fair wind and plenty of it

CASABLANCA

2009-11-27T07:23:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning with an overpowering desire to break wind. That doesn’t happen very often so I waited until I was safely seated on the biffy before letting fly. It was a good thing I waited, because that was the start of a bout of “Delhi belly”, for want of a better phrase. I managed to go downstairs and have some breakfast, but had to bow out of the offer to go for a walk around town.

I decided to hole up in the room and finish this blog, which I’ve been neglecting the entire trip, while my intestinal tract figured itself out. One thing I haven’t enjoyed about this tour is the lack of free time. In every other tour I’ve taken we’ve arrived at our destinations in the early afternoon, which meant we had two or three hours to write in our journals, read, swim in the pool, and otherwise chill the frak out. On this tour we’ve been on the go non-stop every day from 8:30am to 8:30pm. I’ve enjoyed what we’ve seen of the country but if – or when – I come back I won’t spend as much time on the road. I’ll also make sure there is more down time at the various layovers.

We stay at the hotel until 10:30pm tonight when our poor bus driver, Hisham, comes to collect us and drop us off at the airport. As I mentioned earlier, we should have ended our tour in Marrakech instead of coming back up to Casablanca. Hisham drove us here yesterday afternoon, stayed overnight, and has to wait around all damned day just to drive us 15km to the airport tonight. Meanwhile, I’m sure he’d much rather be at home in Marrakech with his family, preparing for the festival this weekend.

Oh yes, the festival. Tomorrow is Aid el-Kebir, a festival to commemorate the day when Abraham was prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac but Allah interceded and replaced Isaac with a lamb. So, every year at this time families buy a lamb or sheep and slaughter it. So, all week we’ve seen people selecting and transporting their lamb or sheep. The transportation is the most interesting. We’ve seen pushcarts with sheep in them, men on bicycles or scooters carrying their trussed-up sheep across their laps, sheep in trucks, sheep in the trunks of cars, sheep in the back seat of a fancy Mercedes, sheep, sheep, sheep. It was an unexpected addition to the cultural and religious experience of Morocco.

Well, I’ll sign off for now. It’s time for a nap.

MARRAKECH to CASABLANCA

2009-11-26T07:08:00.000-08:00

We had free time in the morning to explore Marrakech further, but none of us felt up to heading into the medina by ourselves. A few people from the tour went for a walk. I had planned to go swimming in the grand pool at the hotel but decided against it because of my head cold. So, instead, I stayed inside and downloaded photos from my camera to my computer. Thanks to the hugely efficient Canon EOS utility software, it took around 3 hours to download 500 photos.

We had lunch at the hotel and then piled onto the bus for the drive to Casablanca. I’m not sure what our tour agents were smoking when they figured out the agenda for our trip, but for some reason we have to fly out of Casablanca when there is a perfectly acceptable airport in Marrakech with daily flights to major airports in Europe. We could have stayed another day in Marrakech and enjoyed the services at the hotel there, but instead we had to take the damned bus to Casablanca. There’s not much to do in Casablanca so we just drank wine in the hotel bar, had a grossly overpriced dinner at the hotel, and headed for bed.

MARRAKECH

2009-11-25T07:01:00.000-08:00

We started our day tour of Marrakech at 10am. Our first stop was the Koutoubia Minaret, a large minaret that is part of the Koutoubia Mosque. Of course we could only view the mosque and the minaret from the outside. From there we went to the Menara Gardens, which were quite dusty and barren and disappointing.

Our driver dropped us off inside the medina and we walked to the Bahia Palace. The palace is outrageously large with numerous complexes. Unfortunately there was some bizarre modern art exhibition being held there so the rooms were fouled with ridiculous video installations, scabby statues, oversized furniture, car doors, and paintings that look like they were created by someone’s cat.

Thankfully we didn’t spend much time at the Bahia Palace. We walked back to the bus and went to the Majorelle Botanical Gardens, which were purchased and expanded by Yves Saint Laurent. His remains are actually entombed there, which seemed a bit odd at first. I didn’t find the gardens that interesting but did my best to take a few arty shots of the colorful ceramic pots and the aloof cacti.

A large majority of the ladies in the group wanted to go shopping in the medina but Ibrahim didn’t want them to get scammed so he arranged for us to visit a crafts super marche instead. It was a vast complex on three floors where you could find everything from the cheesiest tourist kitsch to beautiful antique Berber jewelry. Mom and I found ourselves on the third floor – the antiquities floor – with a very friendly salesman who took us on a personal tour of the various items for sale. We both greatly admired the Berber jewelry, as well as the elaborate items gifted to brides and grooms upon their marriage.

The ladies stowed their purchases on the bus and then Ibrahim took us for a special lunch at a Berber restaurant where we had b’stilla pie, which I can only describe as a phyllo calzone stuffed with chicken, lentils, and rice and flavored with cinnamon and honey. It wasn’t my favorite meal of the trip, but it was interesting.

After lunch Ibrahim led us deep into the medina. He hired another “local guide”, Mohamed, to be rear guard and make sure no one was pickpocketed, harassed, or lost along the narrow and twisting laneways. It was almost impossible to take pictures on the walk through the medina because of the sheer number of people and animals in the laneways, the vast array of goods for sale that were hanging from every nook and cranny, and because Ibrahim set a pretty fast pace – possibly to deter anyone from shopping.

We did stop for a while at a spice merchant’s shop. We were led inside to a large private room where the spice merchant and two assistants introduced us to various spices and herbal remedies. One of the herbal remedies was a mix of spices and herbs that you smell to clear your sinuses. It’s also supposed to help with migraines and asthma. The merchant also brought out natural perfumes and cosmetics for everyone to try. It was a very pleasant stop and everyone bought something. I bought a 35-spice mix for cooking and the sinus/headache/asthma remedy. Mom bought the spice mix, saffron, and a jar of argon hand lotion.

After visiting the spice merchant Ibrahim led us through some more quarters in the medina. My favorite was the blacksmith’s quarter. I really wanted to stay and take pictures but Mohamed ushered me through there pretty quickly, perhaps sensing some bad juju from the locals. A few twists and turns later, Ibrahim stopped us in a relatively safe area of the medina and let us wander free for 30 minutes. Mom and I trundled off down a laneway for a bit and then turned around. Unfortunately, we missed a turn and ended up in an unfamiliar part of the medina. We retraced our steps and after a couple of hits and misses we finally found our way back to the meeting point.

For dinner that night we drove out to what I can only describe as “Moroccan Disneyland” for dinner and a show. The singers and small drum troupes were loud and annoying. The wait staff seemed angry to be there and truly disgruntled when you ordered drinks. The food, when it arrived, was pretty horrible. For example, we were served what looked like a quarter of a lamb. However, we could only scrape a few pieces of meat from the bones and skin. By the end of dinner we were all pretty annoyed and just wanted to leave but our guide Ibrahim encouraged us to stay and watch the show.

I buggered off and wandered out into the dark parking lot, which was full of tour buses. I enjoyed looking into the dimly-lit buses where drivers were reading, snoozing, playing cards, or gambling. A local dog was my only company. I would have been content to stay out there until our scheduled departure time but Ibrahim sent our driver, Hisham, out to collect me and return me to the “safety” of Moroccan Disneyland. I found a place away from the performers and surly staff and waited until I saw our group heading out to the bus. They’d watched a few minutes of the show and decided to call it a night. Ibrahim was a bit disappointed in us, but at the same time it was after 11pm and I’m sure that he and Hisham were more than happy to call it a night. So, we drove in near silence back to the hotel and headed to bed, where we all had nightmares about grisly lamb and angry Moroccan waiters.

TAROUDANT to MARRAKECH

2009-11-24T06:08:00.000-08:00

This was our last long road trip of the trip. We only had to cover 250km, but the road was a single lane and wound up and up and up into the High Atlas Mountains. Passing other cars was fantastically scary but thankfully there wasn’t much traffic on the road.

We had a few photo stops along the way to break up the trip. At one of the stops Lorraine made a “technical stop”. A few kilometers (and a few hundred meters higher) she felt car sick and unfortunately she didn’t ask the driver to pull over until it was too late. We did the best we could to help her clean up – and to clean up the bus. Sadly, there was no option but to continue driving. After much urging she did agree to ride at the front of the bus where she could see outside the front window. That seemed to help and she had no further problems.

Another stop was the Tinmel Mosque, a disused mosque that is one of the oldest in Morocco. It was spectacularly beautiful, even in a state of decline. I couldn’t imagine how amazing it must’ve been when it was a working mosque.

We arrived in Marrakech in the early evening. We had a slow drive through the medina but didn’t get out of the bus. After we checked in at the hotel some of the people in our group went on a horse carriage ride around and through the medina. However, Mom and I were quite tired – and I was starting to develop a head cold – so we stayed in and had an early night.

OUARZAZATE to TAROUDANT

2009-11-23T05:49:00.000-08:00

Once again, it was a long day on the bus. On the way to Taroudant we stopped at Ait Bin Haddou, an ancient ksar that you can only access by crossing a wadi (river basin). Luckily for us the river was quite low and there were stepping stones that we could use to cross.

We had a local guide, whose name I can’t remember, who led us through the ksar and told us about various repairs made by UNESCO in the past few years. Hundreds of people used to live in the ksar but now only eight Bedouin families live there year-round. Most of the structures in the ksar have been converted to small shops where vendors peddle the typical tourist items. However, there are a few locals artisans who sell weavings and paintings.

You can climb to the top of the ksar where there is a watch tower that provides a picturesque view of the entire valley. It was a bit of a lung-buster (for me, at least) to get to the top but it was well worth the effort. Part of the problem with climbing up to the tower was the goat-like manner with which our guide skipped up the stairs and slopes. He must have been in his 60s but he was bloody impossible to keep up with.

On the way to Taroudant we also pulled over to observe “goats in trees”. It’s exactly as it sounds – apparently this part of Morocco is famous for its goats, which climb into the trees to eat the leaves when there are no other shrubs or plants to eat on the ground. I think I took about 100 photos of the little buggers scampering around in the branches, but unfortunately the photos didn’t turn out very well because as soon as I got close enough to a tree to take a good photo the goats would jump out and run away. You need a proper telephoto lens to capture them “in the act”, so to speak.

We arrived in Taroudant in the early evening and our guide led us on a quick tour of the souks. The traffic was absolutely astounding. We had barely stepped off the bus when we were nearly struck by speeding scooters and donkey carts. I tried to take street shots that captured the chaos but it was hard to get a static image that properly conveyed the chaos. (If – or when – I return to Morocco I’m bringing a small video camera just so I can take videos of the streets.)

ERFOUD to OUARZAZATE

2009-11-22T05:34:00.000-08:00

It was another long road trip today. We stopped beside the highway at one point to admire the deep wells dug centuries ago to bring water from the High Atlas Mountains to the desert. Today the wells are largely empty but there are some world heritage groups that are planning to reinvigorate the wells so that they function again.

We also pulled over when we spotted a herd of camels. A woman and her young daughter came running over to ask for money, which we duly handed over. Our driver, Hisham, also gave the young girl a sweet sticky bun, which she happily bit into.

I could be wrong, but I think we also stopped to admire the Dades Valley, an oasis-like valley filled with palm trees and small farm plots. While taking photos our bus was mobbed by vendors wanting to sell us everything from photos with a camel to fossils to scarves and jewelry. There were still holding out goods as we drove away.

We had lunch at a restaurant in the Todra Gorges. Unfortunately several other tour buses pulled up and disgorged swarms of tourists, which made it difficult to get an unspoiled picture of the gorges and the surrounding area. I wandered up the road a bit after lunch and received compliments on my tattoo from several vendors. (Contrary to my expectations, Moroccans quite like my tattoo. It’s been quite a conversation starter on the trip.) I had a good chat with one vendor about Berber tattoos. As far as I can tell, only Berber women get tattoos. They are typically facial tattoos that identify their tribe or region.

We arrived at Ouarzazate (WHER-za-zat) quite late and really only had time to have a quick shower before heading to dinner and then to bed.

ERFOUD

2009-11-21T05:18:00.000-08:00

According to our original itinerary we were supposed to get up at 3:30am for a 4x4 ride out into the desert and then a camel ride up into the dunes to watch the sun rise. Our guide, Ibrahim, suggested that we reschedule the camel tour to the evening, which we all agreed would be a much better idea!

So, in the morning we went to a “fossil” factory instead. Back in the day, the entire region was underwater. So, there are a lot of preserved sea creatures in the rocks around Erfoud. One of the city’s main industries now is digging up rocks containing these fossilized sea creatures and then cutting the rocks into various things like tables, sinks, statues, etc. where you can clearly see the fossils.
It was quite fascinating to see the workshop where the men cut and polished the rocks. They were a bit peeved because they had to stop production while we were touring the facility. (The dust from the cutting and sanding is pretty ferocious.) Also, they didn’t particularly like us taking photos of them. (Oh, well – if the boss says it’s okay, I will take photos as I please.)

I won’t spoil the surprise for my sister, but I did pick up a couple of things in the fossil shop. Again, I didn’t really bargain before laying down my credit card. I know I paid too much because the salesman came up to me later and gave me a bunch of pendants for free.

From there we drove to Rissani where we stopped at a beautiful mosque – at least, I think it was a mosque. Anyway, it had a beautiful inner courtyard full of palm trees and fountains. The dates were covered with cloth to protect them from birds, small rodents, and the worst date-stealers of all, humans.

From there we drove to the Oulad Abdelhalim Ksar, a walled fortress where the sultan used to keep his older brides and from which he conducted his business in the southern regions. The ksar is largely ruined but a few Berber families still live there. Our guide led us to the home of an older Berber woman who let us come into her home. She didn’t want her photo taken because of old beliefs about cameras stealing your soul, so we limited ourselves to capturing the essence of her home – the cooking area, the dates drying in the sun, the cat lounging under the palm tree, the laundry hanging on the line. We left her a few hundred dirham as thanks and she was very grateful. Our guide told us later that in a few days there was a major celebration and the woman would use the money to buy flour and sugar and salt to make cakes for her family and guests.

We returned to our hotel around 2pm for a quick change into camel-worthy clothing. Two 4x4 Toyota Land Cruisers picked us up at 3pm and took us on an hour-long ride out into the desert to the oasis of Merzouga. It was quite a bumpy ride but very fun. At the oasis we mounted our camels and started an hour-long trek out into the Erg Chebbi dunes.

The camel ride that Mom and I went on in Tunisia was nowhere near as amazing as the camel ride into the Erg Chebbi dunes. For instance, there were DUNES! In Tunisia we just rode our camels out to a flat spot in the sand and rock desert. More importantly, we rode for a long, long time on the camels. In Tunisia we had a slow 30-minute ride out into the desert and a perfunctory 15-minute ride back.

The sunsets in Morocco aren’t as impressive as they are in other parts of the world. The sun descends very quickly to the horizon and disappears in less than a minute. There is no red or orange glow lighting up the sky afterwards. So, you have to take your pictures quickly and then get the hell out of dodge before it becomes completely dark out.

We got to experience one more thing on the dunes – Berber skiing. This involves sitting on a blanket and being pulled down the dune by your guide. Mom skied down the dune on one blanket while Sandra and Leikny skied down the dune on the other blanket.

We said goodbye to our camels at Merzouga and made the long and bumpy ride back to our hotel in the Toyota Land Cruisers. We all headed to our rooms to de-sand and shower before dinner. Mom collected about 1 cup of red desert sand from her shoes alone.

FES to ERFOUD

2009-11-20T04:53:00.000-08:00

We left Fes early and hit the road for Erfoud, which is about 400kms south east of Fes and fairly close to the Algerian border. We had a lot of stops in the mountains to take photos of the river valleys and so on, but it was largely just a long road trip. We stopped in one village to take photos of a ksar, or fortified village, and got mobbed by local children. That was quite fun. I also befriended a “Kitler” at one of the gas station rest stops. I wanted to bundle him up and take him home with me, he was such a friendly fellow.

Our hotel in Erfoud, the Xaluca, was pretty amazing. It reminded me a lot of the hotel we stayed at in Douz in Tunisia. It had a really strong desert theme and a gorgeous swimming pool in the center of the hotel complex. As soon as we got to our room and collected our luggage from the porter, I dug out my swimsuit and hit the pool.

Of course, it took a few tries to get my full body into the pool. It was a balmy 12C night but the pool had cooled off substantially since the afternoon and it felt like I was wading into ice water at first. When I finally dove in it was a shock but I got over it in a minute or two. It was magical to swim in the lighted pool, at night, all by myself.

The highlight of dinner was a wee white camel, who was led into the restaurant by his handler. He just stood there placidly while we all ooohed and aaahed. He drank from a bottle of water, then promptly pooped on the carpet. The staff discretely swept up the mess, and after a few more minutes of paparazzi flash bulbs the handler turned the baby camel around and led him out and, I assume, home for the night.

FES

2009-11-19T04:52:00.000-08:00

We were up and at ‘em early for a full-day tour of Fes, the first Imperial city of Morocco. Our first stop was the ceramics quarter where craftsmen made all kinds of decorative or household ceramics. I was most impressed with the men making the mosaic table tops. What a completely time-consuming job that is! The co-operative store that we visited afterwards had an overwhelming selection of ceramics for sale.

Most of the ladies on the tour wanted to buy tajines, so they were occupied with tajine shopping at one end of the store. I wasn’t planning to buy anything – I always buy pottery and always have a bitch of a time getting it home – so I just wandered about. Then, a bowl caught my eye. Then I saw a couple of matching little bowls. Six bowls later I excused myself from the shop for fear of going on a complete pottery bender.

After our pottery was safely stored in the tour bus, our guide took us on a walking tour through the Fes medina. I thought I’d seen some pretty amazing souks and medinas in Tunisia, so nothing prepared me for the complete onslaught of smells, noise, people, and animals in the Fes medina. You had to have eyes in the back of your head to avoid being trampled by the hurrying locals or the galloping donkeys laden with goods. Thankfully we had a “local guide”, Abdul, to bring up the rear and make sure everyone made it through the medina safely. Abdul was a local who had lived in the medina all of his life and was basically hired to keep us safe from pickpockets and aggressive vendors.

Initially we wandered through the dyer’s quarter, the leatherworker’s quarter, and then some general quarters where vendors sold a range of things. We stopped at one mosque that we were able to enter. I think it was the El-Attarine Medersa. Most mosques are closed to non-Muslims, which I totally agree with, and our guide told us that Fes was particularly strict about the non-Muslim rule because of abuses by the French in the past. We got a glimpse or two inside the Karaouiyine Mosque, one of the oldest mosques in North Africa. It also functions as a university.

We had the obligatory stop at a rug store where we were tempted to buy rugs, but the cost drove us out without any purchases. There was a particularly handsome kilim that I loved but I just couldn’t bring myself to shell out $800 for it.

We made one final stop before lunch – the tanneries. These are great earthen pots dug into the ground where raw hides are soaked in dyes and then dried in the sun. We were given sprigs of fresh mint before entering the tanneries to help with the smell, but it inevitably seeped around the mint and assaulted your nose and sensibilities. It was fascinating to watch the men labor in the tanneries, though, and the co-operative leather shop did have some lovely things for sale. I found the salesmen to be a bit too aggressive for my liking, though, and left the shop as soon as I could.

After lunch in the medina we walked a little further. Our guide, Ibrahim, took us to a cloth co-operative where we all went crazy over the silk blankets they had for sale for less than $40. He had to pry us out of there so we could continue our tour. We also visited a dress shop where some of the women dressed up in proper jellabas and caftans.

On our way out of the medina we stopped at the Najarin Fountain and the Musee Nejjarine, which was just next door. The building had previously been used as a caravanserai, which is a place where traders could stop and find shelter and food for themselves and their animals. The museum contained an impressive collection of household items and tools collected from the times of the caravanserai.

Our final stops for the day were the Merenid Tombs and the Royal Palace. No one goes to the Merenid Tombs to see the tombs – instead, they go for the view of the Fes medina, which is quite impressive. The Royal Palace was pretty boring. You can only look at it from the outside. So, yes, there were some pretty doors and arches but it really wasn’t worth the time and effort to go see it.

MEKNES AND VOLUBILIS

2009-11-18T04:49:00.000-08:00

We all slept like the dead in Rabat. At breakfast we all commented that we felt much more ourselves and that we were excited about what the day would bring.
What the day brought, first, was a longish drive to Meknes. Our first stop in Meknes was at one of the gates into the medina. There are typically many small entrances to a medina. However, every so often there will be a big, grand gate to impress and intimidate visitors. I’m not sure which one we stopped at, but it was quite beautiful.

Our next stop was the giant granary where Moulay Ismail stored grain for his thousands of horses and for his immediate family. Moulay Ismail was a bit of a bad-ass and liked to stockpile goods and wealth to ensure that he could outlast a prolonged assault on his kingdom.

We also stopped to admire a residence from the 17th century that now houses the Musee Dar Jamai, a museum that specializes in Moroccan arts. I loved how guys were just lounging around outside, watching the world go by. Next up was the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail. Another tour group was visiting at the same time as us so it was hard to hear our guide’s description of the various rooms, fountains, and so on. Also, our visit ended up being quite brief because we were running a bit behind schedule.
Outside the mausoleum there was a man taking photos of the building. I tried several times to get out of his picture but always seemed to be in the way. I apologized numerous times and then finally scurried across the road. We learned later that he was a ”paparazzo” who takes photos of us tourists and then tries to sell the prints to you outside your hotel. The photos he took of me are pretty horrendous because I’m always on the run.

Our next stop was the Palais Al Ismailia where we saw a demonstration of “damascening”, or the art of hammering thin strands of silver into intricate patterns on metal plates, bowls, etc. It’s an art form from Damascus that somehow found its way to Meknes many centuries ago. Meknes is the only city in which that particular art form is practiced. I bought a lovely plate and some bracelets before I remembered to barter. Oh, well.

From there we drove to the Roman ruins of Volubilis. A local guide who spoke very little English and didn’t really give a shit took us on an abbreviated tour of the site. The highlights were the Capitol, the Triumphal Arch, and several large houses that would have been occupied by rich families. I also liked the Decumanus Maximus, a large and long road that leads directly to the Triumphal Arch.

The remains of Volubilis were our last tourist stop of the day. From there we drove straight to Fes and checked in to our hotel.

CASABLANCA

2009-11-17T10:40:00.000-08:00

The flight from Frankfurt to Casablanca was 3.5 hours long – at least 2 hours longer than most of us anticipated. On the plus side, there is a -1 hour time difference so although we got in at 2am, it was actually just 1am local time.

We passed through customs fairly easily. However, on the way out of customs there was one final passport check. My guard quickly assessed my dazed and confused status and proposed marriage. I politely declined but another guard came over to extol the virtues of his friend. I said I’d have to think about it and that I’d be back in two weeks. I sincerely hope my suitor is on another shift.

It was a quick drive to the hotel, thank the gods, and the hotel staff processed us very efficiently, knowing that we were on our last legs. I squeezed in a shower before bed to wash off the travel and airplane sweat. Then, I laid down in the dark and embraced oblivion.

We got to sleep in a bit the next day, meaning we didn’t leave until 10am. Our first stop was the central market, a small souk where locals buy and sell fresh meats, seafood, vegetables, and fruits. It reminded me of the souks in Tunisia, as well as the local markets in Cuba.

Our next stop was Mohamed V Square, a large square with a fountain and about 10,000 pigeons flying about. The locals buy what looks like popcorn and feed it to the pigeons. Families bring their small kids to the square, hand them a bunch of corn, and then laugh their asses off as their kids get swarmed by hungry pigeons.

From there we drove to the Royal Palace which was originally built by the French so their top officials had somewhere to wine and dine dignitaries. It was taken over by the Moroccans after independence and the King made it his palace in Casablanca.. For me, the most impressive part of the mosque was the Royal Door which is wood with brass and aluminum inlay. The doors are so huge that I couldn’t even reach the door knocker.

Our final stop before lunch was the Hassan II Mosque. It has an indoor prayer hall that can accommodate 25,000 worshipers, and many thousands more can worship outside in the huge square. It is the second largest mosque in Africa after Mecca. It was a stunning complex with the mosque in the center and buildings along the outside of the square dedicated to learning and training. The noon prayer service was about to start so we saw many people entering the mosque, and, as we left, we could hear the imam start the prayer service.

Our first lunch was at a restaurant on the seaside that specialized in fish. Our guide, Ibrahim, had called ahead and ordered a set menu of salad and white fish. It was delicious and the view was quite nice, though not spectacular because of the McDonald’s across the street.

