00 a.m. I was so astounded that I had to check my watch against our cabin clock to see if the darn thing had stopped last night or something. But no, it was right on. We had to sprint to make breakfast which ended at 9:30 a.m. It's a good thing that we didn't have a tour today or we'd been left on the boat.
And now a word about what we're doing on this cruise. If you've ever contemplated cruising, but have been deterred (as we were) by the thought of spending any time at all living on something the size of a aircraft carrier, these smaller cruise ships are the way to go. Presently, there are 333 passengers and 118 crew members on board. So few beings allows you to really get to know some of each of those groups. We've made friends with a number of passengers and have had some truly lovely dinners and breakfasts with them. Conceivably, by the end of the voyage, I suspect that we'll be trading addresses and phone numbers with them.
Booking, as we did, a cruise that is in part put together by the Archealogical Institute of American, we are naturally thrown together with a fairly atypical bunch of people. Everywhere you look passengers are carrying, reading, or talking about books. Yesterday we had lunch with a man and wife who, before retirement, were both chemistry professors. The wife was even head of the chemistry department. At times hanging around all these academics can be a tad intimidating, but most of the time it's very, very rewarding. Our recent breakfast table guest, who was the lecturer on geologic plate techtonics and volcanology, turned out to be one of the most fascinating people I've met in years.
The crew are the most agreeable service folks we've every been around. If you think about the surly unhelpful clerks and wait staff you deal with in many U.S. businesses nowadays you'll probably not believe me when I tell you that these folks are exactly the opposite. We've been absolutely thrilled with their professionalism and eagerness to please. Granted, they are all hoping for good tips, but isn't that what tips weren't meant to be about? First comes the good service, then the reward for good service. The U.S. has somehow perverted that idea.
According to what I've been told while on board, this is about the smallest ship that is reasonably affordable. When the ships get down to what I would consider an even more attractive size -- like 100 passengers -- the cost supposedly rachets up significantly. Still, should we decide to try another cruise sometime, I intend to research the idea of a smaller ship.
For those of you who are anxious to hear about the food here on board, I would say that it's on a level with Nevada's casino food. Which is to say, that it's not bad, just not anything that you're going to find in the upcoming issue of Bon Apetite magazine. Concetta and I have always found someting on the menu that we like, though sometimes it looks better than it tastes. As for my own prefereneces, I have tried to stick with mostly light fare -- fish, vegetables, and salads -- not because I'm trying to show off my willpower, but because the desserts are so good I've been unable to pass them by. Every evening I look forward to their dessert selection, be it the excellent bread pudding, the cheese cakes, the flans, or a triple-scoop of ice cream. They do have fruit for dessert, but I haven't been tempted by it yet, to which I'm sure my waist line will readily attest when we get home.
Well, I guess I'll close for now. Concetta is reading up in the lounge and I better go see how she's doing. They just announced on the intercom that the force 6 winds have precluded our visit to Delos, so we will be heading straight to Mykonos. I'm sorry to be missing Delos as it's one of the few places in Greece you can go which is not tourist oriented. It's purely an archeaological site. Mykonos, on the other hand, is largely a young person's island. On Mykonos it's pretty much non-stop hedonism. They have lots and lots of gay bars, nude beaches, and twenty-four-hour-a-day fun. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but if you're not 20 years old, you're probably going to concentrate more on the shopping.
So, for now I'll say, hasta la vista (until I see you again -- in Spanish) since I don't know how to say that in Greek. Ciao, tutti.
From Wikipedia we learn that: In the United States, winds of force 6 or 7 result in the issuance of a small craft advisory, with force 8 or 9 winds bringing about a gale warning, force 10 or 11 a storm warning ("a tropical storm warning" being issued instead of the latter two if the winds relate to a tropical cyclone), and force 12 a hurricane force wind warning (or hurricane warning if related to a tropical cyclone). A set of red warning flags (daylight) and red warning lights (night time) is displayed at shore establishments which coincide with the various levels of warning.
