Best Places

Santorini & Sifnos

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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As the ferry approached the island through the caldera you see a red-brown black and pumice grey terraced cliff face that looms hundreds of feet above the water with brilliant-white buildings with blue trim reflecting the Aegean Sea hanging off the side. But all those beautiful buildings hanging off the cliffs of Santorini, as it turns out, are all hotels, boutique shops, cafes and restaurants with a few blue domed Byzantine churches mixed in.

Walked into a cafe for breakfast of coffee and pastry the first morning to the sounds of Portland’s own Pink Martini playing on the stereo. While walking around the town-Bob in his perennial shorts-we passed a group of Spanish teenagers and one was heard in English “look at that guy-he’s wearing shorts-makes no sense! Do you think it made any impression on Bob?

After exploring the island’s archaelogical and historical sites and lying on black sand beaches there was not much else to do unless you were twenty years old and wanted to spend all night in the discos-so we ferried it six hours to another, smaller island-Sifnos.

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At the harbor port of Kamares we took a bus the five miles up a windy road to Apollonia where we checked late into the Sifnos Hotel-tired and hungry. There was only one other patron in the hotel, a French publisher who returns to the island every spring. Apostolos, the hotel proprietor, welcomed us each with an Ouzo. Then he treated the French woman and Bob and I with Mezedhes (appetizers) and we sat for the next two hours eating and talking culture and politics. This is what I had been waiting for! Marie, the French publisher was reading the memoirs of Edward W. Said the professor at Columbia University whose books are popular reading these days for an understanding of the middle east.

Apollonia is an amalgam of three very charming hilltop villages with connecting white-washed buildings with flower-draped balconies lining immaculate narrow marble footways. The people actually live and work here and one gets the feeling this is how they prefer things. The shops are only open during the summer so most of the locals have other work the remainder of the year, Apostolos says.

Sifnos is 16km by 8km-great for walking-so Bob took off the next day for a five hour walk following a trail with one great view after another along the way up to an acropolis with a church and some ruins from 600BC. Almost the entire island was terraced 2-3000 years ago when the islanders supported themselves with agricultural products but since the advent of tourism and vehicle ferries the walled terraces now mostly grow yellow and white daisies and blood-red poppies and support the lonely burro and the goats. It is interesting that the people built their town in and around the many ruins; Greece taking for granted its antiquity.

This island has given us a welcome respite from noise and activity; none of the shops were open yet and their owners were painting, sweeping, repairing all over-preparing for the summer-eager and hopeful.

Apostolos says the Greek Orthodox church is very powerful in Greece-and very conservative-legislating every aspect of family life which is the all-important institution next to the church. Families stay together always-even if/when children move away there is almost daily contact, he says. Marie, the French lady said that yes, the Greeks seem open and friendly but there it stops-they are very clannish and no one on the outside gets into the inner circles. She and Apostolos recommend reading “Three Summers” by Margareta Liberaki published also in English.

Women
My sense about the young women I have seen especially in the less developed countries of Spain, Portugal, Morocco and Greece is that they are a pretty savvy lot. Nothing will hold them back now!

As there was a strike on the day we planned to take the ferry back to Athens, we asked Apostolos if we could have the hotel room for the afternoon. “Of course, of course,” he says, “life is simple, life is simple!” When we were ready to leave, he gave us each a going away drink of Ouzo. I don’t want to leave this place…I am grateful for this journey; I have learned these ways so far to say thank you: Greek-efsharisto, Spanish-Gracias, French-merci, Portuguese-obrigado/a, Italian-grazie.

Back in Athens, I sat in the internet cafe with a young Anglican priest from Britain who was bicycling his way to Haifa Israel. Not worried, he said. The other fellow, was a UN Police Observer from South Bend, Indiana stationed in Kosovo making 90,000 a year. He was in Athens on leave. Meeting people like this is one of the reasons I like going to Internet cafes.

Cinque Terre

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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Took a train to the Cinque Terre (Five Lands..or villages) area on the northern Italian Riviera.

The Ligurian coast between Cinque Terre and Portovenere is a cultural landscape of great scenic and cultural value. The layout and disposition of the small towns and the shaping of the surrounding landscape, overcoming the disadvantages of a steep, uneven terrain, encapsulate the continuous history of human settlement in this region over the past millennium. The area is an UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The towns, jutting out into the Mediterranean and straight up the hills on the coast are connected by walking trails through eighteen kilometers of sheer rocky coastline with terraced hills and vineyards sloping steeply down to the sea. The five little villages are built into the rocks between the beach and the hills. You can hike, swim, drink red wine, and watch blazing Mediterranean sunsets far away from the tourist throngs in the Italian cities and the French Riviera. Centuries old footpaths and mule tracks wind about 500 to 1,000 feet above the sea, leading through olive groves and vineyards, orchards and chestnut woods.

Each village has its own character, they are a few minutes apart by train. The main railway between Rome and Paris runs along the coast, mainly in tunnels. Bob compares the trail to the Nepali Trail on the island of Kauai in Hawaii. Extremely picturesque and very charming.

