Cinque Terre

In our travels, and in this blog we have used the adjective “touristy” as a pejorative – sometimes with good reason. Some places are just tacky, crass attempts to lure the biggest bucks from the most people possible. But some places are have lots of tourists just because it is beautiful, or historic, or architecturally important.
Cinque Terre is full of tourists, and I doubt whether any were disappointed they came. Cinque Terre literally means “five earths” or “five lands”, but it really is a rugged portion of the coast on the Italian Riviera, in the Ligurian region, where trails connect five villages. Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. The coastline, the five villages, and the surrounding hillsides are all part of the Cinque Terre National Park and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The inhabitants of Cinque Terre have got it right – it is incredibly beautiful, but seems not to know it. You still see washing hanging from the balconies right next to flowerboxes overflowing with geraniums. Fig trees, lemon trees, hydrangeas, oleander grow between the brightly coloured houses, and you definitely feel like you are in an ancient village, with restaurants built into grottoes along the main street. Fishing boats are pulled up alongside cafe, and every morning they are dragged down to the sea to pull in the day's catch.
Over the centuries, people have carefully built terraces on the rugged, steep landscape right up to the cliffs that overlook the sea. There is no visible corporate development. Paths, trains and boats connect the villages, and cars cannot reach them from the outside.
Unfortunately, the villages of the Cinque Terre were severely affected by torrential rains which caused floods and mudslides on October 25, 2011. Nine people have been confirmed killed by the floods, and damage to the villages, particularly Vernazza, Corniglia, and Monterosso al Mare, was extensive. The footpath to Corniglia was still closed while we were here.
It is somewhat ironic that Lorraine had her fall on the mountains of Corsica the day before we came here, where there are 153 steps up to our BandB, and even more to the roadway. It was our intent to hike the whole trail, but we cut things back, still managing a hike to the beautiful village of Manarola. Lorraine has been a good sport, hobbling up and down many times a day, and managing the trails like a trooper.

The Villages of Cinque Terre

Cinque Terre is quaint, beautiful, and worth adding as a destination in your bucket list!

Corsica Too!

Logo of the Corsican Polyphonic Singers

Archway in the Corsican Mountains

Corsican Coast and Mountains

The next night we went out to hear a guitarist/singer who we were told was also a comedian, at our local “pizzeria”, a little restaurant perched on a cliffside. He was not much of a singer and certainly not much of a guitarist. He would strum a chord, then “sing” a few words or phrases, then suddenly erupt in a series of sub-human growls and yelps. The place, however, was packed and at the end of each song, the whole crowd would erupt with laughter. We tried to follow along, but in Corsica they speak a dialect of Italian/French/Corse that is difficult to interpret. I know one song was about Bill Clinton and Madonna?

In the middle of our dinner, there was another explosion, and no, the lights did not go out, but a young chef was badly burned in the kitchen. Ever “Helpful John”, I went to assist and give first aid until the doctor arrived.

Again, there was no chance of us finishing our dinner, even though we now were sharing one between us.

The next day we hiked a trail that meandered along a stream through a National Park. It had us feeling like we were somehow transported to a magical place where elves, dwarves, Hobbits?, would not seem out of place. At the end of our hike we had a cold bottle of sparkling water (with ice!!) and a huge salad, full of tomatoes, lettuce, eggs, and olives at a place that was completely off the grid, running solely on power supplied by a diesel generator. The music? “The Letter – Boxtops, Whiter Shade of Pale – Procol Harum, Pictures of Matchstick Men – Status Quo, Cinderella Rockefeller - Israeli duo group Esther and Abi”

I told the young girls there that I really liked the music and they thought that was hilarious!

Next day was spent on the beach by the Tyrrhenian Sea. We walked for miles and swam in the warm, shallow water.

That night we went to hear Coriscan traditional polyphonic singing in the church in the nearby town of Pero Casevecchie.. It was an hour of absolute enchantment. The acoustics were haunting, the setting perfect. The six male singers would weave their harmonies in and out, sometimes sounding almost Arabic, resolving first to one chord, then sliding that up or down to a modal relative, shifting through chromaticisms that created enough tension that it enhanced the final resolution to a familiar major or minor chord.