This morning Concetta and I did something we haven't done in, well, maybe we've never done it; we slept until nearly 9:00 a.m. I was so astounded that I had to check my watch against our cabin clock to see if the darn thing had stopped last night or something. But no, it was right on. We had to sprint to make breakfast which ended at 9:30 a.m. It's a good thing that we didn't have a tour today or we'd been left on the boat.
And now a word about what we're doing on this cruise. If you've ever contemplated cruising, but have been deterred (as we were) by the thought of spending any time at all living on something the size of a aircraft carrier, these smaller cruise ships are the way to go. Presently, there are 333 passengers and 118 crew members on board. So few beings allows you to really get to know some of each of those groups. We've made friends with a number of passengers and have had some truly lovely dinners and breakfasts with them. Conceivably, by the end of the voyage, I suspect that we'll be trading addresses and phone numbers with them.
Booking, as we did, a cruise that is in part put together by the Archealogical Institute of American, we are naturally thrown together with a fairly atypical bunch of people. Everywhere you look passengers are carrying, reading, or talking about books. Yesterday we had lunch with a man and wife who, before retirement, were both chemistry professors. The wife was even head of the chemistry department. At times hanging around all these academics can be a tad intimidating, but most of the time it's very, very rewarding. Our recent breakfast table guest, who was the lecturer on geologic plate techtonics and volcanology, turned out to be one of the most fascinating people I've met in years.
The crew are the most agreeable service folks we've every been around. If you think about the surly unhelpful clerks and wait staff you deal with in many U.S. businesses nowadays you'll probably not believe me when I tell you that these folks are exactly the opposite. We've been absolutely thrilled with their professionalism and eagerness to please. Granted, they are all hoping for good tips, but isn't that what tips weren't meant to be about? First comes the good service, then the reward for good service. The U.S. has somehow perverted that idea.
According to what I've been told while on board, this is about the smallest ship that is reasonably affordable. When the ships get down to what I would consider an even more attractive size -- like 100 passengers -- the cost supposedly rachets up significantly. Still, should we decide to try another cruise sometime, I intend to research the idea of a smaller ship.
For those of you who are anxious to hear about the food here on board, I would say that it's on a level with Nevada's casino food. Which is to say, that it's not bad, just not anything that you're going to find in the upcoming issue of Bon Apetite magazine. Concetta and I have always found someting on the menu that we like, though sometimes it looks better than it tastes. As for my own prefereneces, I have tried to stick with mostly light fare -- fish, vegetables, and salads -- not because I'm trying to show off my willpower, but because the desserts are so good I've been unable to pass them by. Every evening I look forward to their dessert selection, be it the excellent bread pudding, the cheese cakes, the flans, or a triple-scoop of ice cream. They do have fruit for dessert, but I haven't been tempted by it yet, to which I'm sure my waist line will readily attest when we get home.
Well, I guess I'll close for now. Concetta is reading up in the lounge and I better go see how she's doing. They just announced on the intercom that the force 6 winds have precluded our visit to Delos, so we will be heading straight to Mykonos. I'm sorry to be missing Delos as it's one of the few places in Greece you can go which is not tourist oriented. It's purely an archeaological site. Mykonos, on the other hand, is largely a young person's island. On Mykonos it's pretty much non-stop hedonism. They have lots and lots of gay bars, nude beaches, and twenty-four-hour-a-day fun. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but if you're not 20 years old, you're probably going to concentrate more on the shopping.
