Folegandros!

Images: SL in Folegandros, Frankie Surveying his Realm; Folegandros Cliffs; Kim and Mair; Dmitri Pa\laying the Travelcaster; Outdside the Melissa Taverna
Folegandros
Anyone trying to improve their writing should have to tour the Greek islands as we are doing. Your credibility begins to unravel as you use the words “beautiful”, “spectacular”, “gorgeous” again and again.
Folegandros, named for Prince Folegandros, the son of King Midas, is a tiny island in the Cyclades, not far from Santorini. Thirty two square miles and 667 inhabitants. The town we are in, Chora, allows no motor vehicles other than the occasional delivery mini-truck or scooter laden with roosters or live sheep tied to the carrier on the back – (seriously!).
You look down the cliffs, dotted with yellow, orange, purple and red to the pastels painting the sea, and watch the waves crashing endlessly against the steep rock. You realize there is a uniqueness to Folegandros, and start to understand that it is the multi-hued mountainsides rising in each direction, then plunging into the beautiful Aegean Sea. (Damn! I wasn't going to use that word again - “beautiful” - not “Aegean”).
Our adventures here started even before we left Santorini. As we waited for the ferry, we sat in a cafe next to two young Americans who were enjoying a beer before leaving for Folegandros. When I questioned why they got a free bowl of peanuts with their beer and we didn't, Kim said, “It's because Mair has such great breasts.” Then, looking at SL, she said, “No, that can't be it, because you've got a great rack, too!”
Then Mair started to talk about guitars, and the rest was pre-ordained – we made plans to hook up in Folegandros for a night of guitar, song, ouzo, wine and possibly even some food.
We checked into our hotel and I assembled the “Travelcaster” - my guitar. I sat outside and played a bit. Music is the universal magnet. We soon had Dimitri, an employee of the hotel and a student of the guitar, and several young guests of the hotel singing along. Mair, Kim, Dimitri, SL and I did several renditions of old favourites, and Dimitri demanded an encore of “Oh Etna”, my new song, which has become a NEW favourite for him.
The next night we went to another baptism, where Gianni, the restaurant owner, invited us in as his guests and kept us well supplied with wine as we listened to the violin, bouzouki, and singers. We are invited back tonight on the provision that I bring Travelcaster, and that accept ouzo and fresh fish in return!

Santorini Hike

Images: The Sides of the Cauldron; The Cliff Face We Came Down; JL on the Goat Path; SL on the Path; SL With the Church Below her Left Shoulder

Santorini is a volcanic caldera.
Imagine a mass of very thick, very hot porridge bubbling away in a huge cauldron on your stove, with bits of steam punching through boils on the top. Then imagine that the whole thing blows up in the middle, layering hot porridge everywhere around the sides. Then, your sprinkler system goes off and fills everything with water, instantly cooling it all down to a hardened mass, filled with water in the middle. Santorini. Caldera – cauldron.
Approximately 3600 years ago – not exactly sure of the month – this all took place, but not in your kitchen or mine. It occurred in the Aegean Sea and was one of the biggest volcanic eruptions in earth's history, called the Minoan Eruption because it was said to wipe out the Minoan civilization, one of the most advanced of its time. It is also one of the reasons that Santorini is said to actually be the lost island of Atlantis.
Our hotel is in the village of Akrotiri, where excavations in 1967 have discovered a level of civilization that has astonished the world, including hot and cold plumbing systems using geothermic heating from the volcano.
Today, we hiked down the side of the porridge pot, the caldera.
There are no warning signs, no barriers. We descended a goat path that ran from Akrotiri to the sea, a distance of over 1000 vertical feet. To be honest, there were times when we wondered when we would consider ourselves too old for this kind of challenge, and there were times when we wondered what we would do if I got hurt. SL might love me, but I am not sure if she could carry me. (She swears she has been carrying me for 38 years.)
The pictures tell the story of the incredible beauty of the scenery, but the sharpness of the descent gets lost unless you are actually there slipping on loose volcanic rice krispies, 18 inches away from a drop of 1000 feet.
As we neared the end of the descent, a tiny white church appeared out of the rock, beautiful against the frozen black magma.
When we finally reached the beach, we discovered that what our map casually referred to “rocks that you go over along the beach”, were actually hills of huge piles of rubble that we had to climb up and back down. At the end of the hike along the beach, we reached another path. Remember the 1000 foot descent? It's 1000 feet back up, too.
We were exhausted, happy and feeling quite proud of ourselves as we sat later that evening and surveyed the daunting but beautiful landscape that we had successfully challenged.