After that we drove to Rabat. Most of us passed out in the bus and snoozed for the trip, which couldn’t have been more than an hour and a half.

In Rabat our first stop was another Royal Palace. We could only take photos from 50 meters away from the entrance, but we were allowed to take photos of the soldiers and guards, which is usually strictly forbidden.

Our next stop was the Mohamed V Mausoleum. Our guide had arranged for us to arrive just before 5pm, when the guards of the mausoleum take down the flag. The ceremony was much like any flag lowering ceremony, except the bugler was horrendous. Either that or our ears aren’t trained to recognize the mellifluous tones of Moroccan bugling.

The mausoleum was a very somber place with lots of Moroccans praying and giving thanks to the former king. We were told to use hushed tones to show respect. It was quite a beautiful place, in part because there are prayer rooms to the side where family members still come to pray.

Outside the mausoleum is the Hassan Tower, the only remaining part of a mosque that was destroyed in an earthquake in the 1700s. The builders were intending to make it the largest mosque in the world but sadly it was destroyed and now the only parts standing are the tower and some adobe walls.

Our final stop of the day was the Oudaya Kasbah, which used to be a prison or stronghold but is now a largely residential district with a few merchants. We went first to a Moorish café that our guide assured us had been operating since the 1200s. He said it was the last Moorish café in operation in Morocco. After sampling some cookies and making a “technical stop” – our guide’s way to describe a pee break – we walked through the twisting Kasbah to our bus.

We were very glad to arrive at our hotel, which was very beautiful. We were all so tired that we made a half-hearted effort to have dinner and then we all shuffled off to bed.

VICTORIA TO FRANKFURT

2009-11-16T13:47:00.000-08:00

I’m typing this blog entry while waiting for the flight from Frankfurt to Casablanca. I’ve been awake for 20 hours now and I’m sliding inexorably into a state of consciousness that I can only describe as traveler’s delirium. The lights are too bright, the conversations are too loud, and the seats are too hard. I am staring obsessively at the clock wishing that I could bend time to my will and fast-forward to the loading and departure times.

So, what has transpired in the last 24 hours? My “day” started with packing. Yes, I’m one of those people who packs the day they depart. I like the challenge and the risk of it. I almost forgot my power adapter, but – tragedy averted! My sister picked me up, then we picked up Mom, and then we were off to the airport.

It was blowing a gale when our flight departed but I didn’t really connect the dots between that and what it can do to an aircraft until we spent 10 minutes plunging up and down in a “patch” of turbulence. (I love how “patch” minimizes the sheer horror that is turbulence.) I was holding onto the head rest of the seat ahead of me in complete inarticulate terror. I must’ve looked a sight because the stewardess, who was facing us, mouthed “Are you OK?” to me. All I could do was breathe and not scream and not blow chunks.

We had a rest at Vancouver before boarding our flight to Frankfurt. Unfortunately I was seated next to a guy who had an incredibly annoying tic – he constantly sucked air through his teeth, making a piercing whistling sound that I could hear even while wearing headphones with the volume cranked. I asked him to stop but he denied being the cause of the noise. However, I saw him open his lips and inhale – precisely when the noise occurred – on numerous occasions. I gave him a few murderous looks, which sometimes resulted in a period of quiet, but toward the end of the flight he amped it up and I couldn’t stand it anymore so I asked the cabin crew for ear plugs. I was able to enjoy three hours of quiet, but I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about ways that I could "accidentally" cause him severe bodily harm during the departure procedures.

After the flight landed our tour group rendezvoused with a local guide and tour bus, who we had hired to take us on a day tour of Frankfurt. The weather was foul so we spent most of the tour on the bus. We went to a gasthaus (pub) and everyone ordered soup – it was just one of those days. I had an amazing bowl of goulash soup with a slice of rye bread. Some of our group tried the local apfelwine. The rest of us tried the dark and light varieties of a beer brewed in Frankfurt.

After lunch some of the group went with the guide to see Goethe Haus, a museum dedicated to the famous German poet J.W. Goethe. Mom and I weren’t really interested in seeing Goethe Haus so we walked around town. The gasthaus where we had lunch is in the large town square where they hold the large Christmas Market. City workers were busy getting ready for the market. The first thing they do is set up and decorate a 4-story tall Christmas tree. City workers were also hanging decorations on street lamps in the streets and in the smaller Christmas Market. So, the city was starting to look very festive. It was also full of people shopping their hearts out, which put us both into a festive spirit.

After the tour we returned to the airport for a 5-hour wait for our flight. I was planning to sleep but couldn’t – my body clock was saying “Bing! Time to wake up!” So, Mom and I sat about talking and watching the comings and goings in Europe’s second-busiest airport. It really is a fascinating – but noisy! – environment.

So, in a few minutes we’ll start boarding our flight to Casablanca. We’ll arrive at 1:30am their time (10:30am our time), which will make it a 24-hour transit. Tomorrow is going to be a challenge as well, with our tour of Casablanca starting after breakfast and not ending until we reach Rabat in the late afternoon. Wish us luck!

REYKJAVIK TO SEATAC TO VICTORIA

2009-08-23T09:53:00.000-07:00

We were woken at the crack of dawn by youthful - and loud! - German hostellers who were either catching an early flight home or were eager to kick off their trip. They were so loud that Simone actually clambered down from the top bunk, went down the hallway, and told them to be quiet in three languages (English, German, and Stern Teacher Body Language). Thankfully they complied with her request.

Breakfast was a mash up of whatever food we had left. I had a toasted ham and cheese sandwich while Simone and Mom had cereal, yoghurt, and toast. After breakfast I headed to the common room downstairs to see if I could connect to the Internet, but no luck. As with most of our accommodations in Iceland, the promises of Internet access were greatly exaggerated.

Mom and I had already repacked the previous night, so we just lazed about while Simone pulled everything out of her suitcase and played Tetris with her belongings. When I couldn't stand waiting at the hostel any more I headed out to the car and drove it back to Reykjavik. As I approached Reykjavik our friend the rainstorm dropped by for a final downpour. Thankfully he toodled off after a few miles and the rest of the journey was dry.

I had an hour and a half to kill before catching the FlyBus to the airport so I went in search of a bank to change my remaining Icelandic krona back to a currency that I could trade back in Canada. Unfortunately, I learned you can't change krona into other currencies at everyday banks. The only place where they will do that is at the bank at the airport.

I wandered around town for a bit longer then headed back to the 4th Floor Hotel, where I was to pick up the FlyBus. I discovered that they DID have wireless Internet access. So, I spent a bit of time checking email and perusing various news sites to see how the world had been doing while we were on hols.

The FlyBus arrived at 1pm as promised. However, the driver didn't want to pick me up. He looked at my voucher and told me that I was to catch the bus at 1:30pm. I disagreed and explained that I was to catch the bus at the main depot at 1:30pm, and that I was to catch a ride with him to the depot. He took another look at my voucher and then used the radio to get in touch with dispatchers at the depot. They confirmed that I was to ride with him to make the connection to the 1:30pm bus to the airport. Phew!

I met up with Mom and Simone at the airport. We got our tickets, checked our bags, and then headed through security. We exchanged our krona at the bank and then stood in line to claim our tax refund. (You can get a refund on taxes if you're a tourist.) I joined Simone in the line-up and an Italian guy standing behind her complained in Italian about me barging in line. Simone pointed a finger at me and then her and said "familia." He didn't look convinced, which is not surprising because Simone and I don't really look related. He sighed and muttered under his breath but let it slide as politely as a pissed off Italian man can let things slide.

After getting our refunds we had some lunch and waited for the flight. Keflavik International Airport is very attractive and, aside from a lack of seating near the gates, is quite comfortable. For example, the food court is quite extensive and you don't have to go to a bar to get a drink. The bathrooms are sparkling clean and modern. And there's also a really fabulous video about Iceland that plays every few minutes in a small theater.

The flight to Seattle was uneventful. I was seated next to a flamboyant gay guy from Alaska who had participated in the Gay Pride celebrations the previous week. He was a Chatty Cathy and I was glad when the entertainment system sparked up because it meant I could politely opt out of the conversation. Two or three movies later we arrived at SEATAC and made our way to the gate for the final flight home. We had to wait three hours so we scouted out the most comfortable seats and tried to snooze. I even tried to sleep on the floor next to one of the unused service desks but it was just too damned noisy.

Our flight to Victoria left just after 11pm and we arrived in Victoria in time to greet midnight. The customs agents were both confused and impressed that we were returning from Iceland. It's not your normal tourist destination, that's for sure.

And with a couple of questions and a cursory look at our passports, we were home. It was nice to be back, and to know that we'd be sleeping in our own beds shortly.

BLUE LAGOON AND VITHEY

2009-08-09T22:00:00.000-07:00

We left for the Blue Lagoon around 9:00am. As we approached the turn off to the secondary road that takes you to the Blue Lagoon, we noticed a rather large convoy of RVs approaching. One by one they all turned off the highway onto the secondary road. “What do you want to bet that they’re going to the Blue Lagoon?” asked Simone. Sure enough, they were. The secondary road snakes through barren lava fields and it was almost surreal to see RVs twisting and turning down the road for as far as the eye can see.

The long and winding road to the Blue Lagoon. Normally the road looks like this (empty):

We arrived at the Blue Lagoon at 9:30am. It took us a good 10 minutes to get into the parking lot, however, because it took so long for the RV drivers to park their rigs. It was quite funny – the lead RV turned into the first section of the parking lot and then carefully backed into the furthest parking space. The rest of the RVs followed, each backing into the next space down, etc. There was a certain gracefulness to it.

Outside the Blue Lagoon. The square building in the background is the entrance to the Blue Lagoon:

To get into the Blue Lagoon you have to pass through subway-style turnstiles. You don’t plug money into the turnstiles, though. Instead, you wave a blue wrist band that they give you over a sensor, which activates the turnstile so you can walk through. The wrist band also controls your locker. When you close the locker door you wave your wrist band over another sensor and it secures the locker door. It can only be unlocked by waving your wrist band over the sensor again. And, although we didn’t try it, you can also pay for drinks and food at the Blue Lagoon Bar with your wrist band. Cool, huh?

The change rooms were very posh with leather ottomans, special primping and preening stations, and frosted glass doors. They almost had a spa appearance. We didn’t bother changing into our swimming suits because you cannot enter the Blue Lagoon unless you’ve showered with your suit off. They insist on this because the waters are not treated with chlorine or any other purifying chemicals. You have to be clean before you enter the waters otherwise they would be a cesspool.

Walkway around the Blue Lagoon:

I was nominated to enjoy the 30-minute massage that we’d booked the day before, and had to dash off to the farthest end of the lagoon right away. My masseur was a really nice guy from Serbia. He worked as a physiotherapist during the week and at the lagoon on the weekends. The massage was very interesting because it’s performed while I was lying on a floating foam bed in the lagoon. I felt like I was weightless, for one, and the gentle rocking that resulted from the massage was strangely appealing.

After the massage I entered the main pool of the lagoon and met up with Mom and Simone. They’d already done a tour of the various pools and had retreated to one of the cooler pools. Simone offered to “show me around” and the first stop was a wooden box containing white goop that she insisted I rub all over my face. The goop is some kind of silica that is supposed to have healing properties. Some people got really into it and spread it all over their bodies. I stuck to rubbing it over my face and neck.

Our next stop was the largest pool. The further you got into the pool, the hotter it got. At the furthest extent of the pool was a rock barrier and signs indicating it wasn’t safe to go any further. It was clear why it wasn’t safe – the water on the other side of the barrier was boiling, literally.

After getting lobsterized in the big pool we headed back to the small pool where Mom was hanging out. Next to that pool was a round Hobbit-sized door – I’m not joking! – that led into a sauna. We went in and sat in the darkness and heat for about 10 minutes. When a new supply of steam was added to the sauna we couldn’t hack it anymore and left. I’d seen other people whack their heads on the top of the door frame as they left and was careful to duck as we departed.

Outside the sauna was a waterfall of sorts, under which about three or four people could stand. The only way to become one of those three or four people was to loiter aggressively a foot or two away until one of them felt guilty and stepped away. Then you had to jump under the waterfall before someone else could claim the spot. So, that is what we did. The water fell onto us with such force that it was like getting a really good massage. So, that was why it was so popular!

Mom was starting to get a bit overheated and hungry, so we exited the lagoon and headed back inside to clean up. The lagoon waters make your hair incredibly knotty and dry so we spent a long time in the showers applying liberal doses of the free conditioner. I also helped myself to the free body wash in an unsuccessful attempt to wash off the minerals from the lagoon. It didn’t work and I spent the rest of the day with skin that felt vaguely waxy.

We had lunch at the Blue Lagoon and then headed back to the hostel to hang up our suits and get changed into city-worthy clothing. Then we drove into Reykjavik to the Vithey ferry terminal. We caught the 2pm ferry to Vithey and spent the next 1.5 hours tromping down several of the paths that lead to viewpoints and historic sites on the island. Simone wanted to walk to some of the more remote parts of the island but my legs just couldn’t hack it. We stopped for coffee in the historic house by the ferry dock, checked out the church, and then ambled down to the dock to catch the 4:30pm return sailing to Reykjavik.

Ambling about Vithey:

Field of thistles:

Close up of thistles:

On the dock waiting for the ferry back to Reykjavik:

We stopped in Reykjavik to talk to the car rental company about the best way to return the car the following day. After discussing many different options we agreed that I would drop off the car in Reykjavik the next morning and catch the FlyBus to the airport while Mom and Simone would stay at the hostel and catch a cab to the airport.

With that settled we headed back to the hostel in Njarthvik where we set about repacking our bags for the flight home the next day. I managed to pack almost all of my belongings and purchases into my backpack and only needed to ask Mom to put a couple of my purchases into her suitcase.

EYRARBAKKI TO NJARTHVIK

2009-08-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

We slept in at Eyrarbakki, knowing that we only had a short jaunt to our final hostel of the trip. We lolled about until after 10am before packing up and heading out. We drove to the museum and church that the proprietor had recommended visiting but they were both closed and didn’t open until the afternoon. Dang.

On the map there was a numbered road running along the south coast of the peninsula that connected Eyrarbakki to Grindavik. It was more direct than taking the highway north to Reykjavik and then circling around the peninsula from there, so we decided to give it a go. Things were going well for a while but eventually we ran into the dreaded “malbik endar” and were onto gravel. The road was rutted all to heck and the Yaris was getting shaken something awful, so we decided to turn back and take the main road like everyone else.

Our first stop of the day was Garthskagi, where there are two lighthouses. One is old and one is new. Unfortunately we couldn’t get inside either of them and were stuck wandering around the outside, which was kind of boring.

The old lighthouse:

The coastline. Note the low tide. It stank like you wouldn't believe:

The new lighthouse:

From there we drove to Sandgerthi, a village that is dedicated to commercial fishing and fish processing. There was a nice Nature Center there and we quite enjoyed wandering around looking at pickled specimens in jars, stuffed birds and small mammals, bones, and the like.

The harbor at Sandgerthi:

As we drove around the peninsula Simone spotted a sign with the Celtic knot design that Iceland Tourism uses to indicate sights and attractions. We turned off the road out of curiosity. When we got to the parking area we discovered we’d stopped at the mid-Atlantic ridge, where you can literally see where the European and North American continents meet. Simone practically started hyperventilating, she was so excited.

The mid-Atlantic ridge:

At Grindavik, our final destination of the day, we stopped at the Saltfisker (Saltfish) Museum. We thought it would be more museum-y. Instead it was more like an interpretive center. It was also extremely hot inside and we had to cut short our visit because we were so uncomfortable. Still, it was interesting and provided some insight into the Icelandic economy, which seems to swing from prosperity to poverty every few years.

From Grindavik we drove back towards Njarthvik, where we were staying for the next couple of nights. We were going to drive past the Blue Lagoon so I suggested that we pop in to check out the facilities prior to our visit the next morning. I asked one of the front desk agents where the spa entrance was, explaining that we had appointments the next morning. I expected her to point somewhere and be done with it, but it turns out there are different entrances to the spa based on the type of treatment you’ve ordered. So, instead, she asked our names and looked in the reservation book for our appointments.

Lava fields covered in moss. The road to the Blue Lagoon is basically blasted out of a giant lava field:

She also frowned. And flipped pages. And asked us again when our appointments were. Then, looking grave, she said that we were not in the appointment book. I can’t really remember what happened next, except that Mom and Simone both got very upset. Mom had booked our spa appointments well over a month before. So, she was mad that they’d screwed up on the reservation. Simone had been looking forward to her 1.5 hour massage through the whole trip and was angry that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy that experience.

A supervisor was called over and checked everything again. They had indeed failed to book our spa appointments. At that point I walked away because I hate conflict and figured that if anything could be done, Mom and Simone could sort it out. There was one 30-minute massage session available the next morning, which we booked. By way of apology, the supervisor also arranged for us to get free passes to the Blue Lagoon, which normally cost $30 per person. And that's all that could be done.

By then we were all tired and emotional and needed to sustenance, so we got back in the car and drove to Njarthvik in near silence. We booked in and quickly settled into our tiny room. Simone went for a therapeutic shower, Mom did some therapeutic sorting and packing, and I enjoyed a couple of therapeutic drinks. (Hey – we all have our own ways to cope, so to each his/her own!)

After dinner, Mom and I watched “Hot Fuzz” on the laptop while Simone read. We were in bed by 9pm, but didn’t get to sleep until quite a bit later because of all the door slamming, stomping, talking, cooking, and dish clanging going on. Oh, the joys of hostelling!

HVOLLSVOLLUR TO EYRARBAKKI

2009-08-07T23:00:00.000-07:00

We woke early, out of habit, and enjoyed the luxurious shower. Simone went to reception to see if they had a hair dryer that she could borrow and, in the process, discovered that a breakfast buffet was included in the cost of the room. Sweet!

We’d seen an interesting turf-roofed house on the road to the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun, so we stopped on our way back to the highway. It was a lovely old place with the most interesting doorway:

Nearby was an old fishing boat, totally out of its element in the middle of a field:

Our first attraction of the day was a volcanic crater. Unfortunately, our ability to enjoy it was curtailed by the pouring rain and fierce wind. Now, before we left for Iceland many people wondered why we would travel to such a cold climate in the middle of summer. We assured them that the average temperature in the summer is in the mid-teens and the weather would be quite pleasant. It seems, however, that we’ve been dragging the same rain cloud around with us for the last few days. We picked it up in Seythisfjorthur and it has been our constant companion ever since. It probably thinks that, since we are Canadians, we like the rain and wind and that it’s doing us a favor by keeping us in our preferred conditions.

Ze crater:

After the crater-dash we drove to Skalholt, a quaint village that was the educational and cultural center of Iceland for several hundred years. The main destination in the village is the church, which has been destroyed and rebuilt no less than four times. The church itself is a typical Icelandic church with a very plain interior. However, on the way out we noticed stairs leading downstairs and a sign saying “museum in the crypt”. Curious, we went down to check it out. We were absolutely stunned to find a gorgeous little archaeological museum filled with ancient stones and artifacts discovered during a dig in the 1950s. The most impressive artifact was a stone coffin which originally housed a bishop but was dug up and filled with the bodies/bones of other important folk. There was also a doorway leading to a tunnel that connected the church to the nearby farmhouse. Historically, it was used to avoid the cold weather outside and as a means to escape the farmhouse or church during an attack.

The church at Skalholt:

Our third attraction of the day was Geysir, a large hot spring where two geysers blow towers of super-heated water up into the air on a regular basis. There were literally hundreds of tourists milling about and it was hard to get photos that didn’t include someone in the foreground or background. As we approached one particularly popular hot spring we were taken by surprise when it erupted. We didn’t realize it was a geyser and were quite shocked by the noise and the water shooting up into the air. We weren’t sure how often it erupted so we wandered around a bit before coming back. Thankfully the geyser, named Strokkur, erupted every 5 to 10 minutes.

Waiting for Strokkur:

Strokkur erupting:

There was a decent cafeteria at the Geysir park so we stopped there for lunch. Once again the choices were limited. I had the usual:

After lunch we drove to the Gullfoss waterfall. It was beautiful but our raincloud had followed us and it started tipping down with rain as soon as we stepped out of the car. Simone’s camera seized up in the damp so she headed back to the car while I took photos from as many angles as possible.

The Gullfoss waterfall. Not as impressive as Gothafoss, in my opinion:

I’d noticed earlier that there was a road just south of Geysir that connected to Thingvellir, the site of the ancient Icelandic parliament. I asked Mom and Simone if they wanted to go there or not. They said “sure!” so off we went. The site of Thingvellir is quite underwhelming. It’s literally just a field and some rocks, with a nice waterfall nearby. We walked around until we couldn’t stand the rain anymore, and then headed back to the car. We stopped at the wee gift shop to see if they had any interesting postcards or information sheets on Thingvellir but they didn’t. Simone, however, found a topographic map of Iceland for a friend back home. She’d been looking for one ever since we arrived and this was the first time she’d spotted one. Score!

There was a lovely waterfall at Thingvellir:

The Law Rock at Thingvellir:

We’d pretty much had it for the day so we backtracked to Selfoss, where we picked up some groceries before heading to the hostel in Eyrarbakki. From the outside the hostel looked like an industrial building. The only indication that it was a hostel was the cheery Hostelling International flag. We went into a building that said “farmer’s market” to ask about the hostel. It turns out the farmer’s market/industrial complex WAS the hostel:

The proprietor was a lovely woman who suggested a bunch of places to visit before leading us to our room. Our room turned out to be a gorgeous modern suite with a full kitchen, dining room, a spa bathroom, living room, and a large bedroom. We were absolutely floored. We were hoping for a tiny room with bunk beds and a private toilet. We got a lot more than that!

HVOLL TO HVOLLSVOLLUR

2009-08-06T22:00:00.000-07:00

Another nice thing about the hostel at Hvoll was that you could pay a nominal fee for a breakfast buffet, which we did. It had the usual coffee, juice, toast, cereal, sliced ham, and cheese. It also had a real treat – cured lamb, sliced thinly – which we all tried. It had a very strong flavor of salt and spices and smoke.

After breakfast we headed out to the car but got sidetracked petting the farmer’s dog, Koppir, and talking to the farmer about Icelandic politics. He had very strong opinions about the collapse of Iceland’s banks, Iceland’s recent application to join the European Union, and the future of the world economy. It was interesting to get his perspective on recent events, but it was clear that he would be happy to talk for hours and hours. At about the 20 minute mark we were able to get a word in, and Simone quickly thanked him for the chat and shook his hand, and then we made a beeline for the car.

The lovely Koppir:

We had a really short day so we took our time driving south west along the coast. Our first stop was Vik, where we visited the Reynisdrangar black sand beach. At the west end of the beach are “sea stacks” which look like rock fingers reaching out of the sea. Simone ventured down to the beach for photos but Mom and I stayed up on the path to avoid getting our shoes full of black sand.

The sea stacks:

The black sand beach:

Our second stop was the Skogafoss waterfall. You can walk right up to the waterfall and stand in the large vapor cloud created when the water hits the river bed below. You can also climb up to the top of the waterfall. Simone hared off up to the top of the waterfall right away. Mom and I stayed below, but after a few pictures I decided to give it a try.

Skogafoss waterfall:

The stairs up to the top of the waterfall were a bit rickety and fairly narrow, just wide enough for two people to pass each other. To make things more interesting, there was only one handrail and it was blowing a gale. At one point I stepped away from the handrail to let someone pass. Just then there was a huge gust of wind. I nearly fell off the stairs and tumbled to my death. Half-way up, the clouds decided to release all of the moisture they’d been holding and I was quickly soaked to the skin. By the time I’d made it up to the top of the stairs my camera lens had fogged up and I couldn’t take any photos. Oh, well. I chalked the climb up as good exercise and headed back down the stairs.

Mom and Simone were waiting for me in the car. They clapped and gave me the thumbs up. They also gave me two towels. By that time it was noon and we were hungry, so we stopped for lunch in the restaurant/café next to the Skogar information center. After lunch we drove to the nearby folk museum, but balked at the $10 entrance fee and decided to give it a miss.

We arrived at the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun shortly after 3pm. We checked in and got settled into our room, then drove back to Hvollsvollur to check out the Saga Museum. It was an impressive museum that was largely dedicated to Njal’s Saga, the favorite Icelandic saga. It was quite interesting. In the museum shop I asked the woman at the reception if there were any other shops or things to see in town and she mentioned a handicrafts shop and a wool shop. Unfortunately the handicrafts shop was closed and the wool shop was underwhelming.