So, for now I'll say, hasta la vista (until I see you again -- in Spanish) since I don't know how to say that in Greek. Ciao, tutti.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Rhodes, Greece -- Where the colossos used to be
Concetta and I just got back to the Ship after spending the afternoon strolling the narrow lanes and alleys of the ancient city of Rhodes. While most of the passengers elected to return to the ship after our half-day tour of the various "culturally important" areas of the city, we decided to stay and try to get off the beaten path and explore the places where few tourists go. It was fun, though you immediately become aware that where the tourist don't go the buildings don't get maintained very well and to look a little run down. Still, it was fun. About sunset we stumbled across the "Romeo" cafe and the proprietor coaxed us to take a seat in his charming outdoor restaurant where he proceeded to dazzel us with both his charm and his food preparation. I was hoping for a gyro (lamb, tomatoes, onions, and cucumber-yoghurt sauce wrapped in a pita) but ended up sharing a Greek Salad and plate of Cod and vegetables with Concetta washed down with my usual Mythos beer. Yum yum. Everything was really tasty. At home I always have to laugh when a restaurant advertises Greek salad. Usually, they have no idea what to acutally serve. Greek salad is comprised of tomotes, onions, Greek olives, feta cheese, and cucumbers. Ours tonight also had green bell peppers sliced very thin and a sprinkling of cabbage, though the latter two ingredients cannot be counted on. Over all this one always has a very light dressing of olive oil and vinegar. And there you have it. The next time you order Greek salad and it arrives looking like mostly lettuce, send it back.
This morning, our destination by tour bus was the tiny ancient city of Lindos, which hugs the coast about an hour east of Rhodes. Lindos is the place in Greece, our guide told us, that the fighting men of Rhodes sailed for the Trojan war in 1300 B.C. or so. Let me tell you, Lindos was a trip and a half. Our plan as a group was to climb the mountain that fills the skyline in Lindos all the way to the top to see the fort constructed by the Knights of St. John the Baptist. These knights, not to be confused with the Knights Templar, were the Crusaders whose job it was to serve as Doctors and hospitalers to both crusaders and pilgrims. This fort was constructed at the top of a natural (most likely volcanic) outcrop above the city known as an Acropolis. As our guide has been fond of telling us, Virtually every city in Greece of any import has its own acropolis. The one in Athens is just the most famous. Anyway, starting in Lindos, Concetta and I set off on foot to climb the stone path to the top. Nowadays, Greece is customarily inundated by tourists during the high season. And, since September is still considered the high season, we found a veritable sea of buses already parked when we arrived at 10:30 a.m. and a small (make that large) army of tourists climbing right along with us. Since there were also people coming down the stone path, the width of which measured about four feet when it wasn't even narrower, it turned out to be a fairly harrowing experience. Greeks don't believe, it would seem, in hand rails of any kind, even though the drop-off is considerable in some places. Still, we made it to the fortress and had a very nice time taking pictures and exploring the grounds.
One of the things I've been noticing since we arrived in Greece is the incredible transformation that is taking place in the look of Greek houses. I'm not sure when it happened, but according to one of our guides the Greek government passed a law that said Greeks had to begin building more earthquake proof houses and commercial spaces, this because the people were fond of building with rubble stone (with or without mortar) and absolutely no structural steel of any kind. So, the first earthquake that comes along, the whole village ends up reverting to a pile of stones in the street.
In the past, Greece had some of the most picturesque housing anywhere, most often looking more or less like our Sante Fe, New Mexico style of Spanish housing with stucco exterior and red tile roofs. Usually the doors and window trim would be painted a bright green or blue and the whole effect was quite charming. Now, with the new earthquake regulations in place, Greeks are building (and when I say building, I mean EVERYWHERE you look) structures that are a mixture of Hollywood, California "modern" in 1955, and a Soviet Union tenement apartment from the same time period. It's bizzare! They start construction by erecting something that looks a lot like a parking garage with its concrete posts and horizontal concrete floors. Their houses may have two or three of these floors. Then, they fill in the spaces between the concrete upright pillars with red brick, done in a sort of "I don't have to be neat since I'm covering this with stucco anyway" technique. The effect is to have the masonry look rather haphazard and sloppy. THEN, they may only finish one of the two or three floors with actual walls and they may leave the second and third floor with just the bare parking garage look to it. You can tell that they have been living in the bottom floor for some time since the whole place looks very lived in. So it's not like they halted construction temporarily so they could go on vacation or something. All of this is pretty sad, at least to me, when you consider that the Greeks pretty much invented classic architecture.
