Antiparos in the End
We are chasing the end of the season here. In the tiny island of Antiparos, Greece, most of the tourist shops are closed. The scooters for rent have all been put away. The myriad of taverns, cafés, restaurants, and take aways facing the waterfront have closed. A few remain, getting the last of the business, the servers relaxed and tired. The menu placed in your hands is a mere courtesy. What’s listed there is no longer available. Just ask for what is good, or what is being served tonight.
We had very tasty local sausage the other night, grilled over open flame and the glow of coals in the kitchen. It was delicious, and came with bread to sop up the juices. Wine is the one thing that is still plentiful. Well, the house wine, at least. But the house wine is delicious and cheap, so we drink and laugh, try the ouzo, buy fresh pears in the market that never closes. We lay on the beach in the unpredictable weather, windblown one day, and sunburned the next.
End of season in Greece.
Athens Impressions
Athens: A lot of really old stuff, pretty busy streets, and bars with “crisis menus” out front, offering cheap food.
The ATMs worked, the buses ran on time, the flights came and went. As a female, I felt safe, but I was usually with Justin, so clearly “spoken for”. Some other female travellers (take this with a grain of salt, said women were 18 year olds) said men were calling after them at the nightclub. Vendors were constantly calling after us as well, so I’m not sure how that factors in.
Lots to see, lots to do. Pretty neat place! Excellent ferry connections to other places, but online schedules and bookings were wrong, unreliable, and plain missing. It was better by far to go to the office and book there. The prices were far better, as well.
Language: Greek is tough. The alphabet is different, for one, so hard to sound out the words. Some sounds are also novel for the english tongue, and frequently used in greek. Fortunately, english translations are almost always below the greek word. But you still won’t pronounce them properly, the emphasis is completely different than we would expect, and it will be hard to make yourself understood. Write down the name, in both languages if possible.
The Acropolis is amazing, and worth the entrance fee a couple times over!
Dubrovnik Market Prices
Wandering Dubrovnik, walking around the old city, surrounded by other tourists. This is supposed to be low season, not like the madness of August and September, but it is still madly busy here. Walking tour guides hold flags with numbers above their heads, so their charges can follow the right guide. The guides give details in every major language that travels, and the people look obediently up, eft, down. Here is where artillery shells scarred the stone walls from the Yugoslavic aggressions from 1991-1992. Here is the building of priceless art burned from within, incendiary shells smashing through the roof and igniting the contents of the house. The stone walls remained. The interior was rebuilt here, in tourist central. The roof rehung, the terracotta tiles relaid on the roof. The art however, is gone. Here is where the walls were expanded when the Turks became a mounting threat. Here is the harbour they stood off the sea siege sometime in the 600’s.
Here is a city older than a person can easily imagine.
Feral cats roam the streets. Life is hard for them, and sometimes sweet. I spotted a plate of cat kibble left out beside a dish of water. Though the cats do crap wherever they please, they do keep the mice at bay, and give the pigeons something to worry about.
A broad sweep of steps ends in a courtyard that most likely saw gatherings and markets from time out of mind. Now it is given over to outdoor patios for the nearby restaraunts. They put out the tables and huge square sun umbrellas. The people come flocking when hungry.
One part of the square remains the same. Small stands are set up, little more than cardtables, and usually women hawk their wares from the tables. Spices, candles, glasswork, and of course, lavander. It grows prolifically here and so they sell little sachets of the sweet smelling herb. I have been looking for one to remember Croatia by. And also my clothes could use a little help. There are very few dryers here, most people doing their washing and then hanging their clothes to dry. It uses less electricity, doesn’t heat up the house, and of course, things are so space-tight here that most people don’t have room for a dryer. They have tiny washing machines that have little drain hoses you have to stick into the toilet while the machine is in use. So, we have been doing the wash in the sinks of our hostels. With exactly three pairs of foootie socks, two pairs of hiking socks, and the luxury of four pairs of underwear, I don’t have to do laundry that often, but when I do, I really have to get it done! Washing the pants isn’t really high on my prioority list, and shirts only slightly more. So, a lavander sachet would be most welcome.
After searching around for a while, I found the perfect sized sachet. The price listed on the woman’s cart read 15 kuna, or 5 Euro. Well, 15 kuna is actually a little less than 2 eur, so this is like tourist tax for those too lazy to carry the predominent currency. I see this a few times, like candles in the church available for 2 kuna, or 3 euro. So, either 50 cents canadian, or $4 canadian, depending on what currency you can be bothered to carry!
