Pay No Attention

Delphi

It was worth the trouble to get here.  The ancient theater, stadium or temple of Athena individually would be worth the trip.  For all of them together, plus some other ruins, and the incredible setting, it was more than worth it. I think it was my favorite ancient site in Greece.

The ruins are spread over the side of a hill with an ancient path between them and, of course, a magnificent view.  At this time of year, the hill was covered with wildflowers and alive with the buzzing of bees.  (At first this made me nervous -- there seemed to be so many of them -- but the bees don't seem to have any interest in people and after a while I grew to enjoy their low-level buzzing as part of the atmosphere.  It's definitely nicer than the buzzing of tour groups and motors.)

I liked my hotel, and it had a comfy bed, which is the main thing, and I had a nice balcony with a great view.  However, the bathroom, although modern, reasonably-sized and recently (in the last couple of years) renovated, seemed to have been designed by space aliens who technically know about the plumbing fixtures that belong in a bathroom, but no personal familiarity with their function. 

Despite the fact that the bathroom was a reasonable size, the door only opened so far because it smacked right into the sink, and the toilet was practically on top of the tub, which was only about three feet long (but also, for some reason, at least two feet deep, so you had to really step up to get in there).  The single towel rack was for some reason suspended in a position above my head.  Don't ask me why -- there were a million other potential places to put it -- actually, you could have put several towel racks in there. 

The tub had one of those partial glass doors Europeans seem to be so fond of -- the ones that only go about 1/3 of the way along the tub, and leave the rest open.  I've learned to cope with those -- you just make sure that the shower nozzle is positioned so that it blasts straight down instead of out.  However, in this case, that was impossible, because the space aliens had decided to position the shower nozzle holder (it was one of those shower heads on a hose that the Europeans seem to be so fond of) smack in the middle of the tub, aiming out at the open portion of the glass door, right at the toilet.  It was absolutely impossible to adjust it so that it didn't soak the toilet and flood the bathroom.  Trust me, I've adjusted a million of this kind of shower nozzle -- I'm no rookie traveler and I've dealt with all kinds of bathroom fixtures -- and there was no way to do it.

I spent about half an hour trying to do something about this problem, and then just gave up and soaked the bathroom.  You'd think the hotel manager/space aliens would notice that the bathroom is always flooded, and do something about it, but perhaps this is the way they get the floor and toilet clean.  Whatever.  I mopped up a bit afterward, as well as I could, and then left the space aliens to deal with it.

Cab drivers in Athens

My next stop, after Napflio, was Delphi.  I was seriously dreading the Napflio to Delphi trip because I had to change not only buses but also bus terminals in Athens.  I'd been told that the only possible way between bus terminal A and bus terminal B was by cab (not true, by the way, as I explain below), and having already been swindled by one cab driver to the tune of 10 euro or so, I was dreading interacting with another one.

I'm sure there must be some honest cab drivers in Athens -- there just have to be, right? -- but I've got to say they've earned their bad reputation for a reason.  I certainly didn't find an honest one while I was there, and I highly recommend sidestepping them if you possibly can.  My apologies to those Athens cab drivers that are honest, but I'd suggest you talk to your dishonest brethren and do something about it.  They're costing you money, too, because people like me will avoid taxis whenever they can.

When my bus from Delphi arrived at bus terminal A, I asked at the information booth how much a cab should be to terminal B.  She said "5 euro, no more than 6.  It is not far."  I went outside and asked a few cab drivers how much they thought it would be.  (Supposedly many of the cab drivers have broken or dishonest meters, so I thought that getting an estimate ahead of time would at least give me an idea about whether I was dealing with a crook before I got in the cab.  Smart, huh?)  They gave answers ranging from 10 to 20 euro.  I replied to each "that's not what they say inside", which gave me some small satisfaction, but it didn't net me an honest cab driver.  I would have accepted an answer like "it depends on traffic, but probably 6 or 7 euro, if the traffic isn't bad."  I wasn't going to get in a cab where the driver confidently estimated a fare two to four times the usual metered fare.