We stopped for coffee at a funky pottery studio/café before heading back to the guesthouse. I opened a bottle of sauvignon blanc that I’d purchased earlier and Simone and I enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine. Around 7pm we walked down to the restaurant for dinner. The dinner special was a salmon appetizer, a lamb and roast potato entree, and a fruit dessert for $42. We weren’t planning to have the dinner special, but a few minutes after we sat down the salmon arrived. It was too late to say no to the meal, so we went with it – and it’s a good thing we did! Yum! The salmon was amazing, the lamb was exquisite, and the fruit was delicious. It was by far the best meal we’ve had in Iceland. After dinner we spent some time checking email, repacking, and drying clothes before heading to bed.

SEYTHISFJORTHUR TO HVOLL

2009-08-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

We were up before 7am and on the road by 7:30am. The fog had lifted slightly and we were amazed at all of the waterfalls and gorgeous farms that were hidden from view the day before. The road was less frightening once I could see where I was going.

We had decided the day before that we couldn’t follow the instructions in the Hostelling Iceland itinerary for the east fjords, simply because turning onto the side roads to see the fjords would have added 200+ kilometers to the already outrageous drive we had planned. So, we stuck to the main highway and headed directly south.

The highway was good at first and I was “hauling ass to Hofn” at a good 125 km/hr (the speed limit it 90 km/hr). We were all shocked when we saw a sign that said something like “malbik endar” and we suddenly found ourselves on rough gravel. I drove the Yaris like a rally car around – and sometimes over – the millions of pot holes and ruts. The road continued like that for what seemed like a very long time and we were starting to wonder if we’d taken a wrong turn. Just as we were starting to get concerned the gravel road ended and we were back onto the regular tar road. Shortly after that we entered a small town and the signs confirmed we were still on the main highway.

The dreaded "malbik endar":

We were on and off the tar and gravel roads for another hour or two. Eventually we made it to Breithdalsvik, at the south of the east fjords, and began our drive south west toward the Vatnajokull glacier. We reached Hofn by noon and, with the help of the Lonely Planet, found a nice restaurant where we stopped for lunch.

Taking the Yaris 4x4-ing:

Gorgeous stormy beach along the coast:

Mom enjoying the view and the chance to stretch her legs:

After lunch we continued heading south west through the Myrar valley. At the end of the valley was the Jokusarlon lagoon, where the Breithamerkurjokull finger of the Vatnajokull glacier calves off icebergs that float out to sea. As we turned off the road to the lagoon we knew it would be a major attraction because the parking lot was full of tour buses and cars and people dressed in their finest cold-weather outdoor gear.

Zodiak and bundled-up tourists:

The lagoon was amazing. The mini-bergs were blue on the bottom, white in the middle, and often covered with dirt on the top. It made for a strange sight. I tried to take good pictures but I found that the range of my lens just wasn’t cutting it. I really wished I had a wide-angle or a fish-eye lens so I could capture more of the lagoon in each shot.

Three views of the lagoon:

Some tourists got to see the mini-bergs up close on an amphibious bus/boat. The vehicles drove up to a ramp where the tourists boarded. Then they drove off down the shoreline and entered the lagoon. They couldn’t get very far into the lagoon, so each trip lasted less than 20 minutes. However, it must’ve been really cool to get up close and personal with the bergs.

The amphibious bus/boat:

We pressed on, travelling through the Oraefi valley past the turn off to the Skaftafell national park. From there it was a straight shot to Vik, and onwards to our final destination, the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun at Hvollsvollur. Simone was a speeding machine until we got into Vik and she set off what I thought was photo radar. It turned out to be a warning light, thankfully. After gassing up, Simone handed off the keys to me for the final drive to Hvollsvollur.

(Simone here: As we entered the town the posted limit was 50 km so I slowed down accordingly. There was the equivalent of a ‘veloci-meter’ that showed drivers what their speed was as they passed through. I didn’t think anything of it until Rowena exclaimed “It just flashed twice and I think you had your photo taken!” I felt sick. After a whole day of driving (and yes, sometimes over the limit), I was going to get a ticket for doing the 53 km/hr that was on the screen when the flashes occurred. “Poop!” I thought (ok, well not ‘poop’ but you get the idea). It turns out that the ‘veloci-meters’ are merely that - a good visual for drivers to get them to slow down. Phew! It certainly got my heart rate up.)

A few kilometers out of Vik, Simone flipped through the folder where we were keeping the Hostelling Iceland itinerary, various maps, and print-outs of hostel and hotel reservations. Out of the blue, she asked “What day is it?” It was Wednesday the 5th. There was silence for a moment and then she said “It says here that we’re staying in the hostel in Hvoll tonight.” That warranted pulling over for confab.

Sure enough, I’d gotten confused about the date. We were indeed staying at the hostel in Hvoll that night, not at the Farm Guesthouse Smaratun in Hvollsvollur. Unfortunately, we were now a good 200 kms past Hvoll. To make things worse, the reservation sheet for the hostel said that they would only hold our room until 6pm. It was now 4:30pm. I turned the Yaris around and started burning rubber back east toward Vik and Hvoll.

Simone suggested stopping at the Vik hostel to have them call ahead and save our room. Good idea, right? The only problem was that we couldn’t find the hostel. We drove around for a bit and then gave up. Our only option was to speed like we’d never sped before, which we did. We arrived at the hostel in Hvoll a few minutes before 6pm, absolutely wrecked from the long day, which turned out to be longer than necessary.

The hostel turned out to be a large out-building on a working farm. It turned out to be one of the nicest hostels I’ve ever been in, with nice rooms, several private kitchens, and a large communal dining area. Dinner was a camping packet, since we didn’t have time to stop and get supplies in the panic to get to the hostel. We also had some left-over pasta from the previous night. After dinner we headed up to the room. We were shattered and we all hit the sack (or, in this case, bunk) by 8pm.

AKUREYRI TO SEYTHISFJORTHUR

2009-08-04T22:00:00.000-07:00

We hit the road at about 8:30am. Our first stop was the N1 gas station, at the junction of a large bridge that crosses a narrow point on the fjord. From there we headed east toward Lake Myvatn. According to the Hostelling Iceland itinerary our first stop was Gothafoss waterfall. Again, we saw what looked like water vapor in the distance but nearly drove past the waterfall. Actually, thinking back on it, we did have to reverse down the highway a few meters to get back to the road leading to the waterfalls.

The sign for Gothafoss:

Gothafoss Waterfall was amazing. It wasn’t wide or tall, but it was pretty. Like many other attractions, there were no level paths leading to view points or even rails preventing you from going over the edge. Simone climbed across to a fairly large rock overlooking the falls but Mom and I stayed well back and took pictures from afar.

A full view of the falls:

Above the falls:

After the photo op at Gothafoss we got back on the road. We blasted past Lake Myvatn, not realizing that there were only a couple of places where you could pull off to admire it. As we were hurtling down the road at 110 km/h I saw a small sign to the right and managed to read “Dimm...” I slammed on the breaks and turned around. The sign was for Dimmuborgir lava park, the next attraction on the day’s itinerary. We turned the Yaris onto the unassuming dirt road and headed up the hill. As we rounded a corner a large parking lot appeared, along with a large building housing washrooms, a gift shop, and – most importantly – a café that served fresh-brewed coffee. Simone and Mom hadn’t had their morning caffeine fix so they were in desperate need.

After they had their coffee we headed down the trail into the lava park. It was like walking into Mordor. I took so many pictures that I nearly drained my camera battery. We spent about 45 minutes walking around the park. We could have spent hours there, since some paths covered kilometers of the park. However, we had to press on so we returned to the car to continue our journey.

I wish I had a better lens. This just doesn't capture the vastness of Dimmuborgir:

Rock and sky:

Simone sitting on the rock throne:

In the land of Mordor:

Mom was sad because we didn’t stop at Lake Myvatn, so after consulting the map and discussing our schedule, we decided we could afford to turn around and head back to the lake. As we approached the first view point we were absolutely gob-smacked to see 5 tour buses and about 30 cars parked there, and at least 150 people walking around the hills above the lake. That’s when we realized we’d missed another attraction – the Skutustathir pseudo craters which line the banks of the lake. We found a place to park and then headed down the path with all of the other tourists.

I led us slightly astray by taking the right branch of a path instead of the left. We eventually realized we’d passed the crater that we wanted to see and turned back. As we walked up the path to the lip of the crater we mingled with a gaggle of Italian tourists from one of the tour buses. They were absolutely astounded to see me walking along in sandals, shorts, and a t-shirt. They were all bundled up in sub-zero parkas, pants, hiking boots, and toques. I could see how they might need a few more layers because they’re so used to warm temperatures. However, I thought the parkas and toques were overkill.

Tourists standing on the edge of the pseudo-crater:

"Look, rocks!":

By the time we finished touring the pseudo craters we were all feeling a bit peckish. I consulted the map and saw that there was an N1 gas station at the turn off to Egillstathir. We decided to stop there to grab a quick and cheap lunch. However, when we pulled in to the gas station it was clear that it didn’t have the large cafeteria that we were used to. Instead, it had a small supermarket. I wanted something substantial for lunch so I made the executive decision to drive on to the next group of buildings to see if we could find a café. We did find a café, but once inside we vetoed having lunch there because of the outrageous prices.

Back at the supermarket we were inspecting the grim selection of baked goods and pre-packaged sandwiches when I noticed a board on the counter advertising burgers, fries, hot dogs, and paninis. Bingo! I ordered the burger and fries, Simone ordered a panini, and Mom ordered a hot dog – all for less than $20.

According to the Hostelling Iceland itinerary there were no more attractions along the road to Seythisfjorthur. However, when we descended from a mountain pass we saw a huge parking lot full of tour buses and cars, and we knew we needed to stop and take a look.

The parking lot was for the Namafjall geothermal hot springs. These weren’t nice hot springs, but rather boiling mud holes giving off noxious gases. The wind was strong so thankfully the gases were whisked away quickly. I’d hate to visit the site on a windless day. Peee-ew! Nonetheless it was worth the stop and we did get some amazing photos of steaming earth painted yellow and blue by minerals.

Lovely-looking mud hole:

Steam rising from the ground:

We spent the rest of the afternoon burning up kilometers in the Yaris. We made it to Egillstathir around 2:30pm. Egillstathir is the capital of East Iceland. It has about 1,500 inhabitants and is one of the newest cities in the country. We had decided against staying there because it lacked much history or culture. Instead, we had booked a room at the hostel in Seythisfjorthur, an historic fishing and trading village located about 45 km away on the edge of a fjord.

We turned onto the road to Seythisfjorthur and it soon became clear that to get to the village we’d have to drive over a mountain pass. About halfway up the mountain we ascended into a cloudbank. The rest of the ride was somewhat miserable because I could only see 10 m ahead of me at the best of times, the road was twisty, and the inclines were butt-clenchingly steep. I was very relieved to descend into the valley and turn off onto the road leading to the hostel.

The hostel was described on the Hostelling Iceland site as funky and artsy. They forgot to mention that it is also old, with thin walls, and creaky bunkbeds. Oh, well. I liked the somewhat slap-dab look of the place and the homey furnishings.

View from the hostel to the fjord:

Waterfalls and fog on the mountain behind the hostel:

The authors of the Lonely Planet guide books raved about the arts and crafts in Seythisfjorthur, so we were eager to get out and explore the shops in town. We asked when the shops closed and received a somewhat quizzical look before learning that they closed at 6pm. I looked up a couple of shops in the Lonely Planet guide book and we headed off.

I got a bit turned about in town but we eventually found the Skaftafell Cultural Center, which was described as the artistic hub of the community. We discovered that it also had a bistro/café on the ground floor. We walked through the bistro/café to the gallery and were quite taken aback by the crappy installation artwork. I should have taken a picture of the main “piece” – it literally looked like someone had had explosive diarrhea all over the wall, ceiling, and floor.

We left the gallery and drove around looking for other craft shops. We spotted a “handicrafts” sign and pulled in to check it out. The gallery side of the room was okay, with lots of abstract landscape paintings. However, the crafts side of the room was disappointing. Imagine the worst crochet, the ugliest beadwork, and the most old-fashioned knitwear you can. Then add the smell of a second-hand store and the mismatched tables from a church basement, and you’ve got the picture.

Our final stop in town was a small room off a woman’s house. She was actually selling some very sophisticated wool clothing, leather handbags, and silver jewelry. The problem was the cost. Not everyone can afford to spend $300 on a wool jumper.

We hit up the supermarket on the way home and scoped out dinner options. The selection was limited and I ended up buying a small bag of pasta to cook up with a package of Alfredo sauce that Mom brought from home. Back at the hostel we showered, unpacked, and then headed to the kitchen and dining room for dinner. My pasta dinner was rather tasty, and easy to cook in the tiny kitchen.

After dinner Mom and I watched “The Darjeeling Limited” on the computer while Simone read a book. We all hit the sack around 9pm, tired from the long day. We set the alarm for 6:30am because the next day we had to cover 500+ kilometers and we wanted to make sure we had enough time to get to our destination and to visit attractions along the way.

REYKIR TO AKUREYRI

2009-08-03T22:00:00.000-07:00

We woke up early, around 7:30am, and were on the road by 8:30am. Our first stop was the rock fortress of Borgarvirki. Like many other sites in Iceland, it wasn’t marked on our maps. Similarly, our instructions simply stated “Turn onto road 716 to Borgarvirki.” It was easy to spot the turn-off to road 716, however the road was little more than a dirt track that passed several farms. At one point we had to cross a cattle barrier and we thought we might be driving up to someone’s house. However, the road went past the farm house and up into the hills. We kept driving and eventually found the parking area at the base of the rock fortress. Again, Simone and I climbed to the top of the fortress while Mom stopped short about half-way up. This was understandable since it really was a rock fortress, and the footing was treacherous.

Looking up at Borgarvirki:

View from half-way up Borgarvirki:

All of this is mine:

After visiting the rock fortress we drove back to the main highway and headed north. Not long afterwards we followed the instructions in the Hostelling Iceland tour and turned off to Thingeyrar, the site of early government assemblies and an historic monastery and library. The old buildings are all gone now but there is a lovely 100-year-old church standing on the original site.

The church at Thingeyrar:

Inside the church, looking up at the amazing ceiling:

Ancient stone tablet from the original settlement:

From there we drove to Blonduos, where we stopped for a snack/early lunch at the gas station. It’s true what the guidebooks say: the best and cheapest meals are available at gas stations. There we met a cyclist from Britain who we’d passed no less than three times throughout the morning. Every time we made a detour to an historic site he’d get ahead of us. Shortly after we got back on the main highway we’d pass him. He was quite tickled that we’d been tracking him throughout the morning.

Our next stop was Vithimyrarkirkja, a 150-year-old church with a traditional turf roof. As we walked up to the church Simone spied a cat on the turf roof and sprinted off to meet it. Mom and I followed at a more leisurely non-crazy-cat-lady pace. When I caught up to Simone she was coaxing the cat, which was actually just a kitten, to come down the roof to her. It was too busy chasing bugs to pay attention. I started taking pictures of the kitten and it heard the shutter on my camera and came chase-assing down the roof to check things out. That’s when the kitten cuteness overload occurred and Simone stopped speaking in complete sentences.

The best view of the turf was at the back of the church:

Scot the kitten on the roof of the church:

We paid the entrance fee to see the inside of the church, and it was absolutely gorgeous in a minimalist way. It smelled of wood and sea air inside. The fellow who was collecting entrance fees explained that the church was built from driftwood from Siberia. Apparently it takes 3 years for the driftwood to get to Iceland. After it’s collected it takes 3 years to be cured before it can be used for building materials. I had the most amazing picture in my head of the locals dragging huge driftwood logs up the shore.

Simone couldn't resist a snuggle:

Our final tourist stop for the day was Glaumbaer, which the Hostelling Iceland tour described as an open-air folk museum. There was a small modern church and some turf buildings. Inside one of the turf buildings you could pay $6 to see a short video of how early Icelanders lived, but the cheese factor was so high that we passed. We headed back to the car and hit the road for the final leg to Akureyri.

The drive to Akureyri was amazing. The road passed through a long river valley, on a raised laneway above the meandering river bed. The mountains rose on either side, green with scrubby grasses and spotted with the typical small, tough Icelandic sheep. Every few kilometers was another clean and orderly Icelandic farm with bales of hay covered in white plastic, which made it look like the land where marshmallows are grown. In some cases we could see square plots of farmed trees, mostly pine. We have no idea what they will be used for. Our best guess at the moment is that they are Christmas tree farms.

We also travelled through an amazing mountain pass, hundreds of kilometers above sea level, before descending down into Akureyri, which lies on the eastern edge of the Eyjafjordur fjord. Simone was responsible for choosing our route into Akureyri and for navigating to our hotel. She did a terrific job, but for the fact that she was directing me to the wrong road for the Hotel. It was an issue of Icelandic names, poor maps, and a bit of dyslexia – Hrafnagilstraeti and Hafnarstraeti look awfully similar and both have lots of hotels on them. We eventually sorted ourselves out and found our hotel.

After settling into our room we went for a walk. We explored the Akureyrarkirkja church, which sits at the top of a hill in the center of town. Afterwards we followed the signs to the Lystigarthur Botanical Gardens, where we had fun playing with the macro settings on our cameras. On the way back into town we checked out some side streets and scoped out restaurants for dinner.

We had a wee rest before heading out at 6:30pm for dinner. We chose the Bautinn because it’s just down the street and the price is reasonable. The food wasn’t anything to write home about, but it was filling and tasty. Simone had her first Icelandic pizza (verdict: blah), I had spaghetti Bolognese (verdict: passable), and Mom had curried seafood pasta (verdict: yummy). Now we’re all back at the hotel and getting ready for bed. We’ll be driving 350+ kilometers tomorrow, with stops at a lot of important sites, so we’re planning an early start.

REYKJAVIK TO REYKIR

2009-08-02T22:00:00.000-07:00

Today we picked up our rental car, a Toyota Yaris. I’m sure I ordered a Yaris with an automatic transmission but they gave us one with a standard transmission. This wasn’t a problem, though, because both Simone and I drove cars with standard transmissions in the past.

Our destination for the day was the Saeberg hostel in Reykir, in the north west of Iceland. We were following a route suggested by Hostelling Iceland, however, with stops at important sites along the way.

View of Reykjavik from 'round the fjord:

Our wee wental caw:

Unfortunately, the maps provided by Hostelling Iceland and the car rental agency weren’t very good. Most of the roads we were supposed to travel on weren’t marked on the maps. We soon found out why – they were little more than dirt tracks leading from one small “town” to another. For example, the town of Reykholt had a large and impressive dot on the maps. However, the town consisted of an old church, a somewhat large farm, and a gas station. We decided to drive on to the next “town” on the map. A while later I noticed a small blue sign pointed to the town. I turned off at the indicated road, which led us to a camp site that boasted a small convenience store and restaurant. Obviously, we had to adjust our expectations downward a fair bit.

The river Hvita:

The gravel road just before it got really gnarly:

We were hungry, though, so we checked out the restaurant. It was quite pricey, with burgers and fries costing around $18 and salads upwards of $20. I’d seen a little kid coming out of the convenience store with a hot dog so I asked Mom and Simone if they wanted something simpler – aka a hot dog – for lunch instead. They agreed. We could smell the hot dogs when we got into the convenience store but couldn’t find them in any corner of the shop. Finally I spied some condiments behind the counter. A-ha! I asked one of the women at the counter if they sold hot dogs and she looked at me like I was the village idiot. “Of course,” she said. So, we ordered three hot dogs.

Then came the difficult decision of ordering toppings. We asked what was available. There were your typical condiments: ketchup, mustard, relish, and mayonnaise. You could also get fried onions. I swear I also heard her say you could get walnuts. We stuck with the standard condiments. None of us looked too closely at our dogs until we were outside and seated at a picnic table. None of us had ordered mayonnaise, so we were a little curious about the white stuff on top of our dogs. There was some brown stuff visible beneath that. The ketchup was nowhere to be seen. A bite revealed that the ketchup was underneath the dog, instead of on top – which, we learned later, is standard in Iceland. Through a scientific process of elimination we determined that the brown stuff was mustard and the white stuff was relish. Neither had much of a taste, so we relied on visual identification for the most part.

After lunch we decided to keep following the road, which looped back to Reykholt. After about 15 minutes of bone-jarring ruts we started to think we’d made the wrong choice. There was nowhere to turn around, though, so we kept going. The only other vehicles that passed us were giant 4x4s with raised suspensions. They probably couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw our tiny low-hanging Yaris bouncing along toward them.

We hadn’t found any of the sites recommended by Hostelling Iceland and were starting to get quite frustrated. We turned north onto the main highway again, thinking we’d missed all of the sites, when Simone spotted a sign for “Dinglefinger.” She meant to say Deildartungehver, but in the excitement of her discovery she yelled “Dinglefinger!” instead. Deildartungehver is the biggest hot spring in Europe, with 180 liters of hot water boiling to the surface every second. The fact that we nearly missed it is quite embarrassing – you can see the steam rising from the ground for miles.

Steam rising from the land around Deildartungehver:

Anyway, we miraculously found Deildartungehver and got out to admire the pools of boiling water and the clouds of steam. It was hard to take pictures because just when you focused your camera on something interesting, a cloud of steam would drift by and obscure the shot. The nice thing about the hot spring is that it didn’t stink. Mom, Simone, and I have all been to Rotorua in New Zealand, another large hot spring, and you can smell Rotorua miles before you arrive. We expected the same with Deildartungehver.

Warning sign and barrier next to a bubbling hot spring:

The next stop on our drive north was Grabrok, a large crater formed 3000 years ago during a fissure eruption. There is a walking path to the top of the crater and we figured we’d give it a try. Mom made it about 3/4’s of the way up the path, stopping just before the final ascent. Simone and I pushed on and climbed to the very top. The path at the top was quite rough and the only nod to safety was a rope strung along the outermost edge of the crater wall.

The stairs to the top of Grabrok:

View from the top of Grabrok:

From Grabrok it was a straight shot to Reykir, just north of Statharskali, on the eastern edge of the Hrutafjorthur fjord. When we arrived the weather was turning, with low hanging clouds and a cold wind. We walked around the hostel grounds for a bit and then headed inside to warm up and make dinner.

We had our first “camp” dinner at Saeberg. Food is quite expensive in Iceland so the Lonely Planet recommends bringing food with you. We’d packed a few “meal in a bag” camping packets for the nights when we were staying in remote hostels with no nearby restaurants or shops. Saeberg was one of those hostels.

The Saeberg hostel:

View of the village:

View of the fjord:

At dinner we met a British family who were staying at the hostel. They were following a similar route to us and shared some of their travel stories. Simone offered them some of the flatbread that she’d purchased at the flea market in Reykjavik. Now, we had discovered the previous night that the flatbread is cooked over charcoal and it has a very smoky smell and flavor. Simone likens the smell to an ashtray full of butts and ashes and water. It smells more like campfire to me. Anyway, Simone offered them a chance to try to the flatbread, with a warning about the smell and flavor. Surprisingly, they tried it, and the young girl quite liked it. They, in turn, offered us some fruit cake. I think we got the better end of the deal.

It was an early night for all. Simone climbed up to her bunk and spent some time reading a book. Mom and I watched “The Matador” on DVD on my computer, sharing one earbud apiece. At one point we both looked at each other and then removed our earbugs. Sure enough, Simone was tits up and snoring up a storm. We plugged our earbuds back in and watched the rest of the movie, then cleaned up and went to bed. That was around 8:30pm. There was a fair bit of to-ing and fro-ing in the hostel until 10pm, when there seemed to be a non-verbal communal decision to embrace unconsciousness.

REYKJAVIK DAY 2

2009-08-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

Around 6:30am the delicious aroma of bacon started wafting into the room I was sharing with Mom. We both roused from deep slumber, sniffing happily. Mom woke up completely but I slipped back to sleep and dreamt about food. Mom got up and had some coffee and waited for Simone and I to get our asses out of bed. I got up around 7:30am. Simone was still sleeping at 8:30am so we staged a sleep intervention. “You sleep too much Simone. Will you accept this gift of waking?”

The hotel provides a free breakfast buffet for guests so we decided to try it out. They had a really decent spread of hot foods, cereals, toast, and fruit. We loaded up on fruits. I also gave in and had some of that delicious bacon. It was as good as I thought it would be.