´Cevapi
note: the ‘ is actually supposed to be over the c in ´cevapi, but it appear my keyboard is thwarting my efforts at connect accentation
I saw it on the menu over and over again: ´cevapi. Usually near the bottom, usually reasonably priced, and I heard a few people ask after it. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know how it was pronounced.
After learning a few rules of the Croatian language, I thought it was pronounced chevAPI. So, now I may be able to order it, but no idea what it was, Some sort of meat dish.
One night, we were walking back to our hostel in Split, Croatia. Have I mentioned wine is quite cheap in Croatia? You can buy it in any grocery store, and an expensive bottle works out to $20 CAD. We discovered that $5 CAD was the bottom limit; wines cheaper than that were not worth drinking. You can also buy single beers and ciders in little convenience stands all over the place. They cost about 10 kuna, or $2 CAD, each. You can drink anywhere except beaches. Glass bottles are frowned upon, but still available.
So we were walking back to our hostel. There may have been some beers and ciders consumed. We passed a “fast food” stand (which is anything that is not a sit down restaraunt) on the flat part of two main roads meeting, near a small clump of tiny dumpsters. It smelled a bitt like piss over in the corner, and there were lots of pigeons, and feral cats hanging around earlier that day. Once again, I saw the ubiquitous ´cevapi listed. Well let’s have a street meat adventure! In another language! 10 pieces for 28 kuna ($6 cad)? Sounds like a deal.
I managed to order the ´cevapi without embarrassing myself, and tho most people in Croatia, especially those who interact with tourists at all, speak very good english, this vendor was not such a one. I managed to make myself understood, asking for 10 pieces by holding up my fingers, and he let me know it would be 5 minutes. Sounds good! Whatever I am getting takes 5 min to prepare!
The vendor then pulls out what looks like short thick skinless sausages from the fridge, and throws them on the grill. Aww yeah, we have street meat in the making!
After a suitable amount of time had passed, the vendor got his younger, more fluent helper to ask us if we would like the red sauce. Umm, sure? His manner was that of the red sauce being the thing most people got, so I assented.
A warm mound of dense bread, cut into a pocket, a bunch of skinless sausages, a smear of red sauce, and we were holding ´cevapi! We took it back to the hostel, and were assured by the guy running the desk, who lived in the area, that this was the best food, and indeed, everyone ate it. We dug in, and it was delicious! The bread was springy, the meat perfectly seasoned, and the mystery red sauce the perfect mild accompaniment to the meat. We enjoyed every bit!
The next day, we went for a walk around Split, and stopped for a ´cevapi at a small stand. They were out! However, a Croatian resident with excellent english heard our plight, and recommended a great place for ´cevapi, by the name of something Pauline’s. It was on a corner in Old Town, we should go there! So we took off, and asking several people for the best ´cevapi, and confirming Pauline’s, we finally found it. For 22kuna, we had fresh grilled meat, soft mild cheese, and superior buns. The red sauce was fresh and delecious, the cheese a perfect accompaniment.
Croatia, I salute your cuisine! From peka (white wine, potatoes, carrots and lamb/beef/octopus) cooked in a cast iron iron closed pot surrounded by coals) to calamari (actually whole small squid caught fresh and grilled with butter to perfection) to sladoled (cheap gelato-like ice cream available on every other corner) to ´cevapi, things are delicious here.
Frustrating Delays
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on October 6, 2015
Sometimes travel is just frustrating. When airline bookings made thru cheap sites don’t go through, and suddenly I realize that I have not planned very well on how to get *out* of Dubrovnik. There are a couple options, all kinda expensive.
We decided not to go to Turkey, as was originally planned. What with the refugee crisis, and Turkey’s relentless bombing of Syria, it has become a poor choice for travel. Sure, the coastline is likely untouched, and still tourist-y, but most flights arrive and leave Istanbul. Which is rather close to the border.
We decided to go to Greece instead. Yes, there is an economic crisis there, so we shall see if money actually still works or not. I’m pretty sure the islands are still there however, so we should be able to visit those, as long as we can find a boat to take us.
Long hours trickle by, as we find routes, and re-route, attempting to find good prices and accommodation. The only sunny day in the forecast is currently happening outside, and I am here, struggling to find a connecting flight. I don’t want to stay in Dubrovnik too long, as it is a bit expensive here.
Sometimes travel is frustrating.
Apartment View
We strolled off the high speed catamarine to Dubrovnik this afternoon, and spoke to a woman there advertising her apartment for rent. Sometimes that doesn’t work out, but sometimes it really does! We got a one bedroom, kitchen, and balcony for 250 kuna a night, which is about $50 canadian.