I decided that no way in hell was I overpaying for another cab.  Look, it's really not about the money.  It's the principle of the thing. I hate dishonest people and I'm not going to help them, particularly not at my own expense.

I went back in and asked the girl at the information booth whether there wasn't any way at all to get to terminal B by public transportation.  She replied that there was, but that it was a bit of a pain, particularly if you had a lot of bags.  Since I only had a carry-on size bag and a purse, I decided to attempt it.

And it wasn't bad at all, as long as you don't have much luggage.  It took under an hour, including waiting time and walking, and cost only 1 euro.  In case you ever want to attempt it, here's what you do:  take the number 51 bus to Omonia Square.  Then take the green line metro to Kato Patissia.  From there you have a 10 or 15 minute walk to terminal B.  Well worth it, in my view, if only for the pleasure of giving a mental middle finger to the cab drivers instead of my money.

Napflio

Napflio is just as pretty a little town as it can be.  It has a lovely old port surrounded by mountains, a beautiful old town full of Venetian buildings, and just behind it is a gorgeous old fortress perched way up on a hillside.  Best of all, after Olympia, there are actually some good restaurants here, I think because Napflio caters to upscale weekending Athenians rather than just to tour buses.  Anyway, it's easy to find a good meal here, and I really appreciated that.

I have to admit I never got up to the old fort.  I was only here for two days, one of which was spent at ancient Mycenae, and the other of which was spent just wandering around the old town.  I considered hiking up the steep stairways to the fort (allegedly 999 steps), but the stairway was crowded with rambunctious youth groups and we all know how I feel about them.

As much as I liked Napflio and highly recommend it as a destination in and of itself, the main reason I was there was because it is only an hour's bus ride from ancient Mycenae.  Actually, the bus only takes an hour because it makes a kajillion local stops.  I commented to one of my fellow passengers that I thought we almost certainly could bike faster to Mycenae.  He said "Adults don't ride bikes in Greece, only children do."  I protested that I'd seen several adults on bikes.  He said "they are all Albanians."  Good to know.

Mycenae, as you history buffs will know, was the stronghold of that asshole Agamemnon.  This seems like a good time to mention that the only guy I really liked in the Iliad was Hector.  I love that when his baby son was scared of his war helmet, Hector laughed and removed it before going to kiss and play with the baby.  No other guy in the Iliad does anything nearly so tender and sweet and natural.  I also like that he seems to spend less time sulking and squabbling over who gets to rape various kidnapped wenches, and more time worrying about protecting his family and homeland from the invaders.  Of course I knew that things end badly for Hector and the Trojans, but I was rooting for them anyway.    By the way, is it a coincidence that Agamemnon and Menelaus were brothers, and their wives Clytemnestra and Helen murdered and deserted them respectively ?  I know that Homer blames the chicks, but I think the evidence points to the dudes being massive assholes.  Personally, I think C and H had the right idea.  You go, girls.

Where was I?  Oh yes, ancient Mycenae.  The coolest parts, besides just being somewhere so historically important, are the lion gate -- its lion sculpures still visible -- the ancient tombs, and the spectacular setting.  Man, those ancient Greeks had an eye for a good view.  Anyway, otherwise, it was hard to make much of the rest of the ruins -- it's mostly just the foundations and a few walls -- and the place was (of course) overrun with youth groups, so it was hard to feel like part of history, but I'm glad I went just the same.

One of the days I was in Naplio happened to be daylight savings day (the Europeans changed their clocks a couple of weeks later than Americans this year).  I always check this out before I travel in March, having once missed a bus in Italy years ago because I didn't know that the clocks changed.  Anyway, on the same day the clocks changed, the entire town of Napflio had a planned power outage for four hours, from 6:30 am to 10:30 am.  I also heard about this ahead of time, so while it was a pain in the ass, I was able to plan for it.  I had enough money (ATMs don't work with no power, and your credit card might not either!).  I even found the one cafe in town that had a power generator so that I could get a cup of coffee in the morning. 