At the end of the concert, the men walked through the audience, and a woman from the audience joined them. They encircled her and joined hands in singing one of the most beautiful laments I have ever heard. This is apparently a Corsican tradition, as a tribute to the Virgin Mary.

A sample can be found here, at the beginning of this video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsQVMA6imas&feature=related

Today we went for a hike up to one of the highest points in Corsica. It was two hours of climbing up and down, providing one of the most incredible panoramic views for miles and miles. Unfortunately, Lorraine took a bad tumble on the way down, spraining her ankle painfully, and landing on her elbow on the sharp rocks. We spent the rest of the day quietly, with me being Florence Nightingale (I have a very cute nurse's outfit!) She seems to have rallied, but we will probably drive, not walk to the club to eat a cow.

Tomorrow – brave the ferry back to Italy!

Corsican Beginnings

Wild, Rugged Corsican Forest

Our Mountain Road

The Beauty of Corsica

Wild Boar Trophy

Wild Boar Gallery

When I asked Lorraine why we were headed to Corsica, I didn't really get much of an answer beyond, “Because it was sort of on the way.”, but we have come to appreciate the stunning natural panoramas that we have encountered on our drives through the Corsican mountains.

We have described many beautiful countries in our travels and of course, cities like Venice, Rome, San Gimignano, Lucca and Paris could each claim the mantle for top honours, but Corsica has surprised us with a beauty that is rugged and profound.

It seems as though each tree is determined to show its individuality, to show its profile and stand out from the splashes of colour that surrounds it. The mountains thrust out of the ground and rise aggressively out of the forests. Each mountain wears a mantle of greens, yellows, ochres, and reds to complement their sheer stone cliffs. Every once in a while the mountains host a little village, with its grey houses, orange tile roofs and ancient church spires. The scenery compels you to look at it and drink in its beauty.

It did not begin that way. As our ferry docked in Bastia in the 36 degree heat, we went down to drive the car off as they lowered the ramps and other cars moved off. Entering the garage area, where the hundreds of cars were stowed awaiting to exit, we were met with a wall of heat and humidity that had the car thermometer showing 45 degrees Celcius. (That's 106 degrees in US$). We sat in the car for 20 minutes, waiting for God knows what, in danger of drowning as the sweat ran off us and began to pool on the floor of the car. Then, once we were out of the car, we had to endure Bastia, which has to be the armpit of Corsica, with bumper to bumper traffic, and 100 kmh multi-lane roads sudden merging into one stand-still road (still supposedly at 100 kph??)

Only once we turned off the road towards Tallasanee did we begin to really appreciate the Corsica countryside. Ruggedly spectacular.

On the way up the tiny country lane, we noticed what we thought we black sheepskins on the fence posts beside the road. We found out later that these were the pelts of wild boars. Hunting season had just opened and hunters would skin the boars they shot and leave them as trophies on their fences. Much of Corsican cuisine features wild boar – and it is delicious!

Our first night we ate with our hosts, Brain and Patrick, a charming couple who run our BandB Maison Borghetti. The fare was light and delicious.

This little village has only one other place to eat – at the “Club” - where we are now proud members. We had only just sat down, when with a boom, all the lights went out. I mean ALL the lights went out. Remember, we were on a mountaintop looking down over villages all the way to the cities ringing the Tyrrhenian coast. Not a twinkle. Turns out there was a major fire and explosion in the main electric plant and thousands of people were in the dark. It lasted over an hour. The “Club” had no candles, let alone backup power, so we spent the next 75 minutes or so getting to know our neighbours at the next table, who graciously offered to walk us home as they had flashlights in their car.

When the power finally resumed, my meal arrived. True Corse (Corsican) fare indeed! The Hungry Heifer would have been put to shame. The meat covered the dinner plate to a height of about 4 inches. On the bottom was a huge cutlet of pork, covered with a steak red and bleeding inside, covered with... wait for it..., a side of bacon. Not strips of bacon, not a few rashers, a whole side of bacon.

Needless to say, I couldn't even put a respectable dent in it.

Tomorrow – guitar, song, and beautiful music.

Time Warp

No The Blog won't jump twenty years

Time Warp - featuring Sandy Lubert

Tuscan Hillside - Where the Blog SHOULD be (Chronologically)

Let's Do The Time Warp!