Santorini Start

Images: Santorini From the Ferry: Dancers!; Santorini Sunset; SL as the Sun Goes Down

I did not want to come to Santorini – let me clarify, I did not want to come back to Santorini.
SL and I came here in Oct 2008, on a cruise for our 35th anniversary. We were here one day, as we and 2000 other passengers waited for the cable car to lift us to Fira, the capital, to jostle along cheek to jowl, through the packed streets to see yet another tourist souvenir shop offering a Spongebob T-Shirt with a picture of Santorini on the back.
This time we did not land at Fira, we landed at Athinios, but even before we got off the ferry the magic had set in.
If Sicily is beautiful, and Paros charming, Santorini is enchanting. As we sailed into the port we looked up to the slices of layer-cake cliffs with multi-coloured striations from magma cooling at different times and temperatures. They were coated with a confectionery topping of tiny white houses hanging on precariously by the stickiness of their icing sugar bases. At night, these houses become Christmas icicle lights twinkling on the sofitt and fascia of the cliff.
Santorini honours “Saint Irene”, but before it was Santorini, it was Kalliste; “The most beautiful one.
We rented a little convertible and drove from Athinios to the ancient city of Akrotiri. After settling in to our hotel, the Kalimera ("Good day" in Greek), we walked into the local town, hearing loud music and what sounded like gunshots all the way in.
Turns out that there was a christening happening that night, and the whole town was invited. There was live music – a bousouki player and a violinist, and the loudest firecrackers you have ever heard. These were not the milquetoast bubble gum pops we have now in Canada; but REAL ordnance – remember Cherry Bombs and Garbage Cans? (and it was 6 and 7 year olds lighting them...)
SL and I watched respectfully from a distance as the party wore on. We were entranced. Anyone was allowed to get up and sing. The musicians did their best to accompany them and to keep straight faces. (I thought of the Beautiful Klaude and me, or "John and JB", playing along with someone who loves to sing, but...) SL and stayed for about 40 minutes, and finally tore ourselves away for our first sunset in Santorini, enchanted.

The Storm

Images: The Rain!; SL at Dinner with Sunset.

Thursday's plans were scotched by the fates.
We got on the bike, fully intending to head to Antiparos, the small sister island with deep caves to explore. The caves are full of stalagmites and stalagtites, one of which is estimated to be 45 million years old. As we headed out of Parikia, the skies darkened and we thought we would head back to the hotel to see what developed. I sneered at the tiny raindrops, and poked fun at the paucity of water coming from the skies.
We decided to walk to the town to do our shopping while we waited for the spitting to end.
… and then it came. Brilliant flashes of lightning accompanied by crashes of ear-splitting thunder. The rain poured from the skies. We took shelter under a small canopy and waited for it to pass. It got worse.
Now you have to remember that Paros is an island, a small island where everything slopes down to the sea. The rivulets from the mountain paths became small streams on the hillside roads, which rushed down to become raging rivers in the streets before pouring into the sea.
Realizing that this was not getting better, and if, in fact, it got worse, we were going to have a real problem walking back to the hotel, we set off to return. The muddy water swirled around our ankles and crept up our legs, but eventually we returned, exhausted, like drowned rats to our room to dry out.
We did not venture far that night to dinner, as I was essentially barefoot in my beach shoes. Craving comfort food, SL had spaghetti carbonara, and I had the house special of pork in white wine sauce. The bonus to the whole day was that we were treated to a beautiful sunset before retiring early to bed.

Paros!

Images: Marco Polo - the First of Many Jersey Tiger Moths to Come in Butterfly Valley; SL at Beach with Naxos in the Background; SL in Lefkes: Lefkes.