I met a few travelers who weren't quite so prepared.  One aggrieved guy came into the cafe as I was sipping my coffee, and demanded of the barista if there was "an ATM that works".  The bartender pointed across the square, but the guy had already tried that one.  The bartender shrugged.  I glanced at my watch, and saw that it was just about 10:25, which is when the power was supposed to resume.  I said "the power comes on at 10:30, so just try again".  The guy said "yeah, but I wanted to leave earlier than that."  He left and I took a couple more sips of my coffee before realizing -- how could he possibly leave before 10:30 when it was 10:30 already?  He must not know that the clocks had changed.  But he was gone and it was too late to tell him.  I shrugged.  He'd find out sooner or later.

Forgot to mention this incident in my Olympia post

People often are so locked into their preconceptions of the way something is that they don't really see or hear it.   For example, lots of people insist that one brand of something tastes better than another, but in blind taste tests cannot tell the difference.   Or they decide they hate something -- zucchini bread, for example -- but when they taste some without knowing what it is, they like it. (Then after you tell them what it is, they hate it again.  I've had this one happen a few times.)

Here's another fine example of this phenomenon.  As I mentioned in my last post, I spent some time by the fireplace at my hotel in Olympia.  While I was hanging out there, a middle-aged American couple came in, and seeing the fire, sat down on one of the sofas right near me.  I'd heard them talking when they came in, so I knew they were American.  I smiled at them when they sat down, and said "Isn't a fire nice on a rainy evening like this?"  The woman looked me dead in the eye and said "Sorry, I don't speak Greek."  I said "Uh, neither do I."  Then she got all awkward and apologized.

Now, those of you who know me well know that I enunciate quite clearly.  Actually, some people make fun of me because I enunciate so clearly.  Many non-native speakers of English have commented that I'm easier to understand than most Americans because of it.   I was definitely not muttering, she was not hard of hearing, and as it turned out, the couple was from New York, so it wasn't an accent thing.  She'd just decided that I must be Greek and therefore must be speaking Greek, so she'd decided she didn't understand me. 

Anyway, I've had this happen once or twice before while traveling.  It's just plain weird.

Olympia

Wow, Olympia is a ghost town at this time of year.  Some tour buses still come and go (I mean, we're talking the site of the ancient Olympics here), but they aren't staying overnight, for the most part.

I spent two nights in Olympia, arriving around dinner time. My hotel, which is a pretty nice family-owned establishment, was practically deserted.  And the restaurants are utterly deserted and not putting forward any effort for the few customers they do have.  The hotel owner confirmed that the locals generally eat at home, and for the most part, only the tourists eat out.  So at this time of year, you might be the only customer they see for days.  That means, frankly, that you're better off sticking to breakfast and whatever you can scrounge from the supermarket.  After I got some chicken for lunch that was probably older than I was and french fries that had been cooked during the high season eight or so months before, I decided to eat a huge breakfast at the hotel and otherwise, live on pistachios, yogurt, oranges and chocolate during my stay in Olympia.  It may be better during the high season, but I have a feeling it's not much better.  If only the tourists eat out, there's just not much incentive.  I'll bet the food's at least fresher, though.

The other problem with Olympia at this time of year is that the merchants at the shops, particularly the jewelry stores, literally pursue you down the street.  "Where you from?  Ah, New York.  Come to my shop!"  They fight over you.  They don't leave you alone.  They will actually take your arm and pull you.  Geez Louise!

One guy actually did succeed in getting me into his shop, although I didn't buy anything.  He insisted that if I was from New York, he had something in his shop I absolutely had to see, and out of sheer curiousity, I went.  I'm still not sure what was there that was particularly pertinent to my being from New York, but it was rather interesting and amusing just the same.

Turns out the owner had been an Olympic torch bearer (in the '70's, if the hair styles in the photo he showed he didn't mislead me too much).  He even had an old Olympic torch in the shop.  He gave me a photo of his youthful self as torch-bearer, unasked, and signed it, also unasked.  He told me I could take a picture of him if I came back later with my camera (no, I hadn't asked).  Isn't it sad when people reached their peak at age 20 or so, and just can't get over it?