 So here's the thing. One might think that I have nothing better to do than write blogs, but the fact is that we get quite busy. We eat, we explore, we hike, we sleep, we exercise, we drink wine, we play guitar, we drink cappuccinos. Throw in the inconsistent access to the Internet and I have fallen behind.

We are now in Corsica (Corse), and the blog is still in Tuscany – in fact, it is just on its way there. So here is what I am going to do. I am going to skip ahead to the present, as the blogs always seem to be fresher if I am writing about what is going on now, rather than two weeks ago.

Oh, stop the wailing and gnashing of teeth. I am not going to pull a LOST! on you. The island of Corsica won't disappear and then reappear 40 years into the future (or past – I could never figure out that show...) It is not as if one blog I will be fine, then the next I will be sporting a full leg cast, and you are saying, “What ho??! John was fine in the last blog I read!?” For one thing, I do not have a cast right now.

I will also go back intermittently to recapture our halcyon days in Tuscany – Santa Fiora and Lucca.

Carpentra

Lilliputians in the Rhone Valley!

Marche a Isle Sur La Sorgue

Marche a Isle Sur La Sorgue

Châteauneuf-du-Pape

Zucchini Flowers w Truffles

Poached Eggs w Truffles

We got back on the motorway, headed for Carpentra, along the way passing through some of the most well-known wine regions in the world, strewn with famous Domaines, among them, of course, the region -appelation controlle - Châteauneuf-du-Pape (Pope's New Castle). We knew we were entering a special region when we encountered a roundabout littered with tree-sized corks as if a giant were dropping them there as he opened bottles of wine.

Our first night we went into Carpentra searching for a nice restaurant, but had great difficulty even finding a restaurant that was open. Our second night we decided to eat at the BandB, so we shopped in the market as Sur La Sorge for fresh bread, meats, cheese, olives, tomatoes, and wine to make our own dinner.

The market at Sur La Sorge is a bustling Provençal street market; picture stalls overflowing with fresh walnuts and olives, men in aprons slicing hunks from giant wheels of cheese, brightly colored produce spilling out of bins and baguettes leaving crusty crumbs on tables. Often called the antiques capital of France and sometimes the Venice of France, L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue has the largest marchés aux puces (flea market) outside of Paris, and many antique and bric-a-brac dealers set up shop all year ’round.

On our way back, we (eventually) found the town of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and, after sampling many varietals in degustacion we all bought some nice bottles to take home. Don't let Missy serve you any plonk – she has the good stuff hidden away somewhere!

 Once again I wished I could avail myself of the advice of my good friend JB, who would have advised us as to which vintages to stock up on, and regaled us with the history of the region and what to look for in a special wine.

Here is what we learned. The characteristic terrain that hosts the vineyards of Châteauneuf-du-Pape comes from a layer of stones called galets (pebbles). The stone retains heat during the day and releases it at night which can have an effect of hastening the ripening of grapes. The stones can also serve as a protective layer to help retain moisture in the soil during the dry summer months.

In 1308 when Pope Clement V relocated the papacy to Avignon, Clement V and subsequent "Avignon Popes" were said to be great lovers of Burgundy wines and did much to promote it during the seventy-year duration of theAvignon Papacy.

The next day we travelled to Avignon to see the “Vatican of the South, and yes, Missy and I danced on the Pont D'Avignon.

Sur le pont d'Avignon
On y danse, on y danse
Sur le pont d'Avignon
On y danse tout en rond

The bridge's construction was inspired by Saint Benezet, a local shepherd boy who (according to tradition) was commanded by angels to build a bridge across the river. Although he was ridiculed at first, he dramatically "proved" his divine inspiration by miraculously lifting a huge block of stone.It was built between 1171 and 1185, with an original length of some 900 m (2950 ft), but it suffered frequent collapses during floods and had to be reconstructed several times.

In fact, people probably would have danced beneath the bridge (sous le pont) where it crossed a river island on its way to Villeneuve. The island was (and still is) a popular recreation spot, where pleasure gardens once stood and folk dancing was a popular pastime for many years. The bridge itself is far too narrow to have accommodated dancers.