It has a view of the port.
Dubrovnik
The old tow of Dubrovnik, the historic city center, is awash with tourists. The entire walled city is given over to the spending masses, with a handful of actual citizens still living in the shelter of the awe-inspiring walls. This city withstood a 15 month siege once. And then another siege. And another. And the Yugoslavic bombing and siege of ’91-’92. Standing on the top of the walls, staring down at the sea far below, it isn’t hard to imagine.
There are people everywhere. There are shiny stones on all the streets.
The wine is really cheap here.
Creak and Sway
after a while, the creak of the sailboat rigging becomes simply the sound one expects to hear. The gentle sway of the boat is with you every sleeping momeent, and then every waking moment, whether you are on land or not. I have nearly gotten used to the way grocery stores sway around me as I buy fresh fruit.
I have perrhaps never tasted a nectarine before. And perhaps never a pear. The taste of the fruit here, piicked out of their backyards and brought to market. I cannot describe it, save for imagine a pear with twice the flavour you were expecting, and not a trace of the just-about-to-rot you may have gotten used to at the Albertan grocery stores. Fruit is picked when ready here, and consumed shortly thereafter. We have yet to see a mega market in Croatia. There are Konzum stores, small one room affairs with a small selection of house type wares, fruit and yogurt. Bread is fresh every morning, and croissants usually have apples, jam, or best of all: chocolate baked right inside.
Leaving Nova Scotia
Posted by Nadia in Getting There, Musings on September 23, 2015
The cool breeze came off the bay, finding it’s way through the trees to the clearing around Mum’s house. The tide was in, and the breeze always seemed to rise with the tide. The day was chilly, not too cold really, but the breeze and the humidity seemed to conspire. My toes were cold. The grass was still wet with dew from the night before.
That was one thing about Nova Scotia. The dew is a nightly occurrence, and in far greater amounts than an Albertan might be used to. If you wanted to wash your boots, simply walk through the grass early in the morning. And on a day like this, even late in the morning.
Dew makes a good environment for slugs and mushrooms and maybe crickets too. I’m not sure about the crickets, but there are a lot of them here, and I don’t recall such bugs in such amounts in Alberta. So crickets must like moisture. Their creee-ree-ree song filled the nights during my time here. I will miss them, I think. Tonight I fly for London.
Finally the dew dried, more or less, and we were able to mow the lawn. I drove the balky ride mower around the large lawn, urging it up the small hills, and clinging to the steering wheel during the downhill plunges. About a quarter of the way through the lawn, Mum came over and showed me how to drop the mower deck to the height she wanted the grass cut at. It appeared I had not actually lowered the deck, but simply turned on the blades. I wasn’t mowing the grass, I was just scaring it.
With the deck properly lowered, the grass actually got cut, and I could see the difference much easier. Amazing how I had just gotten used to the height of the grass, as it slowly grew. Oh yeah, lawns are supposed to be shorter than fields.
Dinner was a quiet affair, both my mother and I aware of the dwindling hours. I was looking forward to the lnext step of my adventure, but was sad to leave my mumm. It has been a good month here, cleaning up the property, getting rid of the detrius of a lifetime. Once the last of the glass bottles that will sell have been sold, the major debris of my grandfather and grandmother and step grandmother gone. Only the house he built left, the house my mum grew up in. And the various knickknacks in the house, of course. But the old workshop/barn he had loved and fixed so many things in? The barn that eventually became the graveyard of so many unfinished projects, and so many poorly understood items, relegated to the racoon infested reaches of the barn….. cleaned out. We managed to fill a dumpster with the old cast offs, the mouse infested clothing, the chewed and mouldering books, the old coats and old beds and old frames…. so much of it gone.
It makes me realize how the previous generation would live, how they would gather stuff and repair things, and keeps things working. Which is all well and good, until the world moves on… or the tinkerer dies. And then all that is left is the bits and bobs, and the memories of those who loved them. That seems to be the nature of the world; nothing ever stands still.
Many of the useful things have been sold off at the garage sales we had. Hopefully they will find use again at the hands of those who still tinker, and have the inclination to use them. Hopefully they will bring delight, and become memories in a new generation.
The mower makes short work of the grass. I make short work of dinner. Now only the flight is before me. The kilometers of pavement slip by, and then I am at security. Bag off, belt off, metal not detected. One last look over my shoulder, one last wave to where Mum stands, looking for this last glimpse. We mime hugging each other, then I sweep up the stairs towards my gate.