Then, of course, he told me he'd like to take me out that night to a traditional taverna, where we could eat a traditional meal and do some dancing.  Having been a couple of weeks in Greece, I already know that this is Greek for  "Let's go to your hotel room and have sex", so I declined.  (Other translations from the Greek, by the way:  "Would you like to get a coffee" means "your ass isn't half bad".  "Lots of good clubs here" means "Let's get you drunk and naked."  "I'd like to show you the old town" means "I'll put my hand on your thigh and aggressively try to kiss you.")

He persisted, so I showed him my grandmother's wedding ring, and told him my husband wouldn't like it.  He was very embarrassed.  He asked me where my husband was, and I gave him my stock story:  my husband is doing business in Athens and can't get away, but I've always wanted to see X, so I was taking a day or two on my own to see it.  I'd be joining my husband tomorrow.  I've discovered that just being married isn't enough to get them to lay off -- if you're on your own, they think maybe your marriage isn't so great, so maybe you'll want to fool around.  (And trust me  -- with some of these guys, a simple "no, I'm not interested" does not do the trick.  It just makes you challenging.) 

Once he figured out that he wasn't getting any, he started to push the jewelry.  With great difficulty, I escaped.  After a while, I started walking down the side street (it's a small town of 1500 people) to avoid being pursued by ravenous jewelry store owners.

* * * * *

I got up early the next morning to beat the tour buses to ancient Olympia.  Alas, as I walked towards the entrance just before opening time at 8:30 in the morning, two tour buses passed me.

I know from experience that it would take a bit for the tour buses to unload their occupants, get them tickets and get them into the site, so I broke into a sprint and beat them to the ticket office and high-tailed my ass into the site as fast as I could.  Alas, there was already at least one tour group there, and worse yet, it was in English. 

Why is that worse? Because I could understand every inane word.  I swear to you that the following is a direct transcription I caught from the tour -- given to a group of ADULTS, mind you, not children -- before I ran by them:

TOUR GUIDE:  Now this was the gymnasium.  Can any of you tell me what you think the athletes did in the gymnasium?

DUFUS MIDWESTERN GUY (there is always a dufus in the tour group who answers these inane questions.  Me, I'd see the tour guide in hell before I'll answer a dumb ass question like that):  They trained!

TOUR GUIDE:  That is correct.  They trained.  And why do you think the athletes trained?

SAME DUFUS MIDWESTERN GUY:  So they could compete better in the Olympic games!

TOUR GUIDE:  That is correct.  So they could better compete in the Olympic games.  Now, what . . .

Of course it went on from there, but I didn't hear it.  I was seized with a single thought -- I wanted to see the ancient stadium without these people.  I wanted it to myself.  I glanced at my map, and dashed to the stadium. 

I was rewarded.  I entered the remains of the tunnel into the stadium and emerged into the stadium alone except for some twittering birds and some big-ass earthworms tunneling around on the ground where the ancient athletes competed. 

The stadium apparently never had seats for the spectators.  The judges' seats are still there, in ruins but recognizable.  Best of all, the starting and ending lines for the track races are still there (they are stone).  It was actually pretty thrilling to stand on the starting block for the ancient athletes, all by myself.  I had time to take some pictures and do my own little sprint to the finish line on the other side (I'm a runner after all) before a tour group started to swarm in.

It turned out to be fairly easy to avoid the tour groups.  There were only a handful.  If you were OK with seeing the monuments out of the suggested order, you could pretty easily look at each of the sites in peace.  Another lone-traveler type, a guy, was clearly doing the same thing.  We smiled at each other and left each other alone -- we didn't mind each other, but we weren't looking for company. 

I must say, it's a lovely site, full of trees and grass and wild flowers.  Even without the ruins of the temples and baths and stadium of the ancient Olympic complex, it would be worth a walk.  With the ruins, it was just perfect.  It was even worth braving the jewelry store dudes and that hideous chicken dinner.  Do come here and see it before you die. 

* * * * *

 I found something else in Olympia worth seeing besides the ancient sites, and that's one of the sons of the hotel owner.  Since it's a family business, he works there, at the desk, but hadn't been there the night I arrived.  Wowee wow wow, is the dude handsome.  Charming too.  I'd consider going to a traditional taverna with him.  But alas, he was working, and worse yet, he didn't ask.  Ah well.  But I did get to hang with him a bit by a roaring fire. 