On our last day, Carpentra redeemed itself in the gastronomic sense as we were advised to lunch at Chez Serge, a restaurant noted for its truffle specialties. Lorraine had fried zucchini flowers stuffed with cheese in a truffle sauce, Missy had poached eggs in truffle sauce, and I had an omelet, featuring – truffles! We drank two large bottles of Perrier as the day was so hot.

Truffles have a very earthy, almost dank smell and taste,  and I can totally understand why someone would not like them, but they definitely grow on you. Actually, the black truffle is exclusive to a symbiotic relationship with the oak tree in the Perigord region of France. Roughly 45% of the black truffle crop is found in France and specifically in the south eastern part of the country. Spain is also home to the black truffle along with small growth patterns in Italy, Croatia and Slovenia... so, no I guess they don't grow on you, they grow underground... but they are an acquired taste. 

They are also VERY expensive. In 2007 a white truffle hailing from Tuscany, weighing 3.3 lbs was purchased for US $330,000 at an annual auction in Hong Kong. In 2010, two truffles weighing just under 3 lbs total were again sold for US $330,000 .

We left Carpentra with heavy stomachs and heavier hearts heading to Marseilles, where we would have to say goodbye to Our Missy.

Marseilles, for us, was just a place to hang our heads before Missy and I having to get up the next day (at 4:30 AM) for her flight home. There is something incredibly poignant about seeing your little girl (as Panos said, "She will ALWAYS be your little girl!") as well as one of my very best friends, walk through security, and walk as far as we could go along the corridor with only a glass wall separating us, till we have to leave each other's sight.

She is a special girl.  We had a GREAT time together.  Many, many laughs, and many unforgettable moments. Not once did we have an argument or did things get unpleasant, (unless you count the time she heard me utter a word foreign to her vocabulary - and not because it wasn't in English -  to a French driver who was driving irresponsibly).

I Love You Missy!!!

Lyon

Domaine De Gorniton

Missy and Ramses

Our 17th Century Dining Hall

Fascinating Dinner Conversation

My Exercising Paid Off!

From Paris we loaded up the car to head to Chasse Sur Rhone where we were to stay at Domaine de Gorniton, a working farm run by Jacqui and Jean, a couple in their eighties whom we had first met nine years ago in 2003, on our thirtieth wedding anniversary trip. We were almost newlyweds, but too young to know it.

Their place is absolutely charming, with five rooms that have been carved out of the outbuildings, and a main farmhouse that stays true to form as an old French chateau.

Melissa absolutely fell in love with their massive mastiff, a cross between a lab and a great dane, and the love was mutual. This beast followed her everywhere she went, into her bedroom, out the door, or if she had been gone for a moment, would race towards her at breakneck speed to greet her and demand the affection he was due.

Our first night at the DdG, we ate with the other guests in the 17th century stone alfresco dining nook capable of seating at least twenty. We started with aperitifs in the garden, with antipasti by Jean (who was a baker of some renown by trade). Our dinner partners were Graham and Suzy, Tina and David, Sophie and Francois, as well as our hosts Jean and Jacqui. Quite the table as Graham, David and Francois were all Doctors, and Francois and Sophie were on their way across Europe on a BMW motorcycle! Needless to say, the language barrier did not prevent us from having a night full of great food (Jean's Roast Pork was outstanding), great wine from the estate and great conversation. I was honoured to be asked to bring in the dinner as Jean said he was no longer strong enough and needed the "Canadian with Muscles" to carry it in!

Our second day we headed back to Lyon and found “Old Lyon” - where no cars are allowed, and the streets are jammed with tables for the ubiquitous cafes, bars and restaurants. After walking through the city and soaking up the beautiful architecture and scenery, we settled down to a dinner at a curbside cafe.

No sooner had we finished our antipasto and started on our primi, than there was a loud bang and a pigeon fell to the ground beside our table. Apparently it must have hit a window in the cathedral above us. As the streets were teeming with pedestrians, children, people with dogs, cats without people, I walked over and picked it up and put it safely on a ledge. Although we tried to feed it bread and give it water, that couldn't overcome its obviously broken neck and we watched its final moments as it shuddered and fell off the ledge to lie still on the ground.

For some reason this affected us all and the three of us returned to DdG a little bit quieter, but still very impressed with the beauty of old Lyon.

Sixtieth Birthday in Paris

My, My,  Melissa

Melissa and Karen - who needs flowers on the table??