Rhodes looks very different than the last time I saw it in 1974. According to our guide today, the population of Rhodes was about 20,000 people back when I was here. now the population has jumped to around 60,000. Like Nevada, the island of Rhodes enjoys around 300 days of sun a year. They also get 20 days of rain. He didn't tell us what happened for the other 45 days, but whatever it is, folks are flocking here to take advantage of the good weather. Our two waiters tonight were both from out of town. One was from Thesalonika in Macedonia, quite a trek from here. Both told us they came here to take advantage of the tourism trade. They, and everyone else we talked to, puts in seven day weeks for seven to nine months in a row. No days off, and very long hours. They must do this, most of them, because there is no work in their home towns. All the wait staff here on the ship work that same three quarters of a year, then they go home and spend one quarter with their wifes and children. Very tough way to make a living, I'd say, but they all seem very upbeat about it.
Well, I'm headed up topside because they're moving the ship to a new slip tonight and I thought I'd try to capture some part of it on film. So, I'll say goodnight. We're headed for Mykonos and Delos tomorrow and those are two places I'm really looking forward to showing Concetta. Ciao, tutti.
This morning, our destination by tour bus was the tiny ancient city of Lindos, which hugs the coast about an hour east of Rhodes. Lindos is the place in Greece, our guide told us, that the fighting men of Rhodes sailed for the Trojan war in 1300 B.C. or so. Let me tell you, Lindos was a trip and a half. Our plan as a group was to climb the mountain that fills the skyline in Lindos all the way to the top to see the fort constructed by the Knights of St. John the Baptist. These knights, not to be confused with the Knights Templar, were the Crusaders whose job it was to serve as Doctors and hospitalers to both crusaders and pilgrims. This fort was constructed at the top of a natural (most likely volcanic) outcrop above the city known as an Acropolis. As our guide has been fond of telling us, Virtually every city in Greece of any import has its own acropolis. The one in Athens is just the most famous. Anyway, starting in Lindos, Concetta and I set off on foot to climb the stone path to the top. Nowadays, Greece is customarily inundated by tourists during the high season. And, since September is still considered the high season, we found a veritable sea of buses already parked when we arrived at 10:30 a.m. and a small (make that large) army of tourists climbing right along with us. Since there were also people coming down the stone path, the width of which measured about four feet when it wasn't even narrower, it turned out to be a fairly harrowing experience. Greeks don't believe, it would seem, in hand rails of any kind, even though the drop-off is considerable in some places. Still, we made it to the fortress and had a very nice time taking pictures and exploring the grounds.
One of the things I've been noticing since we arrived in Greece is the incredible transformation that is taking place in the look of Greek houses. I'm not sure when it happened, but according to one of our guides the Greek government passed a law that said Greeks had to begin building more earthquake proof houses and commercial spaces, this because the people were fond of building with rubble stone (with or without mortar) and absolutely no structural steel of any kind. So, the first earthquake that comes along, the whole village ends up reverting to a pile of stones in the street.
In the past, Greece had some of the most picturesque housing anywhere, most often looking more or less like our Sante Fe, New Mexico style of Spanish housing with stucco exterior and red tile roofs. Usually the doors and window trim would be painted a bright green or blue and the whole effect was quite charming. Now, with the new earthquake regulations in place, Greeks are building (and when I say building, I mean EVERYWHERE you look) structures that are a mixture of Hollywood, California "modern" in 1955, and a Soviet Union tenement apartment from the same time period. It's bizzare! They start construction by erecting something that looks a lot like a parking garage with its concrete posts and horizontal concrete floors. Their houses may have two or three of these floors. Then, they fill in the spaces between the concrete upright pillars with red brick, done in a sort of "I don't have to be neat since I'm covering this with stucco anyway" technique. The effect is to have the masonry look rather haphazard and sloppy. THEN, they may only finish one of the two or three floors with actual walls and they may leave the second and third floor with just the bare parking garage look to it. You can tell that they have been living in the bottom floor for some time since the whole place looks very lived in. So it's not like they halted construction temporarily so they could go on vacation or something. All of this is pretty sad, at least to me, when you consider that the Greeks pretty much invented classic architecture.