Although luckily it was an absolutely beautiful day, it was pouring rain in the evening.  I was loaded up with nuts and fruit, and after my experience with Olympia cuisine thus far, I decided I was better off indoors.  I glanced into the little parlour, and the fire place was going, and that decided me.  I went upstairs and fetched my book, my pistachios and my fruit, and curled up in front of the fireplace.  The TV was turned to the National Geographic channel (in English), and I left it there.  Too lazy to read, I munched my pistachios and half watched the TV (a rather stupid special about bigfoot sightings), getting up occasionally to stoke the fire.

As I was stoking, a deep and gorgeous voice behind me said "You are doing almost everything right, but let me show you what you are doing wrong."  I turned around, and there was my Adonis of the front desk, every handsome bit of him.  He took the poker from my limp hand, and said "the logs need air to burn.  We need to put another log beneath this one to give it air."  He lifted the burning log -- it was a particularly large one -- with the poker, and I stuck a smaller log beneath it.  He did some further adjustment, and the fire burned admirably.

We hung out by the fire for a while ("I could spend evenings looking into a fire," he said), although he got up from time to time to answer the phone and attend to one of the other guests.  But alas, at around 9 pm, a bunch of loud guys came in, smoking like chimneys, and plunked themselves in front of the fire.  I decided it was time for bed.

Riding the bus in Greece

On the one hand, buses in Greece are dirt cheap, reasonably modern and comfortable (although sans toilet -- why can't they put a toilet on long distance buses?), and reasonably frequent.  They're also about the only way to get around other than renting a car -- Greece's train network is not extensive.

On the other hand . . . 

For your edification, I shall provide you with a direct transcription from my paper travel diary, written during my journey from Olympia to Napflio.  (I'll backtrack and tell you about Olympia in the next post.  I really  need to get this bus thing off my chest.)  If you are under 18, or easily offended by bad language, I suggest you stop reading now.  Mom, you might want to stop reading now even if you're not offended by bad language. You have been warned.

I had some anxiety about catching the bus to Napflio because everyone told me something different about where to catch to bus, what time the bus was, and whether I needed a ticket or not.  Some people told me one side of the road, some the other, some indicated down the street.  Some said 8:30, some said 8:45.  The hotel owner told me I must get a ticket ahead of time, but the dude at the cigarette shop where you buy bus tickets (there is no bus station in Olympia) told me that he couldn't sell me a ticket, and that I'd need to get it from the driver.  Or at least, so I surmised from his five or so words of English.  He clearly belonged to the class of person that assumes you're mentally deficient if you don't speak their language, and once he ascertained that I wasn't interested in buying any souvenirs from the 2004 Olympics (20% off) was clearly seeking to dismiss me as quickly as possible.

But at last the bus came (to Tripoli -- you need to change there for Napflio), and I got on it.  8:45.  In front of the cigarette shop.  And you can buy a ticket from the driver.  In case you ever need to know.

The road from Olympia is breathtakingly beautiful, but scary.  Winding, narrow mountain roads barely wider than the bus, generally without a guard-rail between the bus and the steep ravines beside the road.  I'd be scared stiff to drive on this road, especially since Greek drivers are a little crazy.  Rather than slowing down, the driver just leans on the horn when he's going around curves, where I'd be braking and creeping around as slowly as possible.  I daresay he's got the right idea, though -- my way doesn't protect you from the crazy speeding driver coming the other way, whereas his way at least gives the other guy warning that you're both about to die. 

The driver has about 15 crosses and religious medals hanging from his rear view mirror.  I can't help but think it would be more effective to drive defensively, but then, I'm not Greek so what the hell do I know. 

The side of the road is dotted with little shrines -- like toy houses with crosses on top -- which a Greek told me were spots where there had been fatal accidents.  There are a disconcerting number of those shrines along this road.  I'm trying to ignore them and look at the gorgeous scenery.  We're passing through snow-covered mountains now.  There is actually snow on the ground, and snow-covered trees, even though it's about 60 -65 degrees lower down. 