Vernazza is many peoples favorite village, dominated by the Round Tower and by the ruins of the medieval fortifications. It has a small harbor next to the village square.

Monterosso is pretty split into two by the tunnel and the mountains. If you are walking down from Vernazza, the old town is the first beached section and is well worth a walk around as it is loaded with lots of small, character-filled streets.

Famous for its vineyards and olive groves, Corniglia stands on the principal road over a rocky cliff dropping to the sea; it is the only village far from the sea but it can be reached by some steps.

Founded during the 12th century, Manarola probably is the most characteristic village of the Cinque Terre; the old church of San Lorenzo is in baroque style.

From Manarola starts the picturesque trail called ” Via dell’ Amore “, carved out of the rock above the sea, that joins Manarola to Riomaggiore. We stayed in Riomaggiore…the least touristed of the towns. Bob keeps calling it Rigamoroni!

The local internet was owned by a family that also rents out rooms. The woman was an American married to an Italian whose family has lived in the town for over a hundred years. I asked her how these towns supported
themselves before tourism. She said that tourism has actually been pretty good for about 30 years but not to the extent that it is now (especially since Rick Steves has reported that it is one of the off-the-beaten-track areas of Europe!!)

Years ago the men would leave on ships for months at a time-dealing in contraband-which they apparently could get away with due to its geographic isolation from the rest of the country. We continued talking-about my trip to Europe in 1965 and that the countries were very poor-even found dirt floors in rural France. She said that yes, after WWII the US pumped a lot of money into the Marshall Plan to reconstruct Europe but it took another 20-30 years for it all to trickle down and affect the living standards of the people generally.

We stayed in a private apartment owned by a nice old gentleman who “selected” us at the train station. The apartment hung on the side of a hill about 600 feet above the Mediterranean-couldn’t take your eyes off the view!

Salamanca Spain

Posted on by Laughingnomad

I just walked out of the jaw-dropping Cathedral in the beautiful old city of Salamanca a few minutes ago. Made Notre Dame in Paris look pretty tame. And there are several cathedrals in Salamanca! The city, named Cultural City of Europe, feels like you woke up one morning in the medieval age. There is hardly a sign of the 21st century-no neon signs-few cars…mostly foot traffic. Got to remember to eat before 1:00pm in Spain otherwise everything is shut down until 4:00pm and you could starve to death before the restaurants opened again at 8pm.

During the medieval age the University of Salamanca, established in 1218, was grouped with those of Bologne, Paris and Oxford as one of the four “leading lights of the world.” The University, only one of hundreds of medieval buildings lining both sides of narrow winding cobbled streets, dominates the city. The old lecture halls are open to the public. Entering the cool stone foyer where a cough echoes through the building and the outdoor noise disappears, feels like stepping into another era. The 15th century classroom has been left in more or less in its original state;students in medieval times considered the hard benches too luxurious, so most students sat on the floor.

This ancient university town north-west of Madrid was first conquered by the Carthaginians in the 3rd century B.C. It then became a Roman settlement before being ruled by the Moors until the 11th century. The university, one of the oldest in Europe, reached its high point during Salamanca’s golden age. The city’s historic centre has important Romanesque, Gothic, Moorish, Renaissance and Baroque monuments. The Plaza Mayor, with its galleries and arcades, is particularly impressive. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Today, however, Salamanca harbors a modern student scene with over 60 internet cafes… a vibrant environment with a lot happening. I could live here…but our train to Lisbon leaves tomorrow morning at 4:30am.

Bayonne & Biarritz

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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Bayonne is a beautiful Basque town in the south of France. I would not be surprised if the movie “Chocolat” was made here. We were told that Bayonne had almost a hundred chocolate shops; when the Jews were trying to avoid the Pogroms they made a living by making chocolate candy.

Upon inquiring about accessing the internet in my room, the young girl at the front desk in my hotel said vehemently “I __ate the internet!” I asked why and she said because it was difficult and besides that it was new! I told her about my troubles finding the internet in Paris. She laughed; she understood perfectly, she said! Later, I walked into a computer education store that was run by a man whose first language was Senegalese but who had married and had been living in France 20 years. I told him all about all my internet experiences and he laughed. “Yes, France is a little slow with the internet” he says.

Biarritz, on the Pacific coast, is the surfing capital of Europe…young kids with surf boards and kayaks covering the beaches.

A Dacha In Samarkand

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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After coming off the Kyrgyzstan trek, Peter, our trip leader, had arranged for us to go to Samarkand in Uzbekistan before continuing on up to Tashkent for the flight home via a week in Istanbul Turkey.

Beautiful…magical Samarkand…with more history than you can imagine. The population (412,300 in 2005) is the third-largest city in Uzbekistan and the capital of Samarkand Province. The city is most noted for it’s central position on the Asian Silk Road between China and the west.

We stayed at an old Russian “dacha” (summer home) used by Communist party members before the break-up of the Soviet Union.