Rhodes looks very different than the last time I saw it in 1974. According to our guide today, the population of Rhodes was about 20,000 people back when I was here. now the population has jumped to around 60,000. Like Nevada, the island of Rhodes enjoys around 300 days of sun a year. They also get 20 days of rain. He didn't tell us what happened for the other 45 days, but whatever it is, folks are flocking here to take advantage of the good weather. Our two waiters tonight were both from out of town. One was from Thesalonika in Macedonia, quite a trek from here. Both told us they came here to take advantage of the tourism trade. They, and everyone else we talked to, puts in seven day weeks for seven to nine months in a row. No days off, and very long hours. They must do this, most of them, because there is no work in their home towns. All the wait staff here on the ship work that same three quarters of a year, then they go home and spend one quarter with their wifes and children. Very tough way to make a living, I'd say, but they all seem very upbeat about it.
Well, I'm headed up topside because they're moving the ship to a new slip tonight and I thought I'd try to capture some part of it on film. So, I'll say goodnight. We're headed for Mykonos and Delos tomorrow and those are two places I'm really looking forward to showing Concetta. Ciao, tutti.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Santorini -- where tourism meets volcanism
This morning we woke up to our ship, the Aegean Odyssey, tying up in the submerged cauldera of the sleeping volcano that sometime around 1600 B.C. erupted violently and and turned a once thriving bronze age civilization into a Pompeii-like dead zone. The volcano completely destroyed the center of the island of Thera leaving only a crescent-shaped set of cliffs. For several hundred years nothing lived on the destroyed island as the ash cloud had covered everything to a depth of thirty or forty feet. Still, after a time, people began to re-populate the island remnant. Now some 12,000 people inhabit the lofty cliffside villages.
Thera, or Santorini as it's most often called, was one of my very favorite stopping places back in 1973 and 1974 when I was working as crew aboard a sixty-foot sail boat. Our mission then was to make a documentary about the Mediterranean, a task that required much schlepping of heavy cameras and tripods up and down hillsides. Here on Santorini our instructions were to set up a shooting location on the long, winding concrete path that wound its way from the harbor to the lofty heights above, a journey that required mounting six hundred steps before you reached the summit. The Captain, one Chuck Tobias, had selected a donkey to carry HIM to the village above and he wanted my shipmate, John Riise, and I to film him as he rode. "No problem," we said, and we dashed a hundred yards away and set up our camera. Our plan was to do several "drive-bys" with the donkey which would require Chuck to halt the four-legged fellow after each take so we might dash another hundred yards up the mountain where we could set up our shooting location again.
That's what it said in the fine print. However, no one consulted the donkey. Maybe Chuck just needed to know how to talk to him in Greek, who knows? But the upshot was that the donkey refused to halt between takes. This naturally required John and I to break down the equipment, dash ahead of the briskly trotting donkey, and then set up for the next take before Chuck and the furry fellow reached us. Not knowing whether any of the takes were being successful in our shooting haste, we just kept doing our dash-ahead all the way up the mountain. By the time we reached the summit neither John nor I was able to walk. We just collapsed on the pavement. The hell of it was, in the final movie the donkey scene ended up on the cutting room floor. Jeeze!
So, as you might guess, I have some very fond memories of Santorini. This island is one of the most photographed places on earth. I suspect that almost everyone has at one time or another seen a calendar shot of the beautiful whitewashed buildings perched on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the deep blue mediterranean waters of the volcanic harbor. The villages from a distance look like the whipped cream icing on a chocolate layer cake. Fortunately, we got to ride buses to the top so I didn't have to repeat the donkey-chase episode by navigating the six hundred steps. That left me with plenty of energy to do some photography and sight-seeing. There's a really great museum here on the island filled with all the things that the archeaologists have found on the sourthern end of the island in the village of Acrotiri. Concetta and I hoped that we would get to see the dig itself, but five years ago a tourist was killed by a collapsing room section at Acrotiri and now no one gets to tour there. Still, the museum had some exception frescos, pottery, and craft work.