We woke to the crisp, clean scent, of a Greek island scrubbed clean by yesterday's storm. The whole island had been splashed with green, giving the hills an emerald haze that shone in the morning sun.
To make up for yesterday's aborted travels, we decided to circumnavigate the island, starting out with the Valley of the Butterflies.
The Valley of the Butterflies, or “Petaloudes”, is so named because every year, millions of Jersey Tiger Moths descend on the valley and literally coat the leaves of the trees with their camouflaged wings. It was too early to see the migration, but we did manage to see the beautiful foliage, and Marco Polo the Moth. - (I called him this because he was the leader or vanguard of the millions to come!)
We then hopped back on the bike to drive the coastline, eventually stopping for lunch in a beautiful taverna overlooking the bay between Paros and Naxos.
Our drive took us to Lefkes, the highest village on Paros, and it seemed to be frozen in a time long past, with narrow cobblestone paths painted white between the blue and white houses, overrun with bougainvillea.
That night, we had our final dinner in Paros, each trying the whole sea-bass. We also braved our first glass of ouzo! It really wasn't as bad as I remembered it – the licorice taste was not as strong as I thought it would be. Truth be told, I don't remember a whole hell of a lot about the last time I had ouzo, except that it was more than just one..........
Tomorrow we say goodbye to Paros and get on the ferry to Santorini.

Greek Beginnings - Paros

Images: View for our Hotel Irene Balcony - Paros; Paros Port; SL with 8-legged Friends in Naoussa; SL and JLK in Naoussa; Seaview from Naoussa Portal

I write this sitting on the beach looking at the bay outside our window in Paros, a cold beer in an ice-cold glass in front of me, trying to quantify, or at least qualify, the difference between being in Sicily and now being on a Greek island.
Last year, I wrote in the blog that Greece seemed simpler, slower, more timeless. This is still true, but it's more than that. SL is enraptured by the island. We both have difficulty believing that we are really here. Everyone drives more slowly, car horns toot hello, rather than just Hell!
It is true that this is the shoulder season, with tavernas and ouzerias just gearing up for the influx of tourists to come shortly, but it FEELs slower.
Our hotel window opens to a balcony that overlooks the bay, and in the distance, the port. We far enough away from town to avoid the noise, but close enough for a stroll to a beach bar or any number of restaurants. Each establishment wants to give you a little something for nothing, a bonus gift to encourage your continued patronage. Sometimes it is a free dessert, unasked for, selected by your waiter. Sometimes, like last night, it is another half-carafe of red wine, which we did NOT need, and we guiltily poured our glasses back into the metal jug, hoping our ingratitude went unnoticed.
As the shops are eager for customers, I was able to rent a 250CC scooter for $12.50 per day (Regularly $45.00). A 250 is a big bike here – most people drive 50 or 125 CC. Today we took it across the island to Naoussa, a postcard-pretty harbour town with tiny, narrow little streets paved with white cobblestones. We wandered through the maze of courtyards and alleys, and would sometimes just stop to stare as if we had both heard a silent signal telling us we couldn't leave this particular view until we had paid it the attention it deserved.
We ate lunch at a taverna with our table 8 feet from the shore. We shared a Greek salad and fried calamares. Our waiter brought us bread fresh from the stone oven, with two dips. One was olive oil, balsamic vinegar and oregano, and the other was a paste of sundried tomatoes, garlic and parsley. As we sipped our ice-cold drinks, we wondered whether we really needed anything else, but when the calamares arrived, we were glad we had ordered with our hearts, not our heads.
We both agreed that they were the best we have had yet. With a fresh lemon squeezed over them, and a pinch of salt, there was not a scrap of food left when we had finished.
When I asked for the bill, a mystery dessert arrived, a frozen yogurt dish with candied fruit, drizzled with honey.
Tomorrow, we take the bike on a short ferry ride to the sister-island Antiparos, and its ancient caves

Bum Bum?? - This Post is for Mia and Kingston

Image: Soap for Dishes or for Your "Bum Bum"?????

Mia and Kingston, you're going to say "What the Heck??"

I was in the store in Italy and wanted to buy some soap for washing dishes.
The store lady gave me this soap, and I asked her if it was for the bath because it said, “Bum bum”!!
Look at the picture! She just laughed at your Papa!