Everyone was excited about a real shower, a real sit-down toilet and real beds. You line up there for toilet paper…someone said…pointing to a heavy babushka (old woman) sitting officiously behind a small table in the entry way. “No! No! Not tonight,” she grumbled loudly. “Tomorrow morning…toilet paper!” We were incredulous! But the sit-down toilets have no paper….we groaned. “No, No, Not tonight” she repeated. Someone else’s room didn’t have electric lights so an old guy was sent off to investigate…never did find out if light was discovered. Some rooms had tv’s with snowy reception of Russian programs…we were hoping to get some news but there was nothing we could decipher.

So gratefully, we all sat down on real sit-down benches at a real table in the garden outside the dacha for a feast after 18 days and nights eating on the ground. There was a smattering of Russians who joined us that were not on the trek…police…Peter said. One, who had too much too drink, bragged menacingly about how much power he used to have and now he was nobody. “Don’t answer him,” Peter advises.

Despite its status as the second city of Uzbekistan, the majority of the city’s inhabitants are Tajik-speaking. In 2001, after several abortive attempts, UNESCO inscribed the 2700-year-old city on the World Heritage List as Samarkand – Crossroads of Cultures.

Trekking in Kyrgyzstan

Posted on by Laughingnomad

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The fall of 1995 Bob and I joined an REI adventure tour company based in Seattle Washington on an 18 day trek in the highest and most dramatic part of the central Tian Shan mountain range of south Kyrgyzstan in Central Asia.

Uzbekistan Airways, flying in from New York, landed in Tashkent Uzbekistan where we visited a couple from our home town of Salem Oregon who happened to be there as volunteers for USAID. We had told our friends via email where we would be staying, but upon failure of the phone system, they simply slipped a note under our door, a local custom in lieu of telephones, letting us know where and when to meet them.

When we arrived at a restaurant parking lot to board the bus, to our dismay, we found several Uzbekis hovered over many and myriad motor parts lying on the ground. “Have some tea,” they said as they pointed toward a nearby tea house, “and we will be ready soon!” Riiight…we thought. To our relief, after watching them reassemble the inner workings of the motor for an hour, we were motioned back to the bus by Peter, our trip guide.

To reach the trekking area in Kyrgyzstan it was necessary to cross a small oddly carved out thumb of Tajikistan from Uzbekistan. However, the two countries don’t get along and when we arrived at the Tajik border the guard held up the bus…apparently wanting baksheesh to let us pass. Peter was adamant about not wanting to set a precedent of paying them off so there we sat in the hot sun, eating the best melon we have ever had in our lives to quench our thirst. Finally, Peter had the driver take a roundabout road across the Fergana Valley to reach our staging area in Kyrgyzstan where the driver had to pull some very crooked logs over a stream to get the bus across…we chose to wobble across on our feet.

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The trek included walks up breath-taking beautiful stream-filled and flowered valleys and over high ridges to more valleys. Shepherds from their permanent homes in the lowlands summer their sheep and horses on the grassy mountain-sides. Sheer glossy Ak-Suu peak, one of the world’s best extreme rock-climbing destinations that had just before opened up to climbers since the fall of the Soviet Union glinted at the head of the glacial valleys. The first sobering day saw a climb team carry out a dead British compatriot that had fallen off the peak.

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As we leisurely meandered up the trails, children of the local nomads would come running, sometimes with a kettle of tea or chay in their hands, yelling “pen!” “pen!” Have pen? Pens and paper are the most prized gifts, although Peter discouraged us from giving the kids anything…preferring to have them see us as friends rather than a rich Western source of material goods.

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Peter’s favorite “gift” was to bring photos of the locals that he had taken on previous treks in the area. The amazed smiles and giggles of the nomads that had never seen themselves in a picture was tear-jerking.

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Every couple days, locally hired shepherds carried our gear on horses over narrow mountain trails to succeeding camps…the trek trip just before ours losing a horse hundreds of yards to a river below. We would set up our own tents. The potty was a hole dug out behind some rocks. In the mornings chay (tea) was brought to our tents to get us awake. In the evenings, Victor, our Russian cook, would wok up a delicious dinner like stew of spicy laghman (noodles) with cabbage and lamb bought from the locals. Dumplings (chuchvara) fresh yogurt (ayran) and home-made bread with raspberry jam and butter (sary may) kept us filled up.

After dinner at night, Peter, in real life a young non-practicing attorney from Colorado, would regale us with his rock climbing and trekking stories. One day he stumbled across a friend on the trail, a professional climber from Idaho who was checking out the newly opened climb area. A motivational speaker in the states, he mezmerized us that evening with a story of an Annapurna climb in Nepal during which a Russian climbing partner became disoriented and insisted on going up the line instead of down during a storm. The Russian was never seen again. Right at the climax, before we could find out what happened to the poor climber, we saw a huge lingering flash of red hot color fill the western sky! Only later, reading an English language paper in Istanbul Turkey on our way home, did we find out that it was the Russian manned space flight returning to earth in Kyrgyzstan.