After the museum we were allowed to roam the cliff-top villages by ourselves. Except for a few minutes of rain that dropped in unexpectedly, we had some truly great shooting weather with lots of blue skies and fluffly clouds in the backgroud. On Santorini, everywhere you point the camera the frame is filled with a rainbow of colors against the brillant whites of the houses. I loved the bright blues and greens and reds of the shop entrances, spectacular purples of the bougainvilla, and the yellows and peach colors of the awnings and umbrellas. Everything is so very colorful that Santorini is simply a photographer's dream come true. I'm so sorry that the IT neanderthals here on the boat have prevented me from showing the photos. If you were a photographer, one look at Santorini and you'd be booking your flight tomorrow. Do browse the internet and see what I mean.
For lunch today I wanted to completely avoid the sexy restaurants perched right on the edge of the cliff that are inevitably frequented by every tourist who makes the trek to the top. So, Concetta and I walked inland until we found a restaurant where nearly everyone inside looked like they stepped out of a Zorba movie. "This is just what I was looking for," I told Concetta. And so it was. I had the moussaka and Concetta had the stuffed Zuchini, both of which turned out to be wonderful. I had my usual Greek beer, Mythos, but we were too full to even think about dessert. However, a little later, after an hour or so of walking, we dropped into a coffee and pastry shop and finished out our lunch with some strong, black Greek coffee and a good-sized piece of baklava. Dear me, this has to be what heaven is like.
This afternoon, once we had ridden the cable tram from the cliff-top to the harbor, boarded the shuttle craft to the ship, and had our showers, we sat in the bar and relaxed. I've been trying out a new drink called a "sidecar," which is sort of like a whiskey sour, but better in my estimation. Concetta had the champagne cocktain, but she drank it all before I got a sip so I can't tell if it was good. I suspect that it was.
This evening we sought out our usual dinner location on the fantail, though the wind was strong enough to blow the silverware off the table. Fortunately, our new friends from Chicago invited us to share their table that was a little more sheltered. For next hour we regaled each other with stories of our work and home lives, drank a lot of wine, and generally got better acquainted, which was nice.
Right now, the boat is gliding through the dark swells of the Mediterranean toward our next destination, the island of Rhodes, perhaps my very favorite Greek island of all. Back in 1973, John Riise and I did much exploring amongst the ancient battlements of the port city that were established by the Knights of St. John the Baptist during the crusades. Though it was not allowed, we managed to sneak inside the massive walls where the crusaders held off Suliman the Magnificent and we wandered through the darkened tunnels where the knights fought to hold off the Turks all those centuries ago. If you love history like I do, Rhodes is definitely where you can rub elbows with it.
Well, once again it's coming up 11:00 p.m. I suspect that Concetta has gotten tired of waiting for me and is fast asleep. So, for now, I'll say, Kalini'ta (good night).
Thera, or Santorini as it's most often called, was one of my very favorite stopping places back in 1973 and 1974 when I was working as crew aboard a sixty-foot sail boat. Our mission then was to make a documentary about the Mediterranean, a task that required much schlepping of heavy cameras and tripods up and down hillsides. Here on Santorini our instructions were to set up a shooting location on the long, winding concrete path that wound its way from the harbor to the lofty heights above, a journey that required mounting six hundred steps before you reached the summit. The Captain, one Chuck Tobias, had selected a donkey to carry HIM to the village above and he wanted my shipmate, John Riise, and I to film him as he rode. "No problem," we said, and we dashed a hundred yards away and set up our camera. Our plan was to do several "drive-bys" with the donkey which would require Chuck to halt the four-legged fellow after each take so we might dash another hundred yards up the mountain where we could set up our shooting location again.