Chateauneuf de Pape!!  From JB and Brian

Blowing out 60 Candles!!!

In the eyes of many institutions and establishments, I am now officially a senior. Well, I was a senor in Mexico for a while back there, but this is different. I missed my brother Geoff's wedding this summer, the birth of the beautiful Cadence last summer, and now here was this other major event spent far from home. The consolation was that we had My My Melissa with us, and as a bonus, my beautiful and talented niece Karen Judge (Peter and Nancy's daughter) was able to meet up with us for dinner as she is doing an internship in Paris!

We had reservations at Marguerite Restaurant, ranked # 38 of over 8000 restaurants in all of Paris, and we were not disappointed. When we arrived, we found that our good friends Brian and JB had been so kind and considerate as to actually phone the restaurant and order, not only Champagne for our arrival, but a Chateauneuf de Pape for the dinner! Our waiter was truly impressed, not only by JB's command of French, but obviously, the good taste in wine that was evident.

We had a fabulous meal, and many a good laugh as we regaled each other with anecdotes over dinner.

When asked what thoughts I had about turning 60, I strove to convey the melange of feelings I was experiencing. On one hand, there was the obvious portent of one's mortality, the sense that your life had become very finite and measurable. As someone once remarked, “We all know that we are going to die, but few of us believe it.” On the other hand, I am truly at peace, having already known more happiness and good fortune than anyone can possibly expect. It is true that I have not written a number one hit song (or maybe I have and I just haven't released it yet???), but the list of things I can be grateful for is long:

My wife, my children, my friends, my good health, my good fortune, my modicum of talent that frustrates me but gives me a reason to keep trying, all combine to fill me with a sense of calm that I can look forward to however many years I have left with gratitude for what has gone before.

Exploring Paris

Fountain at La Place de la Concorde

Arc De Triumphe

Miss and SL at the Eiffel Tower

Miss in the Courtyard at the Louvre

We decided to purchase a “Hop On, Hop Off” double-decker sightseeing bus pass for two days to try to maximize the effectiveness of our two days (three nights) there. I am not sure if this was a wise decision. Apart from allowing Melissa to experience the red-light region of the Moulin Rouge again, where we had to board the bus, the route included many very long stops – up to twenty minutes. The sound quality on the “guided tour” was reminiscent of a Burger King drive-through. It was also not cheap – E$103 – about $140.00.

But we DID get an all-star tour of the many incredible sights that Paris has to offer. They say it is the most visited city in the world, and not without reason. The architecture is amazingly beautiful, with a masterpiece around every corner.

On our tour it seemed that every building we saw had been immortalized in film and/or popular culture: The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The glass pyramid of the Louvre at the climax of The DaVinci Code, the CN Tower in …. oh wait.

The Eiffel Tower (nicknamed La dame de fer, The Iron Lady) is an iron lattice tower located on the Champ de Mars in Paris, named after the engineer Gustave Eiffel, whose company designed and built the tower. Erected in 1889 as the entrance arch to the 1889 World's Fair, it has become both a global cultural icon of France and one of the most recognizable structures in the world. The tower is the tallest structure in Paris and the most-visited paid monument in the world.

The tower stands 320 metres (1,050 ft) tall, about the same height as an 81-story building. During its construction, the Eiffel Tower surpassed the Washington Monument to assume the title of the tallest man-made structure in the world, a title it held for 41 years, until the Chrysler Building in New York City was built in 1930. However, because of the addition, in 1957, of the antenna atop the Eiffel Tower, it is now taller than the Chrysler Building. .

We chose not to climb the tower as it was a four hour wait in line, but the sight of it was awe inspiring, and we sat on the bus and listened to a story about a scientist who was testing a parachute he had designed, who jumped from the tower and fell to his death. (We are not 100% sure about this, the sound quality being what it was – it could have been “Well, he was next”, or “Hell, he was Deaf”). Regardless, the parachute was not a best-seller.