The previous day I had noticed that my computer wasn’t charging. I tried a variety of different plugs but soon realized that the problem was my combo step-down transformer and adapter. I came to the conclusion that it had bitten the dust. We walked to the nearest computer (tolvu) store to see if they had a replacement. Nope. They suggested that I go to the Kringlan Mall the next day.

So, after breakfast we caught the bus to the Kringlan Mall. It was pretty easy to find the bus stop, get the bus, and know when to get off. However, after we got off the bus we turned left when we should have turned right, and ended up walking around the ass-end of the mall until we found an entrance. We quickly found the Sony Store, where the clerk sing-songed “Yes, we have no transformers” and suggested I go to another store, the name of which I can’t even type, let alone say. The store had the weirdest selection of stock, sort of like a cross between Radio Shack and Toys R Us and Arlene’s. They had adapters, but no transformers. The clerk was an absolute doll, however, and gave us the addresses of two “electronics” stores that might have transformers. We chose the closest one, Byko, which he described as a large department store.

We caught a cab to Byko. I was a little unsure that we were at the right store because as we turned into the parking lot there was a Byko lumber supply yard to the right, a Byko garden center straight ahead, and an Ikea-like Byko home center to the left. The driver dropped us in front of the home center. Inside we asked where the computer electronics area was located and the clerk waved vaguely to the left. We went to the left, and stopped dead in front of a vast Home Depot-like household lighting department.

We wandered to the left some more, then some more, and eventually swung round to the lighting department again. I girded my courage and decided to go in. A very affable young sales clerk asked what I needed and I told him I was looking for a transformer and adapter. He looked confused at first, then led us to a rack and pulled out three options. One was clearly not suitable for large electronic devices. The other two looked like they might do the trick. I settled on one but as we walked away I got a sick sense that it wouldn’t work and stopped to read the label one more time. The problem was that the label was in German and French. No English. Mom and Simone tried to read the German but struggled with the technical terms. I tried to read the French but my vocabulary was just a bit too rudimentary. We went back to the clerk and after deciphering a bit more of the German it became clear it wasn’t supposed to be used with computers. Sigh.

That left the third option. I picked it up again and was trying to read the label when I noticed that the list of supported devices was illustrated on the box. There, beautiful as the sunrise, was a drawing of a laptop computer. Success! I won’t tell you how much I paid for the transformer/adapter, but let’s just say it was a generous contribution to the Iceland economy.

We caught a cab back to the hotel and then prepared to go to the island of Vithey for the afternoon. However, when I double-checked the Lonely Planet I found that the wharf from which the Vithey ferry sailed was several kilometers from town. So, we scrapped that idea and decided to walk around town again. Again, we went down Laugavegur. All of the shops were open this time and we went into a few of them. One of the shops we visited was a Christmas shop. The owner told us about the Yule Lads, a group of naughty blokes who steal things, slam doors, peek in windows, etc. in the 12 days leading up to Christmas. My favorite was the spoon licker. I don’t know why – the image just appealed to me!

Laugavegur street:

At the end of Laugavegur we wandered up Bankastraeti, and then Austerstraeti. The area was hopping with tourists, bars, restaurants, and tourist shops. I knew that the famous Reykjavik flea market was nearby so we navigated to a somewhat abandoned-looking area and then followed the crowds of Reykjavikers into the flea market. It was like any flea market, full of crap, but near the end was a food market where you can buy fish, meat, cheese, breads, vegetables, fruits, etc. Simone was attracted to a bread merchant who was selling bags of flatbreads faster than you can say “carbohydrates.” She talked to a girl in line who explained that that bread was a particularly tasty local treat. Simone picked up two packages for us to try.

At the end of Austerstraeti:

Buying flatbread at the flea market:

Line up at the hot dog stand outside of the flea market:

From there we tried to find our way back to Bankastraeti but got a bit turned about. By the time we found it, Simone was famished, so we poked our heads in a couple of places before she and I settled on a “cheap” lunch buffet. (Again, the cost of eating out in Reykjavik was intimidating.) Mom went next door to the bakery for a cookie and a coffee.

After lunch we did some more window shopping before heading down to the harbor for a walk along the water. We found some interesting public artwork, admired the harbor, and then pondered the significance of an old-looking white house that the city map identified as the location of the historic peace meeting between Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. We finally found a plaque that identified the house as the traditional residence of the members of City Hall.

View of the footpath along the harbor:

Interesting statue on the harbor:

The coolest public water fountain I've ever seen:

Tonight we bought groceries for tomorrow’s road trip to Saeberg – apples, grapes, bananas, three bags of addictive Icelandic potato chips, chocolate, and water. We started out with such good intentions, but…oh, well. We’ll all have a shower, repack our bags, and hopefully get another good night’s sleep.

REYKJAVIK DAY 1

2009-07-31T23:00:00.000-07:00

We arrived at the hotel around 9:30am, well before the 2pm check-in time. When we explained to the front desk clerk that we’d just flown in and were extremely tired she said she would see if the cleaners could get a room ready sooner. Yay! We stowed our luggage in the “secure luggage room” – the hall behind the front desk – unfolded our city map, and hit the street. We walked up Laugavegur Street, which is known as the main shopping street in Reykjavik. However, most of the shops were still closed so all we could do is window-shop. When we reached the end of Laugavegur we were feeling peckish and looked for an open café for a snack and a stimulant. I spied an Illy sign so we made a beeline for it. Some coffee and a couple of delicious croissants later, and we were ready for more wandering.

I saw on the map that the Tjornin lake/park was nearby so we headed that way. We were drawn to a very odd modern building on the lake shore. It was closed, however, so we took photos of seagulls and ducks and admired the lake in the morning light. (We learned later that the odd building was the Radhus, or City Hall.) We walked along the length of the lake and then headed up Njarthagata Street toward the Hallgrimskirkja Church, another model of modern architecture. Unfortunately, when we got to the Hallgrimskirkja Church the outside was nearly completely obscured by scaffolding.

The Radhus:

Feeding ducks on Lake Tjornin:

Taking pictures:

We took some photos of the statue of Leifir Eiricsson, located in front of the church, before going inside to admire the arched ceilings and ferocious looking organ pipes. We paid the fee to get access to the church tower, which the Lonely Planet promised offered the best views of Reykjavik, but sadly one side of the tower was blocked off and it was a challenge to get photos from the other side because of all of the scaffolding.

The statue of Leifir Eiricsson in front of Hallgrimskirkja:

View from the top of Hallgrimskirkja:

Taking pictures:

The back of Hallgrimskirkja, the only part not covered in scaffolding:

We were losing energy so we headed down another famous shopping street, Skolavorthustigur, and then back up Laugavegur to our hotel. By this time it was 11:30am and we decided it would be a good idea to provide a little time zone shock therapy to our systems by having lunch. We went to the café next to the hotel but they only had a limited menu. Mom ordered the traditional Icelandic lamb soup while Simone had some tea and bread. I settled for a bottle of Coke. After lunch Simone checked with the front desk clerk to see if our room was ready – and it was! – so we collected our luggage and headed upstairs to our fabulous suite.

Now, we didn’t reserve a suite. We reserved a 3-bed standard hotel room. However, for some reason the front desk clerk took a shine to/pity on us and upgraded us to a suite with a full kitchenette, dining room, and living room. Hot diggity! We didn’t spend much time admiring our surroundings, though – Simone washed her face and Mom and I hit the sack. By the time Simone finished washing her face Mom and I were blissfully unconscious.

We snoozed until late afternoon. We all showered and then headed out on the town in search of a cash machine and dinner. Friday night is the “runtur” or pub crawl in Reykjavik so there were a lot of people on the street looking for places to eat and drink. One pub, Dillons, had a live band belting out reasonably good rock music. We looked at the price lists of a few places and were a little taken aback at the prices. We eventually realized we’d have to suck it up and pay the piper, so to speak, so we settled on an Italian restaurant close to the hotel.

We all ordered pasta and thankfully it was very good. Mom had mushroom ravioli, Simone had penne with chicken and bacon, and I had tagliatelle with mussels, scallops, shrimp, and squid. I’d heard that alcohol was expensive in restaurants but was unprepared for the 1,200 kronur ($12) price tag for a glass of house white wine. Still, I thought “What the hell!” and ordered a glass of wine with dinner. Mmmm.

After dinner we watched a little bit of Icelandic TV (all 5 channels!) and then went to bed. Mom doped us all with melatonin and we slept like the dead.

SEATAC & THE FLIGHT

2009-07-31T12:00:00.000-07:00

We arrived at SEATAC shortly after noon. As we departed the aircraft the stewardess handed us a blue customs and immigration form which, we learned later, you’re supposed to fill out during the flight. This meant that everyone on our flight was herded into the customs and immigration area completely unprepared. Some people filled out their forms at the booth, much to the annoyance of the customs agents. We found a small table at the rear of the room where we proceeded to lay out the forms and fill in the necessary details. However, the customs agent who controls the queue came over and urged us to fill in the forms quickly as two large flights were arriving shortly. Shoot! We were sharing a pen so we scurried up to the booths as soon as we were done. Unfortunately, we’d indicated we were travelling as a family so we each got the hairy eyeball from the customs agents. Oh, well – they let us into the country anyway!

The ticket agent in Victoria was unable to check us through to Reykjavik on Icelandair so we had to depart the secure area of the airport and head to the departures level to get our boarding passes for the next leg of the journey. That was easy, but we soon learned why it’s preferable to get checked through – we had to get into a 500+ person line to go through security again!

It was annoying to be in such a long line but it moved fairly quickly. About halfway through the “security shuffle” some women, wearing strong perfume, joined the queue. It triggered my asthma. I used my inhaler but it wasn’t working very well. I finally dodged under the ropes and moved to an area near the doors to the security hall where I could get some fresh air and watch the queue for Mom and Simone.

I joined Mom and Simone in the queue just before they entered the security barricade. I was holding my arm over my face to block the perfume and to wipe up the tears that inevitably come to my eyes during an asthma attack. This was a problem for the customs agent, who thought I was trying to hide my face. I finally turned, removed my arm, wheezed “asthma attack”, and then put my arm back up. Again, not the proper protocol but he let me through.

Once we got through security it was easy to find our departure gate. We found a table and then went in search of food. Interestingly, both Simone and I initially planned to get sushi but aborted the mission and instead went to Burger King. It was our first meal at BK and we both agree, if you want salty and greasy food, it’s not bad.

Before we knew it the afternoon had passed and we were ready to board our flight to Reykjavik. We all had aisle seats near the rear of the plane. Mom and I sat across from each other, and Simone sat a couple of seats forward. When the stewardess announced that all passengers were aboard the plane and it was ready for departure, Mom was super happy – she had two empty seats next to her. Her happiness was short-lived, however – a rather strange woman approached and, without a word, threw her belongings onto the seat next to Mom.

Mom’s seat-mate deserves special note. She was an exceptionally tall woman, thin, with curly hair that is best compared to a bramble patch. She was also extremely reticent to speak or to interact with other people at all. She reminded me a great deal of Professor Trelawny from the Harry Potter books/movies, minus the round glasses.

After take-off, Mom’s seat mate pulled out a newspaper to read. However, her manner of reading a newspaper was unlike anything we’d seen – or heard – before. She proceeded to rip each page out of the paper so she could read it individually. When she came across an interesting article, photo, or advertisement she ripped it out. She carefully input data from it into her Blackberry, then folded it and tucked it into one of the two seat-back pockets. She did this for the entire newspaper, and for the in-flight magazine as well.

Mid-flight she got up and rummaged around in the carry-on bag she’d stowed in the overhead bins. She blocked the aisle for a good 15 minutes, causing at least two stewardesses to glare at her in annoyance and three passengers to do the gotta-pee dance in the aisle. When she’d found what she needed she stepped over Mom to get back to her seat.

That’s another thing – she never asked Mom to move so she could get to the aisle. Mom would start asking “Would you like me to move?” – but by then the woman had already stepped over her into the aisle.

As the flight neared Reykjavik the woman started going through her prized clippings and sorting them into more piles. She also pulled out a couple of file folders full of other clippings. She was mid-sort when the pilots announced they were going to start the descent into Reykjavik. One of the stewardesses who had been trapped in the aisle earlier told the woman to clear up her clippings and lock the seat-back tables. It seemed the woman wasn’t going to comply so the stewardess stood by until the woman had hastily shoved all of her clippings into the two folders and put them into her handbag.

After the plane landed we all disembarked and proceeded to the customs and immigration area. We noticed, however, that Mom’s seat-mate wasn’t in the queue. A good 20 minutes passed before she showed up in the customs and immigration area. We speculated that she stayed behind on the plane to finish sorting and organizing her clippings.

After we cleared customs and immigration we headed out to the arrivals area and picked up our FlyBus tickets into Reykjavik. We got on board the bus shortly before 8am local time and enjoyed the drive from Keflavik to Reykjavik – well, we enjoyed it as much as we could, considering our bodies were telling us it was 2am.

The bus driver pulled the bus into the FlyBus terminal on the outskirts of Reykjavik and about half of the people on board got off. We stayed on board, thinking they were making some kind of connection. A few minutes later our driver got on board and ordered the rest of us off the bus. I guess the FlyBus representatives failed to mention that we all had to get off the big bus at the terminal and transfer to smaller mini-buses for the remainder of our trip into town.

After a fair bit of finger-pointing by grumpy FlyBus drivers we finally found our mini-bus and clambered on board. Ten minutes later the driver dropped us in front of our hotel. It didn’t look like much from the outside bus was very modern and funky inside. Happy days – we were finally in Reykjavik!

Wednesday, September 10, 2008 - BOSTON and MAINE

2008-09-14T07:40:00.000-07:00

I had the opportunity to make a very quick trip to Boston to meet some potential clients. A colleague, Bob, let me crash at his bachelor pad. He also took me out to see some Boston sights and for a brief road trip to Maine.

It's bloody impossible to drive in Boston, let alone find a place to park. Your best bet is the subway, called the T by locals. Bob lives in Wakefield so the closest T station was Oak Grove on the orange line. So, my first task upon arriving in Boston was to get from the airport out to Oak Grove. It was surprisingly easy.

The MBTA:

A surprisingly empty subway car:

Bob took me out to Harvard for dinner. We didn't actually go onto the university campus because the weather was so foul - blame Hurricane Hanna for that! Instead we had dinner at one of the local restaurants. After dinner we caught the T into Boston and Bob took me to Donovan's, a "locals" bar in the Faneuil Hall marketplace, for a few pints of Guinness. I loved listening to the heavily-accented conversations, which were mostly about the football game on the big-screen TV. It was also nice to be in a "bar" bar. They didn't serve food. They didn't have young, attractive bar tenders. They just had a wooden bar, stools, the TV, and a whole lotta alcohol.

Donovan's at night:

The next day we were supposed to get up early and head up to Maine. Hah! Great plan after a late night and a bit o' Guinness! Instead we slept in until close to noon. Luckily Maine is just a couple of hours away, a short hop over the state of New Hampshire. We arrived in Ogunquit in the early afternoon. Our first stop was the Nubble Lighthouse, which is actually closer to Cape Neddick, but I digress.

Nubble Lighthouse:

Bob the photographer:

From there we drove up towards Kennebunkport. Bob stopped at the side of the road to show me the "compound" where George Bush Sr. spends his summers. Bob pulled out his Nikon, which has a smallish telephoto lens on it, to take some photos. I'm not sure if that caused alarm, or if it was just general practice, but shortly thereafter a secret service agent strolled by and had a good look at us. I'm sure that they also recorded Bob's license plate number, and probably took a few photos of us.

George Bush Srs. compound in Kennebunkport:

Our next stop was Cape Porpoise. We stopped at a local pub hoping for a pint of Guinness but their tap wasn't working. Instead we had a couple of bottles of very delightful Shipyard Ale, a beer brewed in Maine. We sat outside and enjoyed the sun, the sights and sounds of the harbour, and the opportunity to just live life slowly.

Working fish boats in the harbour:

Lobster traps stacked on the dock:

Shucking corn for dinner at the chowder house:

Bob, his camera, and Shipyard Ale:

Our final stop of the day was the town of Kennebunkport, which is about three blocks long and two blocks wide. Bob took me to a shop that only sold condiments, and in particular, hot sauce. He'd seen a hot sauce called "Too Fucking Hot" the last time he was in the store and wanted to buy it for a friend. Unfortunately they were sold out. I wanted to buy a sauce but couldn't decide. I should have taken a picture of it - one entire wall of the store was just bottles of hot sauces. I'm not kidding!

We asked the proprietor of the condiment store about places to stay. He recommended the Kennebunkport Inn, which was a block away. We walked there to inquire about rooms and rates. A bus had just disgorged a seniors' tour and they were shuffling their way from the bar to the restaurant. We almost turned and fled. I don't know what it was, but the sea of seniors was terrifying.

Anyway, we persevered and wended our way to the front desk. The young fellow checked us into a room with a queen sized bed and was about to hand us the key when he noticed our two sets of raised eyebrows. Bob then asked for two beds or two rooms. The young fellow got a bit flustered and then suggested a suite with separate rooms. He cut the rate nearly in half for us. It was a "sweet" suite, with a spacious living room and dining room, three separate bed rooms, and a balcony.

The living room and mini-kitchen:

Two of the rooms, located just off the living room:

We checked out a couple of restaurants for dinner and settled on The Landing. It looked "rustic classy" and the menu seemed quite varied. However, I knew we were in for a bad dinner when our waiter cheerfully described the "special" as baked haddock, covered in Ritz cracker crumbs and white sauce. I had scampi, which consisted of a few overcooked shrimp thrown on top of a pile of undercooked pasta. Thank goodness for the stale, days-old white wine to wash it down!

The Landing restaurant in Kennebunkport, as seen from the bridge:

Strangely enough, I didn't eat any lobster while I was in Maine:

The next morning we drove down to Newburyport, Rockport, and Gloucester. Rockport was absolutely stunning. I couldn't believe how small the harbour was. It was absolutely jam-packed with working fish boats. The art colony north of the harbour was also fantastic. Bob and I were more interested in taking photos than shopping, though.

View of the tight harbour entrance:

Rusting anchor and fish boat:

Dories tied to the dock:

Fish boats at anchor in the harbour:

Bear Skin Neck, where the art colony is located:

Old fishermen's huts converted into art stores:

Colorful lobster trap floats outside of a store:

Kayaks for rent:

Historic notice on the side of a house:

Another view of Rockport Harbour:

One of the quaint alleys:

Fishermen's huts converted into houses:

There was an exceedingly low tide that day:

From Rockport we drove to Gloucester. Our only stop was at the Fishermen's Memorial. It was a gray and rainy day, which seemed quite appropriate. Gloucester is perhaps most famous as the port from which the crew of the Andrea Gail sailed in 1991 and encountered a "perfect storm". The book "The Perfect Storm", which described the storm and the events leading up to the loss of the Andrea Gail, was made into a movie in 2000.

Fishermen's Memorial in Gloucester:

Fishermen's Memorial plaque:

The crew of the Andrea Gail:

Once back in Boston I attended to business. I also squeezed in a quick visit with a couple that Simone and Bruce met on a cycling tour in France this summer. Brenda and Maggie picked me up at the Braintree station on the red line of the T and took me for lunch at Jake's in Hull. They also took me for a drive around Hull to see some of the sights, before dropping me off at the ferry terminal in Quincy, where I caught the fast ferry back into Boston.

Jake's restaurant:

Brenda and Maggie:

View of Quincy from the fast ferry:

Entering Boston Harbour on the ferry:

Back in Boston, I wandered around the harbour and then struck out for Chinatown. I found a restaurant that had a good soup selection. I tried ordering food in Mandarin for the first time, with limited success. I also asked for directions to the washroom after dinner and got "turned over" to a senior waiter because my waiter didn't know what the hell I was saying.

After visiting the loo, I asked the senior waiter what I'd said wrong. I guess I was using the European term "water closet" instead of the American term "restroom". When I asked how to say restroom, he launched into a string of Mandarin that made my eyes glaze over. I think he said "gonggongchangsuohuojiguanneifusheguanxi". That's what shows up in my e-dictionary when I type in "restroom". Try saying that when you've got your legs crossed and you're hopping up and down! I'm going to have to ask my Mandarin tutor, Jack, if there's an shorter word that I can use!

An entrance to the State subway station:

The Friendship Arch at the entrance to Chinatown:

So, that was my visit to Boston and Maine. Short, sweet, and educational!

Monday, August 18, 2008 - GULF ISLANDS

2008-08-23T08:01:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a 3-day kayaking tour of the Gulf Islands. It was arranged through the Women's Travel Club at Totem Travel. I don't normally do "women only" tours but this one looked interesting. My sister Simone even agreed to go - and she hates camping!

We mustered at the Sealegs Kayaking center at Transfer Beach in Ladysmith. I was surprised at how old some of the women were. Half of the group were in their 30s and 40s and the other half were 55 and over. Some of the older women looked quite fit and confident while others...um, didn't.

The Sealegs Kayaking staff fitted us for PFDs and then inspected our baggage. They made quite a few of the older women move their belongings into dry bags. (One woman brought luggage, can you believe that?!?) A van arrived and transported us to a beach north of Ladysmith, where the kayaks were pulled up onto the beach and the rest of the Sealegs staff were busy packing supplies into the kayaks.

Loading the kayaks was a bit confusing. The owner of Sealegs Kayaking, Bud, said in a half-jokey voice that we might have to leave some of our stuff behind if it didn't fit into the kayaks. He made it clear that the camp supplied were more important than our gear. I thought he was joking, then saw how much stuff had to be loaded into the kayaks that I realized he was serious. Luckily we managed to get everyone's stuff into the 'yaks - phew!

Simone and I shared a 2-person kayak. It was quite heavy - we were loaded down with equipment - but glided through the water quite nicely. We paddled from the beach to Ruxton Island, where we had a "float break". From there we paddled down to De Courcey Island. We pulled into Pirate's Cove on De Courcey for lunch.

Simone in ze kayak:

Lunch was Greek salad, chicken, potato chips - my favorite! - hummous and pita, etc. Yum. We tried to help set up and serve the food but the Sealegs guides chased us away. After lunch we had a long paddle over to Valdez Island. We pulled in to our campsite at Blackberry Point around 4pm.

Fantastic rock formations on De Courcey Island:

The Sealegs guides set up the kitchen in less then 30 minutes and set about making dinner. The rest of us paired off and set up our tents. They had 3-person and 4-person tents so that meant sharing. Simone and I hooked up with Donna, who I met on the Tunisia tour. An older woman named Sam asked to share the tent as well. We agreed but it made things quite tight inside.

The outhouse, get it?:

Dinner was a gorgeous shrimp and veggie stir fry, followed by cake for dessert. I tell you, they fed us well! A lot of us broke out bottles of wine at "wine-thirty". On the advice of an experienced kayaker at work I'd packed a "bag" of wine - you buy a box of wine and then pull out the bag inside. It packs into small spaces, is flexible, and when you're done you don't have to haul back empty bottles. Genius!

After dinner Crazy Pete showed up. Bud had earlier explained that Crazy Pete was a guy who'd been living in the Gulf Islands for the past 30 years. He was a bit of a vagabond, camping illegally, getting evicted from one island or another, and collecting a suspicious variety and amount of stuff that he sold every now and then to make money. I found him really interesting and we talked about everything from raccoons to marine legal rights to herbal remedies. Everyone else in our group avoided Crazy Pete, which was fine by me because it meant I got Pete all to myself! He told a few tall tales, but there was a surprising amount of truth in what he said.

Chevy, Crazy Pete's fetch-loving dog:

No one slept well that night. Sam was a snorer and had wicked bad sleep apnea. Also, we managed to set up our tent on a slope so everyone was fighting gravity. For me, the worst part was the bump under my back. I couldn't sleep on my back because the bump would over-extend my spine and I'd get back spasms. I couldn't sleep on my side because the bump would force my spine into some kind of wicked scoliosis curvature. I resorted to sleeping on my stomach, but that meant cranking my neck to the side.

Breakfast was eggs, pea-meal bacon (yum!), yoghurt, and fruit. After breakfast the guides had a confab and suggested that we stay in camp for the morning to conserve energy and go out kayaking in the afternoon. As a substitute for the morning kayaking they proposed a full moon kayak at night. Everyone thought that was a good idea.