That's what it said in the fine print. However, no one consulted the donkey. Maybe Chuck just needed to know how to talk to him in Greek, who knows? But the upshot was that the donkey refused to halt between takes. This naturally required John and I to break down the equipment, dash ahead of the briskly trotting donkey, and then set up for the next take before Chuck and the furry fellow reached us. Not knowing whether any of the takes were being successful in our shooting haste, we just kept doing our dash-ahead all the way up the mountain. By the time we reached the summit neither John nor I was able to walk. We just collapsed on the pavement. The hell of it was, in the final movie the donkey scene ended up on the cutting room floor. Jeeze!
So, as you might guess, I have some very fond memories of Santorini. This island is one of the most photographed places on earth. I suspect that almost everyone has at one time or another seen a calendar shot of the beautiful whitewashed buildings perched on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the deep blue mediterranean waters of the volcanic harbor. The villages from a distance look like the whipped cream icing on a chocolate layer cake. Fortunately, we got to ride buses to the top so I didn't have to repeat the donkey-chase episode by navigating the six hundred steps. That left me with plenty of energy to do some photography and sight-seeing. There's a really great museum here on the island filled with all the things that the archeaologists have found on the sourthern end of the island in the village of Acrotiri. Concetta and I hoped that we would get to see the dig itself, but five years ago a tourist was killed by a collapsing room section at Acrotiri and now no one gets to tour there. Still, the museum had some exception frescos, pottery, and craft work.
After the museum we were allowed to roam the cliff-top villages by ourselves. Except for a few minutes of rain that dropped in unexpectedly, we had some truly great shooting weather with lots of blue skies and fluffly clouds in the backgroud. On Santorini, everywhere you point the camera the frame is filled with a rainbow of colors against the brillant whites of the houses. I loved the bright blues and greens and reds of the shop entrances, spectacular purples of the bougainvilla, and the yellows and peach colors of the awnings and umbrellas. Everything is so very colorful that Santorini is simply a photographer's dream come true. I'm so sorry that the IT neanderthals here on the boat have prevented me from showing the photos. If you were a photographer, one look at Santorini and you'd be booking your flight tomorrow. Do browse the internet and see what I mean.
For lunch today I wanted to completely avoid the sexy restaurants perched right on the edge of the cliff that are inevitably frequented by every tourist who makes the trek to the top. So, Concetta and I walked inland until we found a restaurant where nearly everyone inside looked like they stepped out of a Zorba movie. "This is just what I was looking for," I told Concetta. And so it was. I had the moussaka and Concetta had the stuffed Zuchini, both of which turned out to be wonderful. I had my usual Greek beer, Mythos, but we were too full to even think about dessert. However, a little later, after an hour or so of walking, we dropped into a coffee and pastry shop and finished out our lunch with some strong, black Greek coffee and a good-sized piece of baklava. Dear me, this has to be what heaven is like.
This afternoon, once we had ridden the cable tram from the cliff-top to the harbor, boarded the shuttle craft to the ship, and had our showers, we sat in the bar and relaxed. I've been trying out a new drink called a "sidecar," which is sort of like a whiskey sour, but better in my estimation. Concetta had the champagne cocktain, but she drank it all before I got a sip so I can't tell if it was good. I suspect that it was.
This evening we sought out our usual dinner location on the fantail, though the wind was strong enough to blow the silverware off the table. Fortunately, our new friends from Chicago invited us to share their table that was a little more sheltered. For next hour we regaled each other with stories of our work and home lives, drank a lot of wine, and generally got better acquainted, which was nice.
Right now, the boat is gliding through the dark swells of the Mediterranean toward our next destination, the island of Rhodes, perhaps my very favorite Greek island of all. Back in 1973, John Riise and I did much exploring amongst the ancient battlements of the port city that were established by the Knights of St. John the Baptist during the crusades. Though it was not allowed, we managed to sneak inside the massive walls where the crusaders held off Suliman the Magnificent and we wandered through the darkened tunnels where the knights fought to hold off the Turks all those centuries ago. If you love history like I do, Rhodes is definitely where you can rub elbows with it.
Well, once again it's coming up 11:00 p.m. I suspect that Concetta has gotten tired of waiting for me and is fast asleep. So, for now, I'll say, Kalini'ta (good night).
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