We next bussed on to Notre Dame de Paris (French for "Our Lady of Paris"), also known as Notre Dame Cathedral or simply Notre Dame, an historic Roman Catholic Marian cathedral. Widely considered one of the finest examples of French Gothic architecture and among the most well-known churches ever built, Notre Dame is the cathedral of the Catholic Archdiocese of Paris; that is, it is the church that contains the cathedra (official chair) of the Archbishop of Paris, currently André Vingt-Trois. We were actually privileged to be there while the mass was taking place. André did a passable job, but was unavailable for my constructive criticism in a de-brief afterwards. The cathedral treasury is notable for its reliquary, which houses the purported crown of thorns, a fragment of the True Cross and one of the Holy Nails – all instruments of the Passion and a few of the most important first-class relics.

On to the Musée du Louvre in English, the Louvre Museum or simply the Louvre—one of the world's largest museums, the most visited art museum in the world and a historic monument. A central landmark of Paris, France, it is located on the Right Bank of the Seine. Nearly 35,000 objects from prehistory to the 19^th century are exhibited over an area of 60,600 square metres (652,300 square feet)..

The museum opened on 10 August 1793 with an exhibition of 537 paintings, the majority of the works being royal and confiscated church property. Because of structural problems with the building, the museum was closed in 1796 until 1801. The size of the collection increased under Napoleon and the museum was renamed the Musée Napoléon.

To try to describe all of the sights we saw would take many, many blogs. On our second day we got off the bus at Notre Dame and at the Louvre, walked the Champs Elysée, had a cappuccino at a cafe on the Seine, stopped to listen to the street musicians, bought a painting from a street artist and ended up back at our little hotel having walked about 6 miles, thoroughly exhausted and thoroughly in agreement with why Paris is the world's most visited city.

First Night in Paris!!!

Organ Grinder in Paris

Organ Grinder

Street Musician on the Pont Neuf

The Moulin Rouge

On arriving at our hotel in Paris, we went immediately in search of a bistro to sample the French food. We found a quaint little restaurant called La Basillica just around the corner from our hotel but were told we would have to wait for about twenty minutes for an outside table. It was suggested we take a drink at the bar across the street while we wait and our server would come and get us.

Bars and cafes in Paris charge different prices for drinks if you stand or if you sit. Having traveled 12 hours, most of which was sitting on planes or in taxis, we chose to stand, aperitifs in hand. A mountain of a man was trying to get my attention and finally we figured out that he was telling us the television was playing our national anthem - “God Save the Queen” - the Brits having just won an Olympic medal in the three-legged race or the egg toss. When I pointed out in my flawless French that we were not British and “God Save the Queen” was not our national anthem, I was literally clutched to his quite impressive bosom and treated to a full-throated rendition of “Les Marseilles”, the French national anthem. It is quite long. It is longer when your nose is in a large man's armpit.

Seeing our table across the street was now available and waiting for us, we finished our drinks and politely said good-bye, adding our thanks for the serenade. Mistake. This was interpreted as a request for an encore....

Making our way across to La Basillica, we dined on foie gras, escargots, Lyonnaise Saucisson, and of course, wonderful French wine!

Later that night in search of live music, we wandered down to the Moulin Rouge. Turning the corner and strolling the surrounding streets, we realized we were in the red light area, with prostitutes, live sex shows and porno shops. I do not recommend this as a bonding experience with one's daughter.

We returned, quite tired to our little hotel, which had no air conditioning, so we all slept with the windows open, and were treated to the music that is the street life of Gay Paree – all night....

Tomorrow - the sights of Paris!!

Melissa, Sifnos and Song

The Beauty of Kamares Sifnos

Jam at the Cameron

Our Miss at Absinthe

SL and Missy on the Chrissopiggi Path

On Missy's first day, we simply enjoyed the sun on Sifnos, ate octopus and Greek salad, and visited the local tavernas.

One of our haunts was the Old Captain's bar, where we had become friends with the owner's girlfriend Kelly. Kelly had loaned me an old guitar with a missing string two years ago before I began bringing the Travelcaster.

“Well this ain't no Shakespearian sonnet,

I got Kelly's guitar, it's got five strings on it.

And what I need most is a big dose of Sifnos tonight.”

(From Big Dose of Sifnos © 2010 J. Lubert)

The following days were filled with exploring tiny bays like Heronissis, where we sat enjoying the fish that the owner of the sole taverna there had caught that morning, or Chrissopiggi, where we had to walk up and over a mountain to get to the beach and taverna.