Nothing ever stands still. The sweet, the bitter, it all passes, and I move on.
Bridges of Halifax
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on September 20, 2015
Appointments to keep in the city, I rose early and breakfasted with Mum. She has a habit of waking up at 6am, and sadly it is catching. Oh well, she makes breakfast pretty much every morning as well, so it is working out!
I double checked the address in Halifax. I booked an appointment to get my legs waxed before the trip to Croatia. Since we will be sailing, and hopefully it will be lovely sunning weather, I don’t really want fuzzy legs! And using the review website Yelp, I was able to find a well-regarded salon in Halifax, with quite reasonable prices. The only downside is that I have to drive into Halifax downtown, which is about an hour away from Mum’s acreage. Ah well, it is a good highway. And it looks like the downtown area is on the same side of the harbour as I currently am, so I don’t need to worry about crossing bridges which may or may not be toll bridges. Plugging the address into mum’s gps navigator, and assuring her I would treat her car with all due care and respect, I took off for the city.
Rolling along the highway, scanning the radio stations for anything that catches my ear, I found a country station playing the hits from the 90’s. Ahh, the music I grew up with. I hummed along, breaking into song every once in a while. I don’t really like to sing, as the subtle nuances of music, like being in tune, are usually lost on me. But sometimes in the car, where no one else must suffer through my warbling, I do indeed sing, making up some of the words I don’t know, and humming the rest. There is musical talent in my family tree, of that there is no doubt. Too bad it missed me!
The kms slipped by, as they are wont to do. Soon the rocky forest bordering the highway gives way to houses, getting closer and closer together. The nav advised me to take the exit coming up, and the concrete ramp soars over the highway. Saturday morning, traffic is sparse, and the sun gleamed off the water below me. The path on the map turns, I clicked over the turn signal, followed the route laid out in maroon on the little dash map. Hmm, I didn’t expect to be turning back along the direction I had been taking, but I suppose a little back and forth is typical of city driving here, with its hills and valleys. One more turn, and the road sloped gently downward. It appeared to be a fairly main road, so hopefully that would lead me into the downtown core.
Sure enough, the calm harbour of downtown Halifax appeared before me… on the other side of the water. A bridge arched over the harbour, elegant lines spanning the considerable distance. It looked firm, well designed… and expensive to build. As I came down off the hill and started up the slope of the bridge, it became apparent that the highway flyover led to the opposite side of the harbour from the downtown core, the easier to approach side. And I was on a toll bridge.
I slowly rolled up to the gates. Where was the one that said credit card? I had that trusty bit of plastic with me. Change… change… express pass….no credit card lane! I picked one next to a toll booth with a person inside, pretty much at random. The little basket clung to the pillar, demanding my exact change of one loonie, no more and no less. I dug through my change purse… two quarters and two dimes. The padded arm blocks my path, a little message displayed on a screen beside it PAY NOW. I flipped up the centre console of Mum’s car. That’s where change would live, right?!? No luck. I glanced nervously in the rear view mirror, and sure enough, a car is just pulling up behind me. No escape! No change! I looked around, feeling the pressure and completely at a loss for the correct course of action.
Just then, the toll booth operator in the next lane catches my eye. He has a resigned look to his face, a slight lift of the eyebrow and a twist of the mouth. Pushing a button on his booth dashboard, he waves me ahead. I glanced forward to see the arm raising in the air, overridden my the compassion of the toll booth operator, or perhaps just his practicality. I waved, a little abashed but very grateful, and took the course of action that had been presented to me, slipping under the arm. The road led over the sweep of the bridge, water glimmering below, boats moving slowly in the channel.
Whew, made it to the other side. And in good time for my appointment!
It is always challenging to navigate a new place, even if you actually take the time to prepare. Sometimes, it is just luck that keeps me going, and the compassion of strangers. That human touch makes travel possible, I would be so bold as to say. There are so many times when the compassion of those more familiar with the situation has been the only thing to carry the day. From the market clerk in Zagreb Croatia who showed me how to mark the fresh produce so they could be checked out, all without a word of common language, to the ticket seller at a train station in small town France who showed me how to validate my ticket, to the toll booth operator who waved me through in Halifax. It is the compassion of our fellow humans that makes it all possible.
On my way back home, I picked up a guy hitchhiking in the city. It is notoriously difficult to get a ride in a city, but he had been left by his buddies after a night of partying. I dropped him off 20 km down the road, at the bus station in his hometown.
A little act of compassion can make the next step possible on a strangers journey.
Wherever you are, Be There 