Some people went for a hike that morning. Others lounged on the beach. The guides helped Sam set up a small tent just for herself, which put her at ease and made Donna, Simone, and I very happy. I roamed around aimlessly and then finally went into the tent to lie down and see if I could catch some extra winks. It was really hot so I didn't sleep, but lying down did help me relax and recoup some energy.

Kathy lounging on the beach:

Seastars were abundant along the beach:

For our afternoon kayak trip we paddled down to Shingle Point, which is native reserve land and technically off-limits, but it was common for people to go there for picnics and suchlike. We paddled past Shingle Point and south to another beach, where we stopped for a break. A lot of people went swimming. The beach was lined with blackberry bushes so there was a lot of blackberry picking going on as well.

The beach just past Shingle Point:

Sam being Sam:

Back at base camp, the guides cooked up another fabulous dinner. I got into the wine a bit and remember having some hilarious slurry conversations. After everyone departed for the full moon kayaking trip I happily trotted off to the tent and went to sleep. I don't even remember Donna and Simone coming into the tent. Unfortunately I snored until around midnight, which made it hard for them to fall asleep.

Breakfast was superb once again. After that we all broke down our tents and started packing our dry bags for the return trip. The guides broke down the camp kitchen and started loading the kayaks. We were ready to leave by 10am.

Left to right: Joanne, Brendan, me, Colleen, Kathy, Sam, ?, Carolyn, Marilyn, Simone, Donna, Sally, ?, Anne-Marie, ?, Ericka, Lauren, and Chevy pleading for more fetch:

We paddled from Valdez Island to Thetis Island, stopping mid-route for a water break. On Thetis we went into a very shallow cove that was full of eel grass and sea cucumbers. The guides pulled up a couple of sea cucumbers for us to marvel at. Simone gave the guides an impromptu lecture on sea cucumbers and the importance of the eel grass as a nursery for sea life.

After visiting the shallow cove we paddled around to a rock beach where we pulled up the kayaks and the guides prepared lunch. I was tired so I stretched out my PFD and laid down on it - I know, I know, you're not supposed to do that but I was tired! I managed to catch a bit of shut eye, waking up only when the guides got into a wickedly funny debate about the best way to dispose of human "scat". The preferred method seemed to be the "shit put", or pooping onto a bit of wood and then flinging the poop into the ocean or the woods.

After lunch we embarked on our longest paddle, from Thetis to Ladysmith Harbour. We were asked to travel in a much tighter group because of the prevalance of marine traffic. We got to ride a couple of wakes, which was fun, but most boats slowed down as they passed so they didn't cast such a big wake into our group.

We pulled up onto Shell Beach, just opposite Transfer Beach, for a rest. We were quite the sensation with the other beach-goers when we pulled up in our 13 kayaks! The guides had a swim and then lay down on the beach for a rest. They were clearly tired after waiting on us hand and foot for three days! I sat apart from the group, enjoying a bit of alone time. After 30 minutes or so we got back into our kayaks and headed for Transfer Beach.

Shell Beach rest stop:

Kalvin and Brendan resting up on Shell Beach:

There wasn't much shoreline at Transfer Beach because the tide was high, so we could only beach two or three kayaks at a time. The Sealegs Kayaking folks carried the kayaks up the steps to the grass, and asked us to help unpack the kayaks. Sealegs gear went into one pile while our gear went into another pile. Simone and I recovered our gear fairly quickly and hit the road, eager to get home, shower, and go to sleep! The trip home was mercifully quick with just one point of congestion on the Malahat. I had a good long shower, a bit to eat, took two Ibuprofin and hit the sack by 7:30pm. What a trip!

Sunday, April 20, 2008 - VICTORIA

2008-04-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

We arrived home late Friday afternoon and stayed up until 8:30pm in the hopes of sleeping through the night. I woke up around 2:30am with a growling stomach and a great desire to start the day. I gave in and got up at 3:00am, hoping not to wake up Mom, but discovered that she was also awake. We had coffee and then Mom unpacked. I was starving so I made soup and then watched a bit of TV. We went back to bed around 5:30am and slept until mid-morning.

Today we woke up at 6:00am, so we seem to be back to the correct sleeping schedule. I was ready for dinner as soon as I woke up, though, so it looks like it'll take a little longer to get my stomach back on track.

I was reading my blog this morning and I realized that I was very factual, which is kind of boring. So, here are some of the lighter moments and observations from the trip:

It isn't as bad as Asia, but ... driving any vehicle in Tunisia requires equal mixtures of balls and precision.

You need an advanced degree in jaywalking ... to cross Tunisian roads safely. The traffic rarely lets up so you have to get halfway across the road then wait as cars whiz by on either side for an opportunity to complete the crossing.

Tunisian wine is dreck ... but you're lucky to get it in a Muslim country. The waiters in the hotels carefully pour a bit of wine into your glass for you to sample, which is laughable because the wine always smells like industrial cleanser and tastes only marginally better.

When it's 30 degrees outside ... it's still considered winter. The "air conditioning" units in Tunisian hotels blast hot air into rooms from October to April. At the beginning of May the system is cleaned out and configured to distribute cold air. We didn't learn this until the third or fourth hotel, of course, which meant a lot of unnecessarily sweaty nights.

There are almost no public toilets in Tunisia ... so at some point it is necessary to walk into a cafe full of men and ask the owner if you can use the loo. This request is met with smirks. You understand why when you're hovering over the cracked and dirty bowl. Toilet paper is rarely available so you need to get used to drip-drying. Tunisians actually think that toilet paper is a very dirty way to clean your bottom bits and prefer to hose themselves down instead. So, cafe toilets are often very swampy.

To Tunisians, there is only one province in Canada ... Quebec. So many tourists from Quebec visit Tunisia that when you say you're Canadian, the natural response is "Ah, Quebec!"

There is a definite hawker lingo ... including the opening bid "How much for this bouche-bouche in Canada?" Don't bother asking what a bouche-bouche is, because it doesn't matter. The key objective is to get you to look at something. Don't believe a hawker who says he won't bother you and that you can look "slowly slowly". Run away from the hawker who says he won't "eat you" and makes biting motions with his hand. One of the funniest hawkers was in Hammamet. He'd been spending a little too much time with English tourists, because when I walked past his shop without looking he called me a "cheeky monkey" and then said "I can't believe my bloody eyes" in a very heavy Arabic accent.

Elevators in Tunisia don't have sensors ... so don't shove your arms or legs into a closing door. The door just closes on your limb(s) and stays closed. You have to press the up or down button again to get the door to open.

There's so much more, but these are the best bits. I wish I could record everything but unfortunately we don't have the technology for brain-blog transfers at the moment.

Until the next trip...

Thursday, April 17, 2008 - PARIS

2008-04-20T08:36:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Paris around 3:30pm. We got through security with no problem, but had trouble finding the gate where we were supposed to catch a shuttle to our hotel. We did eventually find the correct gate and the shuttle arrived in due time, but the shuttle driver was obviously flustered at the prospect of picking up 16 people at one stop, not to mention loading all of their damned luggage.

We only had 30 minutes to check into the hotel and freshen up because a van was supposed to pick us up shortly and take us on a tour of Paris. Everyone made it to the lobby by the requested time and began studying maps of downtown Paris in anticipation of a night on the town.

An hour later it was clear that we'd been scammed. The van didn't show up, the tour business wasn't listed in the telephone directory, and the hotel staff said that our tour vouchers looked fake.

Cheryle, who had arranged the tour, was obviously devastated. She canvassed the group to see who wanted to go into town on their own steam for a self-guided tour. More than half said they'd do it, so she arranged for a cab.

Mom and I stayed at the hotel and enjoyed a quiet dinner in the pub. After dinner we went to our room to watch TV but the only English channel was BBC and the only subject they seemed to be covering that night was the Poop's visit to the US. So, we shut off the TV and I played a DVD on my laptop instead. Mom fell asleep halfway through the DVD. I watched a bit more but turned it off and turned in early.

The next morning we learned that the people who'd gone into Paris were scammed once again. The cab that took them into town charged EUR$125 for the trip. When Cheryle asked if the cab driver could return at 10:00pm to pick the group up and return them to the hotel, he agreed but asked for a EUR$50 deposit, which he was given.

At 10:00pm the group showed up at the designated pick-up location, but no cab. After 45 minutes of waiting in vain for the cabbie to show up, the group hailed two cabs and headed back to the hotel. Surprisingly, the cost of the two cab fares, added together, was less than the EUR$125 fare the original cabbie charged for the trip into town. Sigh.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008 - HAMMAMET

2008-04-20T08:20:00.000-07:00

We tried to sleep in this morning but couldn't. After two weeks of 6:30am wake-up calls and 8:00am departures, out bodies we trained to get up and go.

After breakfast we met with the tour representative. We provided some feedback on the trip and she gave us some suggestions about how to spend our free day at the hotel, around Yasmine Hammamet, and in the town of Hammamet.

Seven of us decided to catch cabs into Hammamet to tour the medina and the harbor. It's a good thing we'd been "in country" for two weeks because the hawkers in the medina were the most aggressive we'd encountered on the trip. We ran into an English family in one of the alleys and their two girls were clearly terrified of the hawkers. We stopped to talk for a few minutes until they'd calmed down and then ran a bit of interference as they exited the alley.

I was hoping to find a silver shop that the tour representative had mentioned. We asked a local vendor to point out the shop but she took us to a relatives' shop instead. He locked us into the tiny shop, explaining that he had fake watches and could get shut down by the police if they caught him. He tried to sell us a few things but we ended up leaving without buying anything. We literally had to unlock the door ourselves to escape.

We did find the silver shop near the end of our time at the medina. It was an oasis of calm. The owner and his son/shop assistant were there watching Tunisian soap operas. They welcomed us but left us alone to shop. If we asked for a price he provided it then went back to his desk. I wanted to buy everything I saw but couldn't afford it. I ended up borrowing some dinar from Tamara so I could buy something for my sister, but left empty-handed myself.

We had lunch at a restaurant outside the medina before catching the tourist train back to Yasmine Hammamet. The train was hilarious. We were seated in the last car and it kept swinging wildly to the left and right as the driver sped through the small streets. We'd also bounce off our seats at every speed bump. There were no seat belts or safety gear which added an element of excited fear to the trip.

We kept a low profile for the rest of the afternoon. Dinner was a low-key affair because we knew we had an early departure the next day.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008 - HAMMAMET

2008-04-20T07:23:00.000-07:00

Our first stop this morning was the Roman amphitheater at El Jem. It's smaller than the Colliseum in Rome, but according to Mom it's more impressive. Parts of the amphitheater are partially restored so you can climb up to the top ramparts. You can also go underneath the amphitheater floor to see the rooms where animals and people were kept and the ramps they used to move them up to the surface for fights.

Views of the amphitheater at El Jem:

It wasn't on the itinerary but we also visited the museum of El Jem. It had the most amazing mosaics and backed onto the ruins of the old town. Like most of the museums we've visited in Tunisia, the museum at El Jem didn't contain any household or personal items recovered from the site. It's like they're not important enough to display. Either that or they were ransacked and are not available. It's sad because I always find the household and personal items the most fascinating.

From there we drove to Monastir, had lunch, and then toured the ancient fortress called the Ribat. I'd left my camera on the bus during lunch and didn't have it with me at the Ribat, which is too bad because it was really amazing. The highlight was climbing the narrow circular staircase of the watchtower to get a 360 degree view of the surrounding area.

Outside the Ribat:

We walked from the Ribat to Bourguiba's Mausoleum. Bourguiba led the country to independence in the 1950s. Three generations of his family are buried at the mausoleum, which tool over 30 years to build. It was beautiful, but also a little creepy.

Views of Bourguiba's Mausoleum:

Our next stop was the "prix fixe" tourist store in Sousse. Many of the ladies in the tour had complained that they didn't have enough time to shop, so Mohamed added a shopping stop in Sousse to the agenda. I could have done without it - imagine four floors of camel teddy bears, 6' tall houkhas, brass plates with camels on them, stinky perfumes, Tunisia t-shirts, ugly knock-off purses, gaudy scarves and dresses, and cheap rugs. I spent most of my time outside in the traditional medina fighting off the hawkers.

Our final stop before the hotel was a marina on the outskirts of Sousse. A few people walked to the marina but a large group of us followed Mohamed to the local supermarket to buy dates, harissa, olives, capers, and booze. It was the best decision, apparently - we learned afterwards that the hawkers at the marina were particularly aggressive and foul-mouthed.

Our hotel was located in the tourist area of Hammamet called Yasmine Hammamet. Some of the hotels in the strip have Vegas-style themes. One of them had a truly ugly Aladdin/Arabian Nights theme and we were happily mocking it, thinking we were going to stay in a classy hotel, when Sharif turned the bus into the entrance. Egads!

The entrance to the Lella Baya:

So, yes, we stayed in the ugly Vegas-themed Lella Baya hotel. In the rafters Aladdin was riding his magic carpet and below were belly dancer mannequins. You could sit and smoke sheesha from garish houkhas in the bar. Outside, next to the pool, was a South Pacific-style tiki bar. Go figure. I've included some pictures but they really don't do the garishness justice. As I said at the time, the owners paid a lot of money to make the hotel so ugly.

Inside the Lella Baya and the view of the pool from our room:

Monday, April 14, 2008 – SFAX

2008-04-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

We left Djerba early and headed for the ferry terminal. You can access Djerba via a causeway (which we used the day before) or via a ferry. It was nice to be on the water after so many days driving through the desert.

Views from the ferry:

We drove from Djerba to Gabes, where we stopped for 30 minutes to visit the spice market. The spice hawkers were very aggressive and most of us left the market in a few minutes. Outside of the market Mom and I met up with Tamara, who had discovered a carpentry shop while holding the toilet door closed for her mother. She led us back there and a man who spoke German described the type of furniture they created, the type of wood they used, and where the wood came from. It was lovely to smell the wood chips and rest in the cool of the shop.

Views from the spice market:

After Gabes we drove north and stopped for lunch at a roadside café. We had salad, pommes frites, and grilled lamb. Unfortunately the lamb was mostly bone and was raw in some places. We still cleaned our plates, because we knew it would be hours before dinner.

Our next stop was the hotel in Sfax. It’s located in the heart of downtown, unlike the other hotels where we’ve stayed, which are located in “zones touristiques” that are typically several kilometers away from town so that the tourists are protected from themselves. A few people on the tour went out and explored the Medina. You can guess from the number of posts today that I stayed inside and blogged. I am an unashamed nerd.

Sunday, April 13, 2008 – DJERBA

2008-04-14T08:41:00.002-07:00

Our hotel in Tatouine was beautiful on the outside and disappointing on the inside. In particular, the food was the worst we’ve encountered. The “highlight” of dinner was half-raw BBQ chicken. Everyone took a piece and everyone left it on their plates. Breakfast was leftover desserts from the night before.

The restaurant at Tatouine:

From Tatouine we drove to Djerba, an island on the Mediterranean. Our first stop was a pottery store. It reminded me of the pottery store that we stopped at in Trinidad, Cuba. It was a family business and the art of pottery had been passed down from generation to generation. I bought three pieces of pottery for myself and one for my potter friend Michael.

Views from the pottery shop:

Our next stop was the marketplace in Houmt Souk, the capital of Djerba. Mohamed took us to a reputable silver and gold store. Unfortunately nothing appealed to Mom or I, so we didn’t buy anything. We had lunch in Houmt Souk and then Mohamed unleashed us on the market – unsupervised! – for an hour.

Mom bought some small kilim from a vendor who spoke terrific German and was an expert salesman. I bought a supposedly silver bracelet from a jeweler who was very intent on copping a feel. Mom got harassed by a vendor who wanted to sell her a 5 dinar package of dates for 50 dinar. He literally followed her down the street for 30 feet until Mohamed told him to leave her alone.

From the souk we traveled by bus to a Jewish temple, the largest on Djerba. Apparently a lot of Jewish people moved here because of strife in other countries, but the majority left Djerba for France or Israel in the 1950s. They made us go through a security check, including scanning our bags, before granting us access to the temple. After I passed through the metal detector the guards were motioning me and saying things in French that I didn’t understand. One finally made it clear that he wanted to look in my purse. He searched it and pulled out my Swiss army knife, which I’d forgotten was in my purse. He agreed to hold it until I returned from the temple.

Inside the temple there were four men reading the Torah. It was beautiful. We covered our heads and took off our shoes as asked, and I told Mom to put some coins into the collection box. When we stepped into the next room, however, a man indicated that we had to pay additional money. I balked and pointed to the collection box, and the man responded with a barrage of Arabic that I didn’t understand but I could clearly interpret his body language. I refused to enter and walked away.

I heard later that he was quite upset that I left and that he yelled at me for a while as I walked away. I was really just interested in leaving. I didn’t object to paying entrance, but I did object to being insulted. A few women followed me and walked back to the guard post. The rest of our group returned shortly afterwards, and they said it was hardly worth the visit or the entry fee because no one explained the significance of the temple or the architecture.

From there we drove to our hotel. It’s the first time that Mohamed or Sharif have stayed at this hotel so we got lost and had to ask for directions. We finally found the hotel and checked in. We did some laundry, I checked my email, and then we went for dinner. Another day done in Tunisia.

Saturday, April 12, 2008 – TATOUINE

2008-04-14T08:41:00.001-07:00

We left Douz early. Our first stop was the side of the road in the mountains. Our bus had broken down again. Sharif replaced the broken belt and we were on our way again. Our next stop was the “troglodyte” village of Matmata. They call it a troglodyte village because the houses are carved into the rocks and look quite primitive. They’re not primitive at all, as we discovered when we stopped at a house near the roadside. We were invited inside, offered bread and mint tea, and encouraged to look around.

Views from the troglodyte home:

There was a room for the family’s goats near the entrance. Inside there was a store room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and a work room that contained hand tools and a loom. On the walls and ceilings you could see tool marks from the adze used to carve out the rooms. It was really impressive and ingenious.

We stopped for lunch in Matmata. We ate at the Hotel Side Driss, which is a troglodyte hotel with rooms carved into the mountain. Apparently some parts of Star Wars I was filmed at the hotel, but none of us could recall any scene featuring the hotel.

Lunch shots:

Our next stop was the ancient central market in Medenine. The market is lined with ghorfas, or storage rooms. In the past each family in the surrounding had its own ghorfa, in which they stored grain and other products for consumption or sale. Families from throughout the region would meet once a week to exchange goods at the market. We learned that in recent history the ghorfas in Medenine were converted to hostel accommodation, which explained the electrical hook ups.

Views of the ghorfas in Medenine:

Next was Ksar Haddada, another ghorfa site that was converted to a hotel and then abandoned. According to the sign outside, they filmed Star Wars IV there in the late ‘90s. It did look like some of the places on “Tatouine”.

Views from Ksar Haddada:

Our final stop for the day was another troglodyte village, or perhaps a troglodyte city, called Chenini. The entire mountainside was covered with paths and doorways into houses carved into the stone. It was a wicked walk up the hillside but worth the effort to see the ancient houses up close.

Views from Chenini:

Friday, April 11, 2008 – DOUZ

2008-04-14T08:40:00.000-07:00

This morning started with a quick trip down the highway to the train station where we boarded the “Red Lizard”, a 1920s passenger train that now transports tourists over a mountain pass for novelty and photo ops. It turns around at the Seldja phosphate mine.

Views from the "Red Lizard":

The most memorable part of the train trip was the rude French tourists. When we arrived most, if not all, of the seats were already taken. They refused to give up seats for people who were obviously old and unsteady. Our guide had to really yell at them to give up even a single seat. The worst part is that most of the French tourists were traveling as families, so the seats were occupied by bored teenagers who were either sleeping or playing their PSPs.

From the train station we started the drive south east toward the Sahara. We stopped mid-way through the Chott El Jerid salt lake to visit the “toilettes normales” (pit toilets) and do a bit of shopping. As I was holding the toilet door shut for Mom, I looked over toward the bus and saw broken pieces of belt flying out from the engine compartment. When Mom was finished using the toilets I went to our guide and driver to tell them about the broken belt.

Views from the road:

It was the air conditioning belt that broke, the same one that broke the day before and the day before that. Our driver Sharif replaced it with a spare belt but we could hear it slipping and grinding as we continued our drive across the salt lake.

We arrived at Douz around 5pm. It was extremely hot so everyone changed into bathing suits and headed down to the pool. There was a group of hairy guys smoking cigarettes and drinking beer at the shallow end of the pool. (Most of our group had congregated at the deep end.) Mom doesn’t like deep water so she and I worked our way through the group of guys and eased our way into the shallow end via the stairs.

We discovered that the shallow end was actually quite deep, so Mom opted to stay at that end of the pool by herself. I joined the other ladies at the other end of the pool. While I was there, one of the guys struck up a conversation with Mom. She learned that they were from all over Russia and eastern Europe and were on a off-road BMW motorcycle safari through Tunisia. They’d just crossed 130km of hard sand desert. One guy told Mom that they’d each drank 6 liters of water that day and none of them could pee. That shows you how hard the riding was and how hot it was that day.

The bikes and bike maintenance truck:

That night we had the opportunity to ride camels into the Sahara Desert at sunset. The tour company kitted us out in desert gear and then helped us mount the camels. I thought that our guides would also ride camels but they didn’t. Instead, they each led a pair of camels by hand.

Views from the camel ride:

We rode about 1.5km into the desert and then stopped to admire the “sunset”, which of course was completely obscured by the sand storm. Instead we took lots of photos of camels. Mom’s camel decided to roll over on his side and thrash back and forth in the sand. Another camel joined in. It was the most hilarious thing. Just before dark we all got back onto our camels for the ride home. The camels knew it was the end of the day and practically trotted back.

More camel pictures:

I know it was complete tourist kitsch but it was a heckuva lot of fun. I’d do it again, and preferably for a longer ride.

Thursday, April 10, 2008 – TOZEUR

2008-04-14T08:38:00.001-07:00

We left the Pink Palace this morning at 8:00am. We drove south towards Tozeur. An hour and a bit into the journey our driver Sharif pulled the bus off to the side of the road where there were four (4) Toyota Land Cruisers waiting for us. We climbed in and sped off at speeds in excess of 130km/hr toward the Berber village of Chebika.

On the road to Chebika:

Chebika is an abandoned Berber village which only survives today as a tourist attraction. Still, it provided the opportunity for a wonderful walk through the mountain oasis and then for a sweaty and hot climb into the rocky hilltops above the village. The photos I took don’t do the view justice.

Views from Chebika:

From Chebika we drove to Tamerza. The highlight of Tamerza was the goats roaming all over the road. We pulled aside onto a viewpoint above the town to take photos. Unfortunately we were so far away from the ancient village that it was impossible to get a good shot.

On the road:

Our next stop was another mountain oasis village, Mides, which is located close to the Algerian border. We didn’t stop in the village but instead drove past it to a viewpoint. It was well worth the stop because Mides is located above a river canyon that is nearly 80m deep. The sight was almost spooky, given that we’d driven for nearly an hour across flat, flat desert.

Views from Mides:

Our final stop was the Grand Canyon, which is an oasis that actually has an 8m high waterfall. It was surrounded by the typical array of stalls selling everything from water to carpets. It was possible to walk down a path to the base of the waterfall, which we did. It was really pretty and you could feel the moisture in the air. On the way back up the path a man approached me with some lizards. I said they were nice and the next thing you know he put two on my shoulders. I asked Mom to take my photo. It’s pretty funny – my hair is an absolute mess, topped by lizards. Zexy.

Views from the Grand Canyon:

The Land Cruisers dropped us off at our hotel in Tozeur, the El Mouradi. It’s probably the most modern hotel we’ve stayed in so far. It’s also the first hotel with a decent swimming pool. The others have been small, closed, or dirty. As soon as I saw it I knew I had to go for a swim.

Half of the people on the tour opted to go out tonight for a “traditional Berber dinner”. They had lunch at the hotel and then took the afternoon off. Those of us who opted to stay home tonight went out for lunch in the town. Our driver, Sharif, drove us into town and found a nice restaurant for us. He was supposed to join us after he turned the bus around and parked it. Strangely, he never showed up. We thought that perhaps he’d been too embarrassed to eat with us.

The lunch was terrific. Most of the ladies opted for salads because the dinners here are heavy on meat and light on vegetables. I really wanted to try camel meat, so I ordered Couscous Berber, which is couscous with a skewer of roasted camel. It was delicious and I cut up a few pieces so that everyone could try a piece. They all agreed that it tasted better and was more tender than most of the meats we’ve eaten so far. (For some reason, the hotel chefs are terrifically skilled at overcooking everything. Even the chicken is tough.)