Our nights were spent lingering over long dinners including one at the restaurant Absinthe, where, yes, we all tried absinthe! It was surprisingly good, and no one went blind!

It was a musical time as well. When I was helping Nefali with her guitar, a Frenchman visiting from Paris showed up with his guitar and an impromptu jam had the whole restaurant singing. This resulted in two more invitations to play at the local campground. The first was with Jean, our Parisian friend, and his buddy from the campground, also a Jean. There were about 75-100 people enjoying the night. This must have been a hit, because I was approached in town and asked to play again at the campground, this time with an American entertainer Andy, and his wife who were scheduled to play that night.

It was tremendous fun and Andy was a real entertainer who had the whole crowd singing and dancing. He was very generous in asking me to play all the solos and join in on the harmonies with his wife. All the seats were full and I received a huge compliment when a woman asked Lorraine to get me to turn more towards her so she could hear me better. She had heard me play at the Cameron, and said, “I came just to hear him play.”

Leaving Sifnos was like leaving an old friend, but we had the siren call of beautiful Paris beckoning, so off we went on the ferry to Piraeus, taxi to Athens, flight to the city of lights.

Missy Comes to Sifnos

Missy Disembarking the Ferry

Reunited!

My, My Melissa!

Nefali's Guitar Lesson

Sifnos has become our favourite Greek island, and the only one we have returned to three times.  When you consider the list includes such notables as Santorini, Rhodes and Mikonos, it says a lot for Sifnos that it has charmed its way into our hearts so.
The harbour of Kamares, where we usually stay, is breathtakingly beautiful with mountains rising thousands of feet all around it, and the impossibly blue Aegean lapping against its sandy beach which is decorated by tavernas and small bars along the way. To your left, mountains. To your right, the sea. In between, beaches and tavernas – what's not to love??
This year, Sifnos held one more beautiful attraction – the lovely Melissa!
   
    My my Melissa's, coming home to see me, and she can stay for awhile.
    My my Melissa's, coming home to free me,
    Melissa makes me smile.
    Melissa makes me smile.  (From My Melissa, © 2008 J. Lubert)

That's right, our daughter Melissa flew into Greece and then took the 3 hour ferry ride to Sifnos to meet up with us in Greece, then journey to Paris and Carpentra – where we danced on the Pont D'aAvignon! (but more about that later).
Sweet Lorraine and I had already enjoyed 4 days in Sifnos, where we tried a new spot -Vathi -  for the first time.  It was nice, but we felt like we had returned home when we moved back to the Morpheus Pension in Kamares.
The night before Melissa was to arrive, I tossed and turned sleeplessly, thinking the thousand terrifying thoughts that all fathers have when they worry about their daughters.  When I told one of our Greek friends who has a ten year old daughter that my “little girl” was coming to see us, he asked how old she was.  When I replied thirty one, he laughed and said, “They will always be our little girls...”
As the ferry pulled into sight, I was excited and anxious, straining to catch a glimpse of Our Melissa.  If you ever witness a ferry landing in a Greek port, or are ever a part of the experience, you will find it difficult to believe that more people are not killed.  The hordes waiting to get on do not wait for those already on board to disembark, nor for the trucks to roar down the ramp.  It is madness, but somehow it works amidst much shouting, shoving, jostling and gesticulating. In the sun.  In the 40 degree heat. On a tiny dock with 18-wheelers, cars, motorcycles, dump trucks and people all jockeying for position.
It was in this tumult that I craned my neck to see Missy. Lorraine said that the colour absolutely drained from my face as the torrent ebbed to a trickle with no sign of her. Ever watched the baggage carousel at the airport slow to a stop with still no sign of your bags? Take that sinking feeling and amplify it till it screams – this was our daughter!!
Suddenly, there she was, smiling serenely as she walked calmly down the ramp in the wake of the flood of madness that she had wisely allowed to flow around and in front of her.
We all embraced and waded though the masses to our favourite restaurant the Cameron, where we feasted on Greek salad, pizza and the house wine till the early morning hours. Our hosts, Panos and Irinia had reserved the best table in the house for us, and we were able to watch all the travelers straggle through the streets of the port on their way to their lodgings.
A warm, safe ending to an exciting day, and guess what – there was a guitar in the corner that belonged to Nefali, their daughter – and you KNOW where that is going!