Mohamed showed up near the end of lunch to tell us that Sharif did not return because the bus broke down and he had to fix it. We wanted to take him some food but Mohamed said that the bus was too far away. He told us we had to take a taxi back to town.

Outside, Mohamed started walking up the street with the intent of hailing a cab. I noticed a line of horse-drawn cabs. I asked if anyone else would like to take a horse-drawn cab back to the hotel. Mohamed was unimpressed (it’s more expensive than a cab, and doesn’t have air conditioning) but relented and we climbed into two different cabs.

I took some great movies of the ride back to the hotel. It was one of the highlights for the day, at least from my perspective. I love everything about low-tech, close to the ground travel.

Back at the hotel we discovered that we’d locked ourselves out of our room. When I left I pushed the button in on the door handle, which is what we would do at home to auto-lock the door. Here, it doesn’t just auto-lock the door, it completely immobilizes it. We had to wait several minutes for the staff to wrangle it open with a master key.

Once we gained entrance to our room, Mom did some laundry and I changed into my swimsuit and headed down to the pool. It was absolutely brilliant. Unfortunately, there was a sandstorm blowing in so I kept getting sand in my eyes, nose, and mouth. There’s something completely wrong about swimming in a clear blue pool and eating sand.

I came back to the room after about an hour and did some more laundry. I hung it outside and it was dry within an hour. It was also covered in sand. Heh. So, that’s it for now. We’ll have dinner at the hotel and an early night. Tomorrow we leave for Douz, which is where we ride the camels into the Sahara at sunset. Yay!

Wednesday, April 9, 2008 – GAFSA

2008-04-14T08:37:00.000-07:00

Today was one helluva busy day.

We left the hotel at 8am. Our first stop was the Barber’s Mosque, which you would think would have some association with barbers but does not. It got its name because an apostle of Mohamed who is buried at Kairouan carried three hairs from the beard of Mohamed on his journey to spread the word of Islam. Go figure.

Views from the Barber's Mosque:

The mosque was simple but also very beautiful. We were not allowed to go into the mosque but were allowed to enjoy the courtyards outside of the mosque. The architecture was very simple and you could see the rooms in which the mujahedeen (students of Islam) used to stay.

From there we went to the Grand Mosque. We managed to sneak in before hoardes of French arrived. We could look into the prayer room of the mosque, which was absolutely beautiful in its simplicity. Afterwards Mohamed explained the history of Islam and how it spread through North Africa. We had a chance to take pictures and then boarded the bus again, this time bound for the medina.

Views from the Grand Mosque:

Mohamed guided us through the medina and it was nice to have someone there to look over us and to shoo away anyone who wanted to take advantage of our poor confused tourist selves. The highlight was the water wheel, which is powered by a camel.

Views from the medina:

Today the camel walks around in circles to please tourists but in the past the camel played an important role providing water for the people who lived in the city or did business in the medina.

Our next stop was a shop that sold authentic Kairouan carpets. I wasn’t planning to buy a carpet but a kilim caught my eye. I tried to use my credit card to buy it isn’t working for some reason. I had to put the purchase through on another woman’s card and then pay her back in cash.

Making Kairouan carpets:

After the spending spree at the carpet store we drove to Sbeitla, another town that played an important pre-B.C. role in the history of Tunisia. This time it was founded by the Greeks. They thought they’d be safe from the Romans to the north but didn’t realize that they would be in danger from the Arabs to the south. The town was overthrown in one battle with the Arabs, who sacked it and then promptly headed home.

Views from Sbeitla:

After Sbeitla we had a long drive to Gafsa. There isn’t much of note in Gafsa. It’s very desolate. We’re staying in a completely kitschy hotel called the Jagurtha Palace, and it’s every bit as pink and gold as you’d imagine.

Tomorrow we’re heading out on a 4x4 ride to an oasis, then driving to a city further south called Tozeur. More coming soon…

Tuesday, April 8, 2008 – KAIROUAN

2008-04-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

Mein Gott, that was a long day. It’s 9:30ish and we’ve been “on the go” since 8:00am.

Our first stop of the day was Ain Draham. We were only supposed to stop there for a toilet break but one of the women on the tour, Donna, convinced Mohamed to stay a while longer so we could all visit a women’s arts cooperative. After much back and forth he relented and he led us up a dirt road to a simple white house and up the steps.

Women working at the loom:

Inside were three women working looms, one of whom had her daughter with her. They were stunned at our arrival – they usually work in isolation – and were both embarrassed and proud that we were there to meet them and see what they had made. Quite a few people in the group bought rugs and other things created by the women, and those of us who did not buy a product gave the women a few dinars for the opportunity to meet them and take their picture.

From there were drove to Bulla Regia, an ancient Roman town. We spent 1.5 hours wandering the site, which rivals anything I’ve seen in Italy or Greece. I took a huge number of photos because everything was so amazing.

Views from Bulla Regia:

We lunched at a restaurant in Le Fez that specializes in wild boar. We were told by Mohamed that we would be served wild boar, but the majority of us agree that we were fed regular old roast beef. It really did not have a pork taste, or even a gamey taste. Plus, it would be very difficult to hunt enough wild boar to feed us all.

From there we drove to Dougga, another Roman site. I thought it was even more impressive than Bulla Regia. You see, Bulla Regia has a lot of mosaics but not a lot of walls. Dougga is a full-on Roman city with an amphitheater, capitol building, temples, baths, suburbs, and even whore houses. It was amazing. You could really visualize life in the city based on the roads and buildings.

Views from Dougga:

The group toilet at Dougga:

From Dougga we drove to our hotel in Kairouan. We were more than an hour late arriving because of our detour in Ain Draham. Unfortunately that meant no chance to swim in the heated pool or visit the hammam. Instead, we went to dinner, showered, and slept.

Monday, April 7, 2008 – TABARKA

2008-04-07T09:05:00.000-07:00

Another day, another injury.

I forgot to mention in yesterday’s blog that as we left the airport in Tunis, there was a strong wind blowing and it blew a huge piece of grit into my left eye. On the bus I rubbed my eye to remove the grit and only moved it further up into my eye socket. By the time we got to our hotel I was in agony and went to one of the public washrooms to try to wash it out. It didn’t work. Mom became concerned enough to ask if anyone in the group knew first aid and one of the women, Marilyn, came over and helped me move the grit to a safer place in my eye, where it could pop out naturally.

Today we stopped at a very nice seafood restaurant for lunch. When I tried to adjust my seat, the seat came off the frame, my finger slipped underneath, and the next thing I new a goodly portion of the skin on the top of my finger was hanging off. No one in the tour group had a band aid so I asked the waiter “Avez-vous une plaster?” which I hoped meant “Do you have a band-aid?” Holding up the bleeding appendage helped to reinforce the question.

I was asked to come into another part of the restaurant and wait. It was the bar area and it was filled with drunk local men. One came over and indicated that he wanted to see the injury. When I showed it to him he shrugged and said something in French that I think meant “Stop being such a wussy. Come back and complain when it’s black and about to fall off.”

I did feel like a wussy, so I said to the man behind the bar “C’est cessant” (hopefully, “It has stopped”) and went back to my table. A few minutes later a man arrived with the plaster – in a brand new box, along with a brand new package of sterile pads and iodine. It turns out the owner of the restaurant had driven down to the pharmacy to get everything necessary to fix me up. He carefully cleaned my nasty-looking finger, doused it in iodine, then bandaged it up. Our guide Mohamed accused me to getting injured so I could have the attention of handsome men (aka the restaurant owner).

Okay, so back to the itinerary. Our first stop this morning was Bizerte, a sea side village on the Mediterranean. Mohamed led us on a whirlwind tour of the souk, or market. Apparently there are souks and then there are souks. One is where the locals go to buy fresh fruits, veggies, fish, poultry, etc. and the other is where tourists go to buy local handicrafts and tacky kitschware. The souk that Mohamed took us to was of the first variety. I just loved the huge burlap sacks full of chickpeas, herbs, and spices. I also liked the poultry section, which consisted of a bunch of chickens tied together by the leg, destined for the chopping block. On one butcher’s bench was a goat head, not something we see in North American markets.

Fish for sale in the in the souk:

The olive vendor:

After touring the souk we walked the harbor front. I went crazy taking pictures of the colorful boats, half of which looked like they were abandoned and unfit for use. There were quite a few fishermen returning with the morning’s catch. In one of the buckets was a sting ray, upside down. There were also a smattering of feral cats all begging for scraps from the fishermen.

Fish boats:

Our next stop was the village of Sedjnane, aka storkville. The town was literally overrun with nesting storks. I’m not kidding you. While others were taking photos, Mohamed led a few of us down the street to a café to use the washroom. The facilities consisted of a cracked bowl with no lid and a hose lying on the floor. The floor itself was covered with dirty water. Nice. It reminded me of some of the toilets that I used in Malaysia. It worked, though, so I was happy to do the hike-and-squat.

From there we drove to Tabarka where we stopped for lunch at the seafood restaurant I mentioned earlier. After lunch Mohamed took us for a walk along the oceanfront. At the far end of the crescent beach was a curious collection of rock spires, known as The Needles. I took quite a few pictures because they were so intriguing.

The Needles:

We continued to walk along the next beach. There was a steep hill next to the oceanfront walkway. We were amazed to find the hill covered with goats and sheep. They worked their way down the hill and eventually ended up on the beach below the walkway. Then, the funniest thing happened – they all walked up the steps from the beach to the walkway and commenced to head in the direction of home. An angry shepherd came out from wherever he was sleeping and shooed them back onto the hill above the walkway. He gave us a look as if it were all our fault that his flock was misbehaving.

Goats on the hill:

Goats coming up the path:

We returned to the restaurant and were about to board the bus when it became clear that the two oldest ladies in the group were not present. Mohamed walked back to the oceanfront walkway and retraced part of the route. He came back without them. Obviously concerned, he used his cell phone to call a fellow from town who had a quad bike and asked him to help find the ladies. He headed toward the walkway and returned shortly afterwards. He’d found them and asked them to return to the bus.

When the ladies arrived they explained that they had to find a washroom. They seemed upset with Mohamed, when it was clear that Mohamed had every right to be upset with them. He told the whole group that it was important that people follow his instructions and avoid wandering off to places where they could get hurt. Some people in the tour rolled their eyes, but I totally agree with him – we’re in a foreign country and we’re a target. He’s responsible for us and it’s entirely within his right to request certain things of us.

After the walk – and the search and rescue operation – we drove to the hotel and checked in. The hotel has an Internet café so I’m hoping I’ll be able to upload this post shortly.

Sunday, April 6, 2008 – TUNIS

2008-04-07T09:02:00.000-07:00

We arrived yesterday after a nearly 24-hour transit from Victoria to Tunis. All of us were travel-weary but a few hardy souls – Mom and I included – went out for a walk prior to dinner. Mom and I made it as far as Le Jardin Zoologique, but decided not to enter the gardens as it was getting dark and we were too tired to appreciate it anyway. One intrepid duo from our tour group did go into the garden and said they got some terrific photos in the wildlife exhibit, but lamented that the animals were housed in such small and very public cages. Everyone in the tour had an early dinner before retreating to our respective rooms for a much-deserved rest.

We were woken at 3am by a fistfight under our window, followed shortly afterward by blaring Arab electro dance music. We all compared notes this morning and the consensus is that the fellows in the fist fight were in the hotel bar earlier, got into a fight that spilled into the street, chased off the losers of the fight, and then went back into the bar to celebrate.

Our tour group met at 8:30 this morning and traveled to Tophed, an ancient necropolis or burial site. The story perpetuated by the Byzantines is that Tophed was a place where the people of Tunis sacrificed first-born boys. However, the more accepted theory is that Tophed was a burial site for children who died very young.

In the past the Tophed necropolis covered a large tract of land, but today it’s a small memorial that barely stretches one city block. Some stelae, or stone tombstones, are arranged in rows for tourists to admire and photograph. The iconography of the stelae is interesting, though. It shows the hierarchy of the gods and people according to the ancient Carthaginians. At the top is the male god Baal. Below is the female god Tnit. People are way down at the bottom and can communicate to Baal only by petitioning Tnit to climb up through the heavens on their behalf.

A stelae:

Our next stop was the Antonine Baths, an ancient but very well preserved Roman bath site. It also happens to be right next to the compound that houses the president of Tunisia, and tourists are told not to take pictures of the compound. One of the ladies in our tour group didn’t hear – or ignored – that warning and took a picture in the general direction of the compound, which caused a guard carrying a machine gun to move close to the group and give us the hairy eyeball. Our tour guide, Mohamed, was very upset.

After a brief telling-off, Mohamed explained how the Roman bath worked. He described the different bath chambers and the system used to heat and cool the water in the baths. After that we were allowed to tour the site on our own – well, not exactly alone, because there was a large group of Romanians touring the baths at the same time and let’s just say that Romanian and North American picture-capturing etiquette is quite different.

Part of the Roman bath:

From the baths we traveled to the WWII American war cemetery, supposedly the only WWI war cemetery in Africa, which I find hard to believe. From there we visited another Roman site, but this time it was the remains of an aquaduct and a huge field of cisterns which was the principal source of water for the citizens of ancient Tunis.

Our last stop before lunch was Sidi bou Said, a picturesque village in the hills above Carthage. Some members of our tour group are quite old and therefore a bit unsteady on their pegs, so Mohamed arranged for us to ride up to the village in a mini train with several mini train cars attached. It was quite hot by then so I think everyone was relieved that we didn’t have to trek up the hill to the village.

View from Sidi bou Said:

A vendor in sidi bou Said:

Mohamed pointed out a traditional house – converted to a museum during the day – that we could tour. Mom went on the tour but I opted out and walked through the village with a couple of other women instead. We took a lot of pictures of the local houses and laneways, fended off the offers of vendors, and soaked up the heat.

We lunched at a restaurant called the Victoire, located alongside a busy roadway in the town of La Goulette. We had a set meal, which started with a Tunisian specialty which is best described as a half-moon of deep-fried phyllo pastry with a semi-cooked egg in the center. The main was spiced rice and turkey in a spicy sauce. The dessert was crème caramel.

After lunch we drove to the Bardo Museum, which houses a collection of Greco-Roman marble statues and colorful mosaics that greatly surpass anything I’ve seen in Greece or Italy. Mohamed told us more than any of us wanted to know about the statuary and mosaics in a compact 1-hour tour. After that we wandered about on our own, completely stunned.

Mom and I found ourselves downstairs and were invited by a museum employee into a small chamber that was jam-packed with statuary. He knew we only spoke a few words of French but nevertheless he tried to explain the importance of each statue. By then it was close to closing so unfortunately we had to leave after the briefest of tours.

From the Bardo Museum we drove to a spot just outside the medina, or old city, of Tunis. Mohamed advised us to leave anything of value on the bus but I opted to take a purse and my small digital camera. As we approached the medina a man stopped us and struck up a conversation. During that conversation he asked where we were staying so I told him the name of the hotel. Shortly afterwards he said he had to leave and said goodbye.

Inside the medina, which is basically a series of old winding alleys lined with tacky shops, there were a few shops open but the majority were closed. We turned around at the first major intersection, but were encouraged to continue by a man who said he recognized us from the hotel where he worked. He offered to take us to the “real” medina. We followed him for three or four small blocks but balked when he encouraged us to turn onto a very twisty alley. We told him we could not continue and turned back.

On the walk back through the alleys he said in French that I should give him 20 dinars at the hotel. I kept asking him why. It finally dawned on me – yes, I’m a trusting sort – that he and the other man we met as we entered the medina were in cahoots. Their scam was to get tourists hopelessly lost in the medina and then charge them an exorbitant amount to find their way out of the medina and back to their hotel.

We knew our way out of the medina – we’d been mentally tracking our progress – and after much begging I gave the man 2 dinars “pour votre temps” which I hope means “for your time” in French. He tried to cadge more money out of the group but couldn’t, and stomped off in a huff.

We left the medina with a deep desire to find a café where we could sit and have a coffee before the bus ride back to the hotel. The first café we passed had the typical café “barker” out front encouraging people to come in for a drink. When we did not respond to his entreaties he yelled “butches! you are all butches!” Now that I think about it, he probably meant “bitches”. We did find a nice patisserie further down the road and had no problem ordering and paying for our drinks. So, please don’t think from the previous two examples that all Tunisians are nasty to tourists.

It’s now 9:00pm and Mom and I are ready for bed. Tomorrow starts early, at 8:00am, when we depart Tunis and start our southern tour of Tunisia.

Until next time...

2007-08-20T07:27:00.000-07:00

Well, that's it for my most recent travel adventure.

I'm not sure where I'll travel next, but I'll definitely blog about it here. Until next time...

August 17 36,000FT OVER HUDSON'S BAY

2007-08-17T06:34:00.000-07:00

The day after my last entry we flew to Athens. We stayed with my cousin Rita at her house (apartment) on Ippokratous Street in the heart of Athens. I won’t blog much about the visit with Rita because so much of it was just getting reacquainted after 10 years (or longer) and telling tall tales of the family.

Simone, Mom, and Rita at the top of Lykavittos Hill:

On our first night in Athens Rita took us to Lykavittos Hill, the tallest hill in Athens. We took a taxi to the base of the hill and then a furnicular (train) to the top of the hill. When I visited 10 years ago there was a small café that sold coffees and canned sodas. Now half the hill is covered by a massive multi-level restaurant. We took some photos from the top of the hill then found a table at the restaurant.

The restaurant tier where we had dinner:

Rita had fed us a massive lunch so we didn’t have much of an appetite but we didn’t want to lose our table so we ordered a few appetizers and a main and shared them. We enjoyed our meal in the fading daylight and then marveled at the lights of Athens after the sun set. Simone and I both tried to take pictures of the lights but they didn’t turn out very well, unfortunately.

Drinks in the candlelight:

The next day we went to the Acropolis. Rita’s knee is still weak from her fall on Amorgos so she waited for us at a restaurant at the base of the Acropolis. It was a good thing, too, because the Acropolis was crowded with tourists and the walkways were far more treacherous than I remembered.

The tourist hordes at the Acropolis:

Marble columns (do not touch!):

The Erechthion:

Disassembled bits of the Parthenon:

Lykavittos Hill, as seen from the Acropolis:

When we’d had our fill of the Acropolis we met Rtia for lunch and walked to Plaka, an old area of town below the Acropolis. We had a marvelous dinner at a restaurant called the Ydria. Mom and Rita caught a cab home but Simone and I still had some energy so we walked home via Ermou Street, aka shoe heaven.

The next day we caught a cab to Sounio and the Temple of Poseidon. (The Acropolis, the Temple of Poseidon at Sounio, and the Temple of Athina on a neighbouring island form a perfect triangle, apparently.) The temple wasn’t nearly as covered in tourists as the Acropolis and we enjoyed the chance to get up close to the old marble columns. On the way back to Athens we stopped at cousin Stella’s for lunch.

The Temple of Poseidon:

Wind-blown Simone:

Her son, Babice, and daughter, Faye, were there as well as her mother in law (whose name I can’t pronounce). Stella had cooked a feast for lunch, including lasagna, roast beef, rice, potato salad, and more. After nearly busting a gut lunch Stella produced thick slices of chocolate cake for everyone, as well as fruit tarts. After that we all swore of food for 24 hours.

Faye, Babice, and Stella:

Our last day in Athens was very quiet. In the evening we walked down to Kolonaki Square to see if we could find more shoes for Simone to adopt, then went to the Flocafe for ice cream. I’m not a fan of sweets so I ordered a drink that I thought was similar to a bellini. What I got was bright pink crushed ice with watermelon flavor, some unidentifiable alcohol, and heaps of sugar on top. I finished it, but only because of my deep German/Scottish conviction to not waste food or drink of any kind. Simone said she should have taken a picture.

Looking downtown (toward central Athens) from Rita's:

Looking uptown from Rita's:

The flight(s) have gone well. I didn’t get any sleep but that’s not necessarily a bad thing,because by the time we get home from the ferry tonight It’ll be close to 8pm and I’ll surely have no trouble adjusting to the local time after a full night’s sleep in my own bed.

Looking forward to seeing the kitties. They should be home from the “spa” already, and no doubt wondering what the hell is going on. I’m looking forward to “squeezles” and “kisslies” and “petty petties”. Well, that’s it for now.

August 12 CORFU

2007-08-12T06:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a bit of a wash-out. We got up early and rushed to the local “blue bus” stop to catch the bus to Pelekas, with the intention of catching a free local shuttle to Glyfada beach.

The object of my desire, Glyfada beach:

There were hordes of people walking and driving into town. The waiter at the Black Cat Café had explained that it was the day of Saint Spiridas, the patron saint of Corfu. We felt like we were salmon swimming upstream during spawning season.

At the bus stop we bought bus tickets and asked the woman behind the counter where to wait for the bus. There are only seven buses daily to Pelekas so we arrived early and watched very intently for the correct bus number. It was hot and noisy and the carbon monoxide was horrible so we were all eager to get on the bus and to the beach.

The 10am scheduled arrival came and went and we did not see the No. 11. Simone asked the woman at the ticket kiosk if the bus was late and she waved Simone off, saying that it would come soon. We waited some more. At 10:45am Simone asked the woman again when the bus was coming and she said that it had come and gone already.

We were pissed off by this point, partially because of the woman’s attitude but mostly because of the heat and noise and the fact that we’d wasted close to two hours waiting for a bus instead of enjoying the Saint Spiridas celebrations.

I asked the woman at the ticket kiosk for our money back and she grudgingly refunded our tickets. We walked back to the hotel for a wash and to reconsider our plans for the day. I was feeling sick from the heat and carbon monoxide so I opted to have a quiet afternoon in the hotel. Mom and Simone went to the museum and for a walk around town.

We had dinner at the Black Cat Café and then an early night. The next morning Mom and I got up early and caught a taxi to Glyfada beach. It cost a bomb but it was my last chance to go swimming so I was determined to get to the beach, come hell or high water. The taxi driver got lost and we ended up taking some short cuts along back roads to get to Glyfada. We enjoyed the ride immensely because it afforded us a chance to see the countryside.

Glyfada itself is very small. It’s a white sand beach at the bottom of a mountain and a typical Greek switchback road. We made our way down the wooden walkways onto the beach and found a couple of loungers under an umbrella and settled in.

Glyfada beach:

I was in the water like a shot. I was expecting a calm ocean but Glyfada is very shallow and as a result there are huge breakers crashing onto the beach. I waded out past the small breakers and rested for a bit, then tried my luck with the big breakers. It was an absolute hoot getting tossed about by the big waves and I was laughing like an idiot the entire time.

When I got tired I made my way back to shore and helped Mom wade out into the water. She doesn’t like swimming and was extremely brave as the small breakers knocked her around.

I swam a couple more times in the breakers, which got smaller and tamer as the day progressed. By noon we were feeling tired and a bit crispy from the sun so we went to a tavern for lunch. We shared a pork kebab and watched as the beach filled up with swimmers and sunbathers.

I’d learned that there was a bus from Glyfada to Corfu Town at 1:45pm so after lunch we walked up the road to the “bus stop”. Getting up the road was a typical Greek experience. When we’d arrived at the beach in the morning the road was clear and two cars could pass each other easily. As the day progressed people had parked on either side of the road, reducing it to one lane. People trying to leave the beach got halfway up the road and were met by people trying to get to the beach…and neither would/could give way. There was a lot of horn honking and yelling and gesturing. Mom and I had to weave our way through the traffic jam, while trying not to get run over by scooter drivers doing the same thing.

At the top of the second switchback was the “bus stop”. It consisted of a wide dirt area covered in garbage and a sign that was so damaged that you could barely discern the words “bus stop”. Our experience with the distance “green” bus was far better than our experience with the local “blue” bus. The green bus arrived on time, the driver and his assistant both shouted “Corfu Town!” several times to indicate the destination, and we could buy our tickets on the bus instead of from a grumpy woman at a kiosk. We arrived back in Corfu Town in record time, thoroughly pleased with our day at the beach.

Simone had spent the day visiting the New Fortress and the Asian Art Museum. Two cruise ships had arrived in Corfu Town in the morning and disgorged their passengers…mostly gay men. Simone had noticed quite a few couples visiting the New Fortress, and when Mom and I walked back from the “green” bus station we also noticed an sudden increase in the male population.

Simone, Costas, Mom, Anna, Me, and Stavros:

We went back to Café Bellisimo for dinner. Stavros and his father Costas greeted us warmly and asked where we’d been the night before. We asked how their business was going today and learned that they’d taken half a day off to relax and catch up on sleep. For dinner we had salad and pastitsada again, and tried something new…stifada. Everything was delicious and Stavros surprised us by serving a plate of watermelon for dessert. We took pictures, exchanged emails, and had kisses all around and then slowly made our way back to the hotel for our final sleep in Corfu.

A Perspective on a Greek Bath

2007-08-11T10:18:00.000-07:00

Simone here again. I finally managed to extract the laptop from Rowena's grasp. I can't tell you what a challenge that was. Well, yes I can but that would be another story.

Having visited the museum in Fira on Santorini and today the Archeological Museum here in Corfu I can report to you that they contain a lot of old things. Most of them are broken.

Having said this, I would like to relate to you some observations I have made of a particular Greek bathroom. Most Greek bathrooms are small. Very very small. As Rowena has already reported, we are currently residing at the Hotel Konstantinopolous in Corfu. This particular bathroom has made quite an impression ---- one that I am not soon to forget. Tiled floor to ceiling in aquamarine tile, this 5'x5' lavatory / bathroom is a real gem. Of course, being a bit of an hydrophile, my heart soared upon arrival to note that the washroom was not only blessed with the standard toilet, wastepaper basket, stepstool (for more vertically challenged clients) and sink, but also a 3'x 2' tub. Up until now we had been enjoying the much smaller (2'x 2') tiled shower areas (sans shower curtain in Amorgos) that didn't really allow for much of a soak unless you considered the puddles created everywhere else. Back to my 'bathtub'. The very next morning I gleefully clutched my white fluffy HK embroidered bath towel close to my chest and stepped into my aquamarine haven. In my characteristic organized way (some cynically suggest anally retentive) I carefully arranged my shampoo, conditioner and cleanser in order along the edge of the 'tub'. I stepped inside, pulled the shower curtain closed and prepared myself for a civilized cleansing and soak. It was at this time that I became aware of a series of pipes extending from the faucet along the wall and up to a rather large hot water tank. Ahhh, I thought, this is going to be goooooooood. First I turned on the cold water tap, then the hot. Tentatively I placed my fingers under the spray of water emanating from the hand held shower head and, noting that it was not yet warm enough, I gently turned the hot water tap a little further to the left. What shot out of the shower head was a stream of scalding hot water at a temperature sufficient to boil eggs! Luckily I escaped relatively unpoached although my scream did garner the attention of Rowena and Mom in the other room. Assuring them of my good health I decided to proceed with my cleansing; however, with a new found respect for the temperamental nature of the left tap.

My bathing ritual always begins with a good scrub. Having now secured a stream of hydrogen dioxide of a far more tolerable and pleasing thermal level, I proceeded to reach for the soap. It is at this juncture that I would like to note that this is one of those silly little pats of soap, hermetically sealed and, of course, provided by only the very best of hotels. Following a wee struggle to access said soap I then had the distinct misfortune of dropping this little turd of emulsifier into the tub. Of course I instantly bent over and reached for the soap as it skidded toward the drain only to have my now damp derriere adhere to the plastic shower curtain. (Bear in mind the rather small dimensions of my aquatic haven.) As I turned to retrieve the soap, the shower curtain, glued to my butt, swung open and all I could think at the time was "Look Mom, no hands!". My glee was soon replaced with panic as I realized that I was now directing a spray of water out of the stall and into the rest of the bathroom. Like a Cirque du Soleil performer I swung deftly around (closing the curtain behind me!) but alas I knocked the bloody left tap as I did so. A second shriek, followed by more reassurances that I could cope on my own in the bath.

I decided to adopt a far more safe approach to my morning ritual. The 'tub' I noted, contained a wee incline which led to a seat (or step depending on your perspective). Ah ha! I thought. This is how this should work. I gingerly perched on the seat which had been conveniently warmed from the earlier hydrothermal spray. It is a good thing, I thought to myself, that I am only 5'2" in height for anyone with longer appendages would most likely have impaled their kneecaps on their canines. I managed to complete my cleansing with only a few more shrieks and knocking the glass soap dish into the tub. Luckily it didn't break like the one in Santorini. I should have donated it to the museum.

August 10 CORFU

2007-08-10T05:30:00.000-07:00

On our first full day in Corfu (the 8th) we walked around to get a sense of the town. Mom and I experienced a lot of deja vu. The old section of Corfu Town looks, sounds, and smells a lot like Havana in Cuba. In particular, the Liston (a broad pedestrian walkway bordered by shade trees) is very similar to the Prado.

The Liston:

Between the Liston and the New Fortress are a series of pedestrian-only (and the odd motorbike) lanes and alleys that are jammed with shops selling everything from haute couture clothing and accessories to cheap tourist baubles.

I was intrigued by a rough sign that advertised olive wood products at workshop prices, which was placed on some stairs leading into an alley. I insisted that we go to investigate. We found the workshop of Tomas, a woodworker who has been making things from olive wood for over 30 years. He was oiling some bowls made from 400+ year old olive tree roots when we arrived. He showed us his workshop which was basically a 10' by 10' room situated off the alley and filled with raw wood and in-progress pieces. We all bought something and to show his appreciation he gave us all an olive wood ring.

Tomas, the friendly woodworker:

In the evening we had dinner at the Black Cat Cafe, located just below the Hotel Konstantinoupolis. We shared salad and a special local pasta. What we didn't enjoy was the rank sewer smell wafting out of a grate in the adjacent road. In fact, it's hard to get away from the smell here in Corfu Town. Every day, at some point, you're going to get a nose full of stink.

On our second day (the 9th) we went on a day cruise to Paxos, the Blue Caves, and Antipaxi. We didn't realize that it takes over 4 hours to get to Paxos and back, a full half of the day's agenda. Nevertheless, the town of Lakka was gorgeous and I absolutely smitten with the harbour filled with sailboats and the clear green water. From Lakka we went to the Blue Caves, named for the glowing aquamarine waters in the caves. I positioned myself on the bow of the boat and got a magnificent view of the caves.

The harbour at Lakka:

The Blue Caves:

Our next stop was one of the most beautiful beaches on Antipaxi. The ship anchored and we were allowed to swim in the waters around the ship, but we were not allowed to swim to the beach. I was one of the first people in the water and I dolphined around the boat for close to 45 minutes. Mom and Simone didn't feel confident enough to go swimming and enjoyed the view instead.

Now we're talkin':

Our final stop of the day was the village of Gaios on Paxos. The harbour at Gaios is unbelievable - it's more like a canal in Venice than what I would call a harbour. At least 200 sailboats and yachts were stern-tied along the canal/harbour, with dinghy's running back and forth between the boats and the shops.

Yachtville in Gaios:

We had lunch at an Italian cafe then walked around town. We cuddled a couple of cats and took lots of pictures, then reluctantly boarded the ship for the return to Corfu Town. Our reluctance was deserved, because despite signs and announcements in five languages people were continually plugging the toilets with paper. (For those who haven't yet visited Greece, you can't put toilet paper or feminine products into the toilet. You have to put them in the covered basket beside the toilet. Failure to do so results in an instantaneous and colossal blockage of the entire septic system.) So, not only could we not use the toilets, we got to enjoy the smell of the blockages.

We arrived back in Corfu Town around 7:30pm. I went to the hotel for a shower while Mom and Simone stopped at the travel agency to inquire about the cruise to Albania. We discussed the trip over dinner at the Cafe Bellissima. The group decision was that we didn't want to go on another 8-hour "cruise" or "tour" that involved over 3 hours of transportation to the site. So, sadly, no Albania.

Dinner at the Cafe Bellissima was wonderful. We'd had lunch there the previous day and discovered that the owners lived in Toronto for many years. It's obviously a family-run business, with the grandfather clearing and setting tables, the son taking orders and delivering food, his wife keeping the kitchen in order and occasionally taking orders, and the granddaughter chasing pigeons with a neighbourhood boy. We loved the family atmosphere but we were head over heels with the good food and fair prices.

Night at the Cafe Bellissima:

Simone was planning to go for a walk after dinner but it was so late that she packed it in and walked home with us. On the way home we enjoyed the sight and sound of some traditional dancers performing in the streets and in a small square. Mom and I had a good chuckle over the sight of a local toddler clapping his hands and trying to dance to the music. When the show was over we all headed back to the hotel and straight to bed.

The lanes and alleys at night:

Today we had breakfast at the Black Cat Cafe. We decided to sit right in front the restaurant this time to avoid the sewer smell. Unfortunately, we chose a seat near the window to the kitchen. Mom had the joy of smelling stale and somewhat rotten grease while I got to watch the kitchen staff pick their noses, scratch their heads, and smoke while preparing food. As Simone said, obviously they haven't taken the Food Safe course.

After breakfast we walked around town. Simone had seen some shoes two days previous that she really liked and we backtracked until we found the correct shop. She tried a number of different shoes on and settled on some strappy high-heels. From there we wandered along the main street and in and out of various shops. Simone found another pair of strappy high heels that looked great and were a bargain.

The moat around the Old Fortress:

We found ourselves near the Liston and I suggested that we visit the Old Fortress. We wandered around the base of the fortress - which even has a moat! - and then climbed 100 to 200 stairs to the top of the fortress. By then we were all sweating like pigs, so we were less interested in the view than we were in finding a cafe where we could sit and have a cool drink. We found just such a place at the side of the fortress overlooking the north side of the harbour.

The inner wall, with an ever-present pigeon:

How hot is it? Really, really hot:

It's 4:25pm now and we're back at the hotel and enjoying a break from the sun. We'll head out for dinner in another hour or so. We're heading back to the Cafe Bellissima to try sofritos, the local specialty. Tomorrow we're heading to Glyfada Beach so I can swim and Mom and Simone can lounge in the shade.

August 8 CORFU

2007-08-08T05:10:00.000-07:00

On our last day in Santorini we did indeed catch the bus to Oia. The bus stop is in the center of town. On our last trip we walked to the right and then down to Amoudi. This time we walked to the left.

Our first stop was a café for brunch. It was a tiny bakery in the front but opened up onto a large balcony overlooking the caldera in the back. Initially the service was unfriendly. It changed to friendly as soon as we started using our few Greek words.

A typical sight in Oia, the town of dogs:

In fact, we’ve found that speaking a little bit of Greek goes a long, long way in Santorini. Sometimes we’ll walk into a store and say yia-sos or calemera (hello, good morning) and be greeted with a burst of Greek. Then we have to say o-hi, o-hi – anglika! (no, no, English!) or just look painfully confused. At that point the store owner will switch to English and we’ll have a lively conversation about where we’ve traveled in Greece, because it’s obvious that we’ve been here long enough to pick up some of the language.

Our other words include calespera (good evening), perakalo (please), efkharisto poli (thank you very much), adi-o (bye), poso kani (how much?), numbers from one to 10, sighnomi (sorry), and the important food words such as nero (water), bira (beer), kafe (coffee), gha-la (milk), pso-mi (bread), and so on. We’re learning new words every day and the more we use them, the more welcome we feel.

We caught the bus back to Fira in the mid-afternoon, before the crowds got the same idea. We made our usual stop at the market and then trekked to our hotel. None of us felt like much for dinner so we went to a small café on the main road for something light. Simone can write about that more later.

A last look at the view from the Hotel Keti:

Yesterday was a travel day. We caught a taxi to the port two hours before our ferry because we wanted to avoid the crowds and chaos. We found a café and had breakfast, then settled in at the air conditioned waiting area. Getting onto the ferry was just as chaotic as we remembered. The aisles were once again filled with luggage and I had to shift several backpacks just so we could get to our seats.

The chaos that is disembarkation from the Flying Cat 3:

The ferry trip itself was long and deathly boring. We were all glad to get off in Pireous, where we were greeted by Rita. She had a taxi waiting for us and before we knew it we were at the airport. We said goodbye, got our boarding passes, ate, and then settled in for three hours of people watching before our flight to Corfu.

When we arrived in Corfu I found a taxi and arranged for the driver to take us to our hotel. He was playing some very good music so Simone asked him who was singing. He told her it was the winner of the Greek Idol contest. After that he was very chatty and recommended some tours and beaches, gave us a map of Corfu Town, and wished us a very happy holiday when he dropped us off at the hotel.

Our hotel was built in the late 1800s and overlooks the old port. The reception is on the first floor so we caught the elevator up. The owner greeted us and told us to leave our bags on the elevator because we had to go up to the third floor. I made the mistake of closing the door (yes, it’s an actual door) and it was called down to the main floor.

The Hotel Konstantinoupolis:

Simone went down the stairs to make sure our luggage was okay and found a man throwing our luggage out of the elevator. She semi-yelled at him and he semi-yelled back – in French. He was rude when the elevator stopped at reception (I’d rung for it) and I closed the door quickly. A little too quickly, it turns out, because it slammed shut and scared the crap out of everyone. I apologized to the owner, but we laughed about the shocked French tourists later. Served ‘em right.

Our taxi driver mentioned that the town was full of Italian tourists. Too many Italian tourists, he said. I discovered what he meant when I went out to get some water at the sidewalk shop across the street. I had my arms full of water and Fresca and beer when five Italian tourists barged in front of me to the counter to order cigarettes. I wouldn’t mind, normally, but my temper was a bit short after the encounter with the French tourists. The Italians were rude to the lady behind the counter because she didn’t understand Italian and didn’t have their exact brand of cigarettes. When they finally left I used every single Greek word I had, including sako (bag), and was gifted with the most lovely smile from the lady behind the counter. She even packed the bag for me, something that most sidewalk shops won’t do.

We slept well despite the street noise. I’m not sure what’s on the agenda for today. We’ll probably do a quick recon of the town after breakfast. Mom is also really keen to do a day trip to Albaniaso we may visit a travel office to arrange that trip. Cheers for now.

August 6 SANTORINI

2007-08-06T00:35:00.000-07:00

Yesterday’s bus tour started with a visit to the Museum of Prehistoric Thira, which we had visited the day before. We opted out of the museum visit and went for coffee instead. From the museum we went to the highest hill/mountain on Santorini for a photo op. The view was quite disappointing so we didn’t take many pictures.

From there we drove to the ruins at Akrotiri, but couldn’t actually go into the ruins because they’re closed to the public. It was underwhelming. Our next stop was the beach at Perissa. We were all hungry so we went into a local taverna for lunch. The service was terrible but the food was good.

Grape vine decorations:

I went for a swim after lunch. The beach is a volcanic black sand beach and you can’t walk on it in bare feet because it’s so hot it will burn your feet in under a minute. I followed the wooden footpath toward the water and then made a dash across the sand to the water’s edge. I left my sandals there (everyone did) and waded into the water. It was a shock because it was quite cold. I eventually dove in and it was lovely.

Mom and Simone weren’t interested in swimming so they walked along the beach. They told me afterwards that it was quite long and that certain sections were definitely “party zones”. Some people had even rented deluxe leather loungers with fridges!

The next stop was a “traditional village”. We dutifully got out of the bus and walked into the village but it was again quite disappointing. It was old, yes, but not nearly as enchanting or traditional as the villages on Amorgos.

A scene from the traditional village:

Our final stop of the day was the Santo Winery. It looked a bit like an abandoned building from the roadside, to be honest. A winery guide, Yiannis, took us into the large industrial building and explained how they made wine. The winery is actually a cooperative, set up by the grape growers to ensure fair prices for crops. The building itself is three levels, which means they can use gravity to move the grape juice from one production area to another rather than machinery.

The 1-day resting tanks that allow sediment to settle:

The fermentation tanks:

After the tour of the production facility Yiannis took us to the tasting room. We sampled three wines – a young wine, an old wine, and Vin Santo which is a very sweet dessert wine. We all preferred the young wine over the others and Simone bought a bottle for Bruce (shhhhhh, don’t tell Bruce).

The wall o' bottles:

French oak wine barrels:

We got back to Fira around 5:30pm. I had a shower to wash off the salt water and Simone laid down in bed for a bit of quiet time. Mom bustled around, collecting laundry and sorting out luggage.

Our final act of the day was a trip to the supermarket to replenish our water, fruit, and yoghurt supplies. Oh, and iced espresso. I’ve got Simone hooked on them.

We were planning to go to Kamari beach today but it is very windy and cloudy so we’ll probably catch the bus to Oia instead. I’m keen to go to the Chinese restaurant for dinner tonight. I love Greek food but after two weeks I’m keen for something different.

August 5 SANTORINI

2007-08-05T00:22:00.000-07:00

Beautiful morning here at the Hotel Keti. We did a big wash this morning as we were all getting short of knickers. The hotel has a huge laundry line to hang clothes and we took full advantage of it.

Yesterday we went to the Museum of Prehistoric Thira and marveled at the ancient bowls, offering vessels, and frescoes that have been recovered from sites here on Santorini. It boggles the mind to see things that are 3000 years old and look like they were made yesterday.

After visiting the museum we did some shopping in the main thoroughfares of Fira. Simone bought some new sunglasses. I tried, once again, to buy something but balked at the prices. I saw a lovely glass necklace that I thought might cost around EUR$35 but was actually priced at EUR$75. Ouch!

Another new friend:

After lunch we walked down the 580 stairs to the old port of Fira. Simone had run down and then up the steps that morning and was shocked to find the steps very slippery. We all slipped on the stairs at some point, which made the trip down to the port very stressful. While the thought of broken bones was a worry, the prospect of falling into the rather large and numerous piles of donkey waste was perhaps more disturbing.

Donkey jam:

Three amigos:

Our ship, the Hermis, a motorboat disguised as a sailboat:

Thankfully, we made it safely down to the port. We waited for about 20 minutes until our boat was ready and then we clambered on. The boat took us to the volcanic island in the center of the caldera, where we all went ashore for a long and hot hike up to various volcanic craters. Mom and I turned back after the second crater because my legs were killing me and the heat was bothering her.

The island of Nea Kameni, the new burned island:

The boat took us from there to another volcanic island, where we rafted up to a huge party boat. Everyone put on their bathing suits and swam to an area just off shore where there were underwater hot springs that heated the water to close to 30C.

Simone returning from her swim:

After the swim the crew served dinner. It included bread, dolmades, meatballs, tiropita, tzatziki, and Greek salad. There was also a rather large urn of Santorini wine and we were challenged to drink it all, if we could. We couldn’t.

After dinner:

By that time the sun was setting. We motored off toward Oia and marveled at the sunset, which is beautiful from shore but gorgeous from a boat. After the sun set the boat headed back to the old port of Fira and we disembarked.

The sunset:

I wanted to ride the donkey up the steps and arranged a ride with a local man. Mom and Simone opted to ride the cable car up the cliff. They left and I waited with the local man while he tried to drum up more business. Only two other people from the boats wanted a ride, so he took me to the base of the steps and helped me get onto the donkey. Another local man actually led my donkey, and four others, up the steps.

Trying to collect more riders:

It was almost completely dark by that point. I tried to capture some movies of the experience but there is no image, just the sound of the harness bells ringing. I had a grin on my face the whole way up the hill. It was a wonderful experience. I may have to go again!

At the top of the cliff I got off the donkey and walked up to the cable car. Mom and Simone were nowhere to be seen, so I made my way back to the hotel. Mom and Simone were a bit worried because I’d been gone so long, but all was well.

Today we’re going on a bus tour that goes to some local wineries, a traditional village, and a beach.

August 4 SANTORINI

2007-08-04T00:15:00.000-07:00

Our second day in Santorini was wonderful. We caught the local bus to Oia (ee-ah), on the tip of Santorini. We arrived early and there were no crowds, which was lovely.

Oia, another town on a cliff:

We walked down approximately 400 steps to the village of Amoudi, which was as pretty as a postcard. I took waaaaay too many pictures! We were hot and it was close to lunch by that point so we stopped a local restaurant, Dimitris Taverna.

It's a long, long way down to Amoudi:

Amoudi, the picture postcard port:

Interestingly, Dimitris’ wife grew up in Vancouver. We had a long conversation with her about what it’s like living in Greece and what she misses about Vancouver and Canada. She and her husband open and run the restaurant during the summer and close it during the winter. She said that she really hadn’t traveled to many places in Greece because everything closes up in the winter.

Lunch was dolmades (rice and pine nuts wrapped in vine leaves and served chilled) as well as fava (mushed yellow lentils served with lemon). The local bread was fantastic, too.

The view from Dimitris' taverna:

The walk up the 400 steps back to Oia wasn’t nearly as hard as we expected. Simone ran up the steps, walked down, then ran up again for a bit of impromptu exercise. Mom and I took our time and enjoyed the view.

In Oia we did some shopping. Well, Simone did some shopping. I tried to shop but couldn’t get past the sticker shock. Everything in Santorini is marked up two or three times higher than other places, it seems.

We caught the bus back to Fira and had a wash and rest. No one was really hungry at dinner time. Mom and Simone shared some fruit. I enjoyed some more of the vino-in-a-plastic-bottle. Actually, I enjoyed a little too much vine-in-a-plastic-bottle. At 7pm I was very happy and also very hungry. Mom helped me walk up the caldera and down to the main street where I bought the most fantastically delicious gyro for EUR$2. Yum.

August 3 SANTORINI

2007-08-03T23:55:00.000-07:00

I’m writing this entry from the balcony of the Hotel Keti, which is perched on the caldera (cliffs) of Fira, the main town on the island. To say it’s beautiful is an injustice to the view.

The town of Fira on the caldera edge:

I haven’t written much for the past two or three days because there hasn’t been much to report. We explored Katapola on Tuesday (31^st), Chora on Wednesday (1^st) and then caught the ferry to Naxos late Wednesday night. Yesterday we caught the ferry to Santorini.

Getting off the ferry in the port was, well, overwhelming. The port police are blowing their whistles and herding people off the dock because, of course, they want to offload and then load people and vehicles onto the boat as quickly as possible.

Collecting luggage and marshaling for disembarkation on the ferry:

Once off the dock you are accosted by what felt like hundreds of sign-waving hotel owners and people wanting to rent a room. Once you fight your way through them, you are accosted by bus and taxi drivers. We approached one taxi driver and he said he could drive us to our hotel, but he didn’t seem to have an actual taxi to drive us in. We approached another taxi driver and he said that none of the waiting taxis were available. It took a while to figure out that the entire row of taxis was reserved.

The original taxi driver found us in the crowd and told us he had a taxi for us, grabbed my suitcase, and raced off down the road. We followed him and he led us to what I would consider a bus, but is actually a shared taxi. He loaded our luggage and then raced off to find more people. I guess he was the “fixer” for the shared taxi driver.

The drive to Fira took about 20 minutes. To get out of the port you have to drive up a series of switchbacks that climb straight up the cliff. From there it’s a straight shot to Fira.

Our taxi driver let us out on the street and said our hotel was up a set of stairs. We got to the top of the stairs and could not see our hotel. We asked around and were told our hotel was at the top of another set of stairs. So, we dutifully climbed those stairs, too. No hotel.

At that point I decided to haul out the Lonely Planet and find out exactly where we were and where the hotel was in relationship to our location. According to the map we were about four “blocks” away.

It was at that point that I realized something. The “roads” in Fira were actually footpaths and walkways. We were going to have to hoof our luggage over the ridge of the caldera and then down the caldera cliff face. Joy.

Mom was struggling in the heat so I hauled her suitcase as well as my own. She said that if she packed it, she should haul it. I asked her why she had children if she didn’t want them to help her when she needed help. It was an impasse. Also, as they say, possession is 9/10 of the law and I wasn’t going to give back her suitcase.

The final set of stairs down to the Hotel Keti was so narrow that we had to carry each suitcase down individually. It was a relief to reach the patio and the reception desk. The woman at the desk introduced herself as Iliana and showed us to our room.

It’s a lovely large room that opens directly onto the patio. It also extends under the footpath above the hotel, something that we realized this morning at 8am when all of the donkey herders were walking their animals to the cruise ship dock … right over our beds!

We washed up and then set out for a survey of the town. The footpaths were jammed with tourists, mostly Americans from the cruise ships anchored below town. It was odd to hear English everywhere. The main street is called Gold Street because every second shop sells expensive jewelry or watches. We got a bit turned about at the end of Gold Street but eventually found our way to the main square.

Every day in Greece is a bad hair day:

At that point we were very thirsty and started looking for a café where we could have a drink. The first café was nice but the prices were outrageous – EUR$5 for a coffee and EUR$4 for a can of Sprite. We left and found another café but the prices were largely the same. Simone suggested that we just pack in the café idea and find a restaurant where we could have dinner as well as drinks.

We looked on the map and I recognized a restaurant that is recommended by Lonely Planet. It took a bit of searching to find it – specifically, we had to look up. Most of the stores at street level sell tourist junk. The restaurants are located above those stores, overlooking the footpaths.

Dinner was tiropita (cheese pie), caesar salad, and pork skewers. It was absolutely delicious. Still, I was a little shocked when the bill came and it was EUR$33 (close to CAD$40). We realized that it was probably not good for our pocketbook to have every meal at a restaurant while we were in Santorini, and on the way back to the hotel we searched for a supermarket. We found one close to the hotel and loaded up on water, yoghurt, and fruit for breakfast.

Sunset and the harbour crowded with cruise ships:

I asked for retsina at the supermarket but they only had corked bottles (I don’t have a corkscrew). I looked around and found what looked like a bottle of cooking oil, but was labeled as white wine. It was in a plastic bottle with a screw top, so I decided to give it a go. I thought the price was EUR$8 but when I got to the cashier she only charged me EUR$1.50. “Oh, dear” I thought to myself. “This can’t be good.” Surprisingly, it was a lovely white wine and I suffered no aftereffects. You can guess what I’m having again tonight!

Not sure what we’ll do today. We’ll probably find the tourist information and ask about tours of the island and other activities.

Simone, guest blogger

2007-08-03T00:05:00.000-07:00

Hi, Simone here. I’m a blog neophyte but here goes. Some things that Rowena neglected to mention.

This has been a holiday of cats. For ‘feline-ophiles’ this is heaven. Although many of these little furry beasts are feral, we have managed to find some rather friendly and endearing members of Felis domesticus. With the exception of Sylvia, we have decided to name our furry little acquaintances.

Anastasia: Our first and perhaps favourite is Anastasia (or so we named her). Anastasia is a resident of the area around a little café / restaurant in Katapola (Amorgos) that we visited each morning for our filter coffee and bite to eat and most every evening for dinner. Anastasia would come running from her shady resting place to take her place beneath our table, keeping us company whilst we dined and graciously accepting any morsels that, by chance, did come her way. She also demonstrated her good taste in accessories and took to resting on Rowena’s purse.

Sylvia: Sylvia belongs to our cousin Rita and our aunt Susie. She has made the trip from Athens to ‘summer’ in Chora on Amorgos but is most decidedly a house cat. She is a rather fluffy grey Persian and one could say that she is a bit of a ‘Princess’. She also has attitude.

Chat Noir: Chat Noir as you can appreciate is a lovely old black cat that resides on and around the patios of the Hotel Keti in Fira (Santorini). She is a lovely old thing that has a bit of a respiratory problem and consequently has a drippy nose and sneezes. When she sleeps she snores (not unlike my two traveling companions) but her most endearing quality is her protruding little pink tongue. Not what you would describe as a pretty cat but very lovely and affectionate.

Testopheles: Another resident of the patios of the Hotel Keti is Testopheles, so named for his impressive accoutrements which one cannot help but notice. Testopheles is blind in one eye but this does not appear to be much of an impediment. He is quite affectionate and has taken to following us about. Typical Greek male.

In addition to being a holiday of cats, this has also been an opportunity to learn about my Mother and Sister. Things that I have learned thus far:

They both snore. Rowena snores louder than Mom but, alas, they both snore. Combine early morning church bells with the clopping of donkey hooves, late night revelers and the persistent rhythmic audible inhalations of my kin, and one could become quite sleep deprived. Thank goodness for afternoon naps.

Rowena has a real aptitude for the Greek language. Although her vocabulary is rudimentary, we have found that the locals have really appreciated her efforts. She is most adept at ordering Heinneken and retsina ----- ghastly stuff, smells like pine-sol and as Rowena’s friend Graham wrote, “has the kick of a Greek mule”. Yech. I’ll stick to frappe.

Neither of them appreciate the high fibre energy bars that I packed for the trip. They are like little bricks but honestly, they taste good! Sheeeesh.

Well, that’s about enough for today. Time for a nap.

July 30 AMORGOS

2007-07-30T01:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we had breakfast in Katapola at our favorite café, Mudos, which has good food at reasonable prices. The owner is a taciturn kind of fellow but after a couple of visits he really warmed up and now we get big smiles from him, his son, and the kitchen helper.

We caught the 10:30am bus to Aigiali. We found a nice shady/sunny spot on the beach. Simone and I set up our towels in the sunny area and Mom set up her towel in the shady area.

Aigiali Bay:

I went for a long swim. The water was warm near the beach but got cooler the further you went out. I enjoyed surfing the incoming waves which rolled gently onto the crescent-shaped white sand beach. There were a lot of children playing in the water close to the beach. Only a few people – those who were confident swimmers, I suppose – swam further out. I went out about 20m but lost my confidence in the surging ocean and turned back toward the beach.

The nice thing about waterproof cameras is that you can take pictures of yourself in the ocean:

Simone and Mom don’t like swimming so they just waded in the surf. They went for a long walk along the bay while I dried off in the sun. We swam and sat in the sun for close to two hours.

We didn’t want to overdo things so we packed up and found a café in town, just off the main road, that was just opening for the day. You could see an old man peeling a huge bucket of potatoes. You could also hear someone inside the café cutting meat with a cleaver.

The restaurant in Aigiali:

Mom had spanikopita and Simone had tiropita. I ordered pork souvlaki but was served chicken souvlaki, but didn’t mind because it was excellent. Some feral cats came by to beg for scraps. One tried to scratch Simone every time she fed one of the other cats. I was able to pet a cute gray cat but I got overconfident and petted him near his belly and he bit me. It was a warning bite – it didn’t break the skin – but it made me remember that I was petting wild animals, not house pets.

We caught the bus back to Chora and stopped in to see Susie and Rita. We stayed for an hour, chatting and eating the last of the welcome cake, before catching the bus to Katapola.

We washed up and relaxed in the pension until 7:30pm and then walked into Katapola to Mudos. Mom and Simone tried pastitsio, the Greek version of macaroni and cheese. I got to sample it and it was very fresh and tasty. Our favorite feral cat, who we’ve named Anastasia, spent a long time with us at Mudos. She’s a gorgeous calico cat, thin but clean and healthy, who has obviously had a litter of kittens recently. She’s very gentle and purrs when you pet her.

We all slept well last night and woke up early. We had a very light breakfast at Mudos before catching the bus to the monastery. The bus drops you off on the road at a desolate junction. You have to walk down the road to what is now a parking lot but used to be a wide spot in the road. Then, you have to walk up 350 stairs to the monastery, which is located high up on a cliff.

The junction:

A beautiful painting at the base of the stairs:

Simone wanted to get some exercise so she walked the stairs at her own pace. Mom and I took things slower – me because of my bum legs and Mom because of the heat. The steps are wide and there is a knee-high wall which provides some comfort as you scale the side of the mountain. The steps, however, are rocky and uneven so it’s important to choose your footing carefully.

The stairs and the monastery high above:

Half way there:

Almost there:

It was nice to reach the monastery and the shade of some small trees. The shady area turned out to be the robing/disrobing area. You have to wear respectful clothing into the monastery – shirts that cover your shoulders, long pants for men, and skirts below the knee for women. No exceptions. So, many people climb up in shorts, etc. then put on pants and skirts outside the monastery.

The shady area:

The steps to the monastery are steep, between 20 and 30cm in the rise. We were greeted at the door by a young boy who directed us to walk up the stairs. At the top of the stairs was another boy who directed us to walk up another flight of stairs to the prayer chamber.

Inside chamber was the holy icon that washed ashore hundreds of years ago, as well as beautiful paintings, wood carvings, and offerings. The chamber is lined with seats for the monks. These days there are only three monks at the monastery but in the past there were over 100 monks there.

The chamber was monitored by a monk, who offered blessings to those of the faith and answer questions about the monastery. Simone got into quite a discussion with him and he told her about some of the historic events at the monastery and pointed out one offering, which looks like an upside-down turban, which was given to the monastery by a Turkish seafarer who was caught in a storm, saw the monastery, and promised an offering if God provided safe passage for him and his ship.

From the chamber we walked down the stairs and were directed up a set of stairs that I hadn’t noticed on the way up. At the top of the stairs was a reception room with chairs and tables. Two more young men served water, brandy, and brandy jellies made by the monks. We sat down next to a man from Thessaloniki who spoke English and told us that serving brandy was a traditional offering to visitors to provide relaxation and stimulate the nerves after a long journey. We got talking and I laughed loudly a couple of times, and he shooshed me. He was very nice about it. He just wanted to remind me to be respectful in such a holy place.

Outside the monastery we stripped off our dresses and long-sleeved shirts. I thought the climb down the stairs would be easier but it was actually quite difficult. The stones were slanted and could be quite slippery. I slipped twice but managed to catch myself. A German woman fell down the stairs below us, but luckily she was unhurt.

Photo break on the way down:

We walked back up to the junction and waited for the bus, which came 30 minutes later. It was a quick drive back to Chora – all uphill. Rita met us at the bus stop and we walked to a local ouzeri where she had arranged for lunch.

The restaurant:

I knew we were in for a wonderful – and large - meal when I heard her ordering mezethes. Sure enough, close to 10 dishes arrived for us to sample - tzatziki, patatas, beetroot and garlic, zucchini balls, tiropita, spanikopita, “monk” (layers of eggplant, beef, tomato, and cheese), “athirina” (tiny deep fried whole fish), swordfish, shark - as well as a bottle of local wine. Dessert was baklava and what looked like very thin angelhair pasta wrapped into a ball around nuts and soaked in honey.

The first few dishes:

Athirina:

We feasted and talked for over two hours. Mom and Simone were absolutly gobsmacked by the meal. They’d never seen a spread like that before. I remembered having a similar meal in Athens with Susie, Rita, and Stella that lasted from 9pm to about 2am.

Simone, the owner, Rita, and Mom:

We caught the 4pm bus back to Katapola and have just had a long siesta. The heat was ferocious today and we were all feeling drained. Of course, we had a huge meal to sleep off as well! It’s 8pm right now and we’ll probably walk down to town around 9pm for a light snack before settling in for the night.

July 28 AMORGOS

2007-07-28T00:54:00.000-07:00

Mom was up and out the door at 5:45am. The taxi picked her up, drove to Chora and picked Rita up, then dropped both off at the port in Aegiali (aye-ah-lee). The caught the ferry to Naxos and were picked up by ambulance and dropped off at the hospital. There were several other people from the surrounding islands in the emergency waiting to get treatment for dislocated joints, broken bones, sprains, etc.

Rita does not have any broken bones but she does have a sprain so she has to wear a brace for two weeks. In Greece you have to pay for your medical treatment and then claim against insurance. We don’t know how much she had to pay at the hospital but she seemed unconcerned because, as she said, “I claim it.”

While Mom and Rita were enjoying their hospital trip, Simone and I had breakfast at Katapola and then caught the bus to Chora to see Susie. It was clear that Susie was exhausted from the effort of speaking English so Simone and I went for a walk around town. When I visited Amorgos in 1997 there were only two “touristy” shops, one of which was a very talented potter. I bought some of the pottery for Simone and she has it displayed prominently in her kitchen. Today there are over 20 shops.

The Greek Orthodox church at the entrance to Chora:

We saw some of Simone’s pottery in one shop and asked where were could find more. The man indicated that we could find the potter’s shop down the alley. We looked very carefully but could not find the potter’s studio.

I just love Greek doorways:

We exited the town into a parking lot. I remembered that Rita and I walked down a path carved into the hillside from the parking lot to get to the monastery. So, I asked Simone to bear with me while I looked for the path. We found the path right away but realized that it was far too treacherous for Mom to traverse.

The footpath to the monastery:

We took a few photos of the hillside – uh, cliffside – because it was so beautifully barren. The wind was fierce and we both struggled to keep our footing while climbing back to the parking lot.

From there we walked back to town. We were both really keen to find the potter’s studio and double-checked each shop in the main alley. I mentioned to Simone that I thought the studio was beside the market and she walked in and asked the woman at the desk. She learned that the potter did have a studio next door but closed down a year ago because of health problems.

We were feeling hot and tired at that point so we stopped for a snack and drinks at a local café. Unlike the cafes in Katapola where everyone speaks English, no one at this café spoke English. We managed to “sign” what we wanted and sat down to enjoy the sights and sounds of Chora.

Sweet reward after a hot day of walking:

Around that time Mom and Rita arrived in a taxi from the port. We walked back to Susie and Rita’s home. We showed Susie and Rita pictures on the laptop (Susie had never seen a laptop before) and when they got tired of that we chatted and had leftover cake.

By that time Susie was getting very tired so Mom, Simone, and I said our goodbyes and caught the bus back to Katapola. In fact, we ran after the bus as it was leaving Chora and were very lucky to catch it. Otherwise, we would have had to wait another hour until the next bus came.

We will have some dinner in a couple of hours. Then, we’ll head home and hopefully have a sound night’s sleep. Tomorrow we’re planning to catch the bus to Aegiali and swim in the ocean. Then we’ll catch the bus to Chora to visit with Rita and Susie, and the bus to Katapola for dinner and a rest.

July 27 AMORGOS

2007-07-27T06:10:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in the previous entry, last night we walked to the unfinished Temple of Apollo. The sun was just setting and cast a beautiful amber glow on the marble. Like at Stonehenge, you can only admire the marble archway from a footpath 10m away. Still, it was a lovely bit of history and I didn’t mind admiring it from a distance.

The Temple of Apollo, with Naxos town in the background:

The restaurant was largely empty because the storm passing over the island was causing numerous waves to crash onto the walkway to the Temple of Apollo (and to the restaurant). We got a “front row” seat and enjoyed watching the boats come and go and the sun setting over the town.

The restaurant below the Temple of Apollo:

We ordered four appetizers - tzatziki, wild greens, calamari, and meatballs – with the intention of sharing them. The tzatziki and wild greens arrived right away. We expected the “wild greens” to be a mixed green salad. What we got was something similar to cooked spinach.

The calamari, when it arrived, was absolutely delicious. The meatballs were heavily spiced and more like mini hamburger patties. Mom tried the calamari and didn’t like it so she ate most of the meatballs while Simone and I finished off the calamari.

This morning we woke early to catch the ferry to Amorgos. Dmitrious drove us to the dock, where we lined up with about 100 other people. The ferry arrived a few minutes late, but the ferry crew made up for that by making sure that people boarded the ferry quickly. This involved the crew yelling “Hurry up! You are too slow!” and pushing people onto the ramp.

There was very little space for luggage so most people had to carry their luggage inside and stack it in the aisle next to their seats. This meant that we had to lift our luggage over other people’s luggage. Normally I wouldn’t mind that, but the crew had already cast off. So, we had to lift our luggage over other people’s luggage, but for added fun we had to do so while the ferry was heaving and lurching in heavy seas. We eventually found our seats and collapsed into them, glad to be sitting instead of staggering around in the aisles like drunks.

Exiting the ferry at the port of Katapola proved quite easy. Cousin Rita met us at the dock and whisked us down the causeway to a café for coffee and a brief chat. She then hired the local taxi (there’s only one on the island) to take us and our luggage to our pension. It’s actually a “room to let” in someone’s house, and over looks the port of Katapola. Rita arranged for us to stay in Katapola instead of Chora because she felt we would get bored in Chora.

Our pension:

After a brief stop at the pension we got back into the taxi and went to Chora. We said hello to aunt Susie, then Rita showed us the way to the kastro above Chora. The kastro is an ancient structure where women and children would hide when the town was invaded. All of the roofs in Chora are connected and they all lead up to the kastro, so the women and children would go from roof to roof until they reached the safety of the kastro.

The kastro is not normally open to tourists. However, since Rita is a local she arranged to borrow the key to the kastro so we could visit it. When we got to the kastro there were actually two young men there, who also had a key. I didn’t realize that there was more than one key!

The steps to the kastro (no rails!):

We climbed through the small doors and carefully made our way to the kastro wall where we had a magnificent view of the city. It was still blowing a gale so we had to be particularly careful about our footing and our belongings, which could easily fly off in the heavy wind.

The kastro door, all 4ft high of it:

A view of Chora from the kastro:

On our way down from the kastro Rita slipped on some loose gravel and hurt her knee. The two young men, who had probably finished their military service, checked her knee and helped her get down from the kastro wall to the kastro doors, which provided some relief from the wind. One of the men went down into Chora to get the doctor. Three men arrived about 30 minutes later with the nurse and a stretcher. Rita refused to be carried down the steep kastro steps in the stretcher and instead opted to go down the steps on her bum. At the bottom of the steps the men helped her into the stretcher and carried her out of the town (which only has footpaths) to a waiting ambulance.

The ambulance:

We thanked the two young men for helping Rita, then piled into the ambulance like a bunch of circus clowns. At least, that’s what it felt like. It was a short drive to the local hospital, where the doctor checked Rita’s knee and provided a temporary bandage so she could walk. He insisted that she go to Naxos the next day to get an x-ray of her knee.

One of the men who carried Rita on the stretcher drove us from the hospital back to town in the ambulance. When we got out all of the locals wanted to know what had happened to Rita. She didn’t want them to worry and explained that she’d just had a minor slip.

Aunt Susie had lunch ready for us and we enjoyed stewed beef with mashed potatoes and a pea and tomato salad. Susie noticed that Rita was limping and wanted to know why. Rita explained that she had slipped. Susie was upset, but became even more upset when she learned that Rita had to go to Naxos for an x-ray the next day. Mom volunteered to go with Rita to Naxos and Simone and I volunteered to stay with Susie until Rita and Mom got back from Naxos.

Aunt Susie, Simone, Mom, and cousin Rita:

After lunch we took the taxi back to Katapola. We were all feeling very sweaty and sticky so we had showers and changed clothes. Then we walked into town to check things out. We took a lot of pictures of the harbour and the whitewashed alleyways. When we got back to the pension I copied the photos from our cameras to my laptop and we enjoyed a little slideshow of the day’s best shots.

Katapola harbour:

A shop in Katapola:

Cat hunting a lizard in Katapola:

July 26 NAXOS

2007-07-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

We made it! We’re on the beautiful island of Naxos, and finally feel like we’re on holiday. Getting from Victoria to Athens was hard work, esp. the transfer at Frankfurt.

We thought Frankfurt would be an easier transfer point than Heathrow but we were wrong. We had to go through a tighter security check than in Vancouver, and the Johnnie Walker that I purchased at the duty free shop in Vancouver for cousin Rita was confiscated and – hopefully – destroyed. The rat-in-a-maze journey from one terminal to another didn’t improve my disposition, nor did the clouds of cigarette smoke in the waiting areas.

The airport in Athens was relatively smoke-free. It was also security free. We collected our baggage and walked out of the airport without going through a security check or customs. The security was actually tighter when I was here in 1997 when one bored and hot customs officer stamped passports without even looking at who was presenting them.

Walking out of the air conditioned airport into the 40C heat was a shock to the system. It literally felt like we were in a sauna. We had to wait 10 minutes in the taxi queue but eventually got a cab and headed toward Athens.

Our driver didn’t speak English so he dialed someone on his cell phone who could interpret. He didn’t know where our hotel was so he called the hotel to get directions. He got lost, however, and started asking locals for directions. None of them knew the hotel either and he eventually just kicked us to the curb in front of another hotel, then overcharged us by 10 Euros.

At the hotel we explained what had happened and they were kind enough to call us another cab. They also made sure the driver knew where the hotel was before they let us get into the cab. We zoomed back across the city and made it to our hotel in under 10 minutes.

Views from the balcony of our room at the Hotel Candia:

We were all beat by that time. Simone and I walked up the road to the market to get water and some snacks. We sat and talked in the hotel room for about an hour then we all went to bed. We didn’t sleep terrifically well because the air conditioning didn’t work very well, but as Simone observed, at least we got to sleep lying down.

The next morning we had breakfast at the hotel then caught a cab back to the Athens airport. We were early for our flight so we sat in the waiting area and watched people going back and forth. The funniest person – to me, anyway – was “Mr. Greece”, a guy wearing white designer jeans, a white muscle shirt with the Greek flag on the back, white leather shoes, and a “man purse” that clipped onto his white belt but also had a strap running around his thigh. The song “YMCA” started running through my mind when I saw him.

Ours was a small domestic flight to Naxos so we caught a “tropical air conditioned” bus (i.e. windows down) across the tarmac and then walked up a steep and narrow staircase into the plane. If it was 40C outside on the tarmac then I swear it was 50C inside the plane. There were pathetic air vents over the seats which just served to circulate the hot air. The only thing we could do to cool off was grab the laminated safety card from the seat pockets and fan ourselves.

The flight to Naxos was only 30 minutes and I swear it was still 50C inside when we landed. We were all glad to get out of the plane into the 40C heat. We collected our luggage and caught a cab to our hotel, Hotel Grotta.

Hotel Grotta:

The owner, Dmitrious, gave us a warm welcome. He escorted us to the dining room and served us a local liqueur made from the leaves of lemon trees. While we were sipping the liqueur and looking at books about Naxos he moved our luggage to our room.

We freshened up, girded ourselves for the heat, and then walked down to the town to check things out and to pick up the tickets for our boat passage to Amorgos on the 27^th. The town has a lovely harbour-front promenade, filled with shops and restaurants catering to locals and tourists alike. The day’s octopus catch hung on laundry lines in front of many restaurants.

We found the agency where we could pick up our boat tickets but they insisted on seeing our passports before issuing the tickets. We’d locked our passports in the hotel safe, so we asked what time the agency closed (midnight) and left.

Curious about the Old Town and Kastro, we walked up some twisty alleys toward the hilltop. Many of the homeowners in the alleys used the front room of their homes to sell merchandise, mostly touristy things. We went up and up and around and over and finally found ourselves at the lower entrance to the Kastro.

Homes and church in Old Town:

We were drained from the heat, so rather than continue our exploration we decided to head back down to the promenade for snacks, drinks, and a rest.

Turret of the Kastro:

We got fantastically lost so it took us nearly 45 minutes to find our way back to the promenade. We actually exited the Old Town close to our hotel and had to walk another 10 minutes back to the promenade. Once there we settled into a table in a café that had massive fans blowing mist over the sitting area. Mom and Simone had fruit salad and I enjoyed a beer and a meat and cheese pastry dish.

Afternoon snacks and drinks:

Feeling refreshed – but also tired – we walked back to the hotel and had a nap. All three of us slept soundly and didn’t wake up until 7pm. We washed up and walked down to the promenade, picked up our boat tickets, and then found a table at a restaurant called Meze Meze that is recommended by Lonely Planet.

Calamaris drying in front of Meze Meze:

The waiter seated us at a table by the road. We were worried about traffic and asked for a seat inside but he insisted we sit there. We soon found out why. The traffic ceased almost completely at 8pm and the road filled up with locals out for an evening stroll. It was – as he said – the best seat in the restaurant.

We ordered a local specialty called dakos to start. It is fried bread topped with generous amounts of tomato and feta cheese. Mom and Simone shared risotto with seafood and I had cucumber salad and swordfish, accompanied by a small carafe of retsina. Everything was delicious, just as Lonely Planet promised.

At about 10pm we left the restaurant and wandered down the harbour road with about 500 other people. We briefly watched traditional Greek dancers performing in a small square. However, the real joy of the walk was the people-watching. We eventually made our way back to the hotel and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.

Sunset over Temple of Apollo and Grotta Beach:

This morning Simone woke early and went for a run. As she ran by two young Greek men they knelt down on the road as if they were proposing marriage. When she stopped for a rest later in her run an old Greek man waved her over and wanted to talk. Friendly folk, here in the Aegean.

The buffet breakfast put on by the hotel was fabulous. The fruit was especially delicious. We all marveled that it actually has a taste, unlike much of the fruit we buy at home.

After breakfast we walked up to the Kastro for a walking tour, only to learn that there was no tour scheduled today. We went on a self-guided tour instead and quite enjoyed ourselves.

Alleyways in Old Town:

Sleepy kitty in the Kastro:

Time for a photo, uh, rest after walking up the stairs to the Kastro:

We once again went down to the promenade in the early afternoon for a snack and drinks. When we got back to the hotel Mom and I went downstairs for a swim in the pool while Simone went to the dining room to write postcards.

View of the promenade from the other side of the harbour:

Simone and Mom along the promenade:

This evening we’re planning to walk to the unfinished Temple of Apollo, or portara, an arch erected on a small island that’s accessible by a man-made footpath. After that we’ll go for dinner at the restaurant below the temple, which is supposed to serve good fish.