GAAAAHHH!  I can't fucking believe it!  I'm sitting in the front of the bus, and I just looked down at the driver.  He is on his fucking cell phone and is driving around these crazy curves -- no guardrail, no shoulder, no room for another car to pass -- ONE FUCKING HANDED!  Jesus, I'll be glad to be done with these buses.  Let's hope all those religious medals and crosses are effective.

GAAAAAH!  Now he's fucking SMOKING!  Jesus!  Flicking his ashes everywhere, and barely holding the steering wheel!  And you should see this fucking road!  And loud Greek rock music playing the entire time (I can hear it right through my noise canceling headphones).

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!  He's both smoking and talking on the cell phone!   He's fucking steering with his elbows, on a stretch of road where I'd have both hands firmly on the wheel!  FUCK!

He's not just taking calls -- HE'S FUCKING DIALING!  UNFUCKING BELIEVABLE!  Now we're going down a road like the stomach-raising part of a roller coaster, and he's using one hand to hold the cell phone to his ear, and with the other, he's gesturing -- with a cigarette in his hand!  Steering with his fucking elbow!  FUCK!

If you must ride on a Greek bus, don't sit in the front seat.  Just don't.  You don't want to know.

FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stay tuned . . .

I've been to ancient Olympia since I've blogged last, and am now in Napflio.  I've been keeping a paper journal because there was apparently no internet cafe in Olympia, and the one I've found here in Napflio has an annoyingly slow connection, which makes blogging really annoying.  I've got a bunch of good stories to tell, and I'll tell them as soon as I can find a decent place and time to transfer them from paper to the internet!

More Santorini

I had a huge lunch yesterday (at Nikolas's Restaurant, which I highly recommend), and wasn't all that hungry when dinnertime rolled around, so I decided to stop at my favorite souvlaki place here, Lucky's Souvlaki (which I also highly recommend), to grab a quick gyro pita.  By the way, I want to make a quick notation here that gyro is NOT pronounced "j - eye - row", as people say in the U.S.  It's pronounced "year - oh".  And a more delicious meal for 2 euro you'll never find.  I just love them.

Well, anyway, I got my gyro, but it didn't end up being quick!  I ended up hanging out at Lucky's for a couple of hours.  I've stopped there a couple of times for a snack, so the staff recognizes me by now.  Lucky, the owner (that's a nickname, and somehow it suits him), had brought a giant plastic water bottle filled with his homemade amber-colored wine, which he kept pouring for me (free, of course, and tasty).  I'd intended to stop at one, but that proved to be quite impossible -- Lucky wouldn't hear of it.  Then he insisted that I try some souvlaki meat that had just come off the grill, with just a sprinkle of fresh lemon juice, to go with it, along with a freshly grilled pita to go with it, and his homemade hot chili sauce.  All  great, and all free. 

Lucky was also drinking his wine -- and dancing and singing and flirting outrageously with me and his other female customers -- as he grilled the beautiful souvlaki meat, and kept refilling the glasses of any customer who seemed to want wine.  I left a couple hours later, slightly tipsy, and grinning from ear to ear.  I took a few pictures of my friends at Lucky's, which I'll post when I get home.  I'm thinking I'll head back there for lunch today, before I head for the airport.  (I'm flying to Athens this afternoon, en route to Olympia.)

As I got ready for bed last night, I started thinking -- why is it that it was so delightful and fun to have Lucky and the guys in the souvlaki place flirt and ply me with free wine (and for that matter, the staff in many of the other restaurants and bars here in Greece -- the Greeks are very hospitable and it is very common to get a free drink and/or dessert), and yet so creepy when, for example, the hotel owner is doing it? What's the difference?  I instinctively feel the difference when I see it, but what is it exactly?

 I've decided that it comes down to this -- Lucky, while he was flirting and dancing and plying me with wine, was clearly not doing it just because he was figuring that I was likely to sleep with him.  He was doing it because he was friendly and fun and hospitable. Perhaps (probably) I got some extra attention because I was a not-too-ugly woman, but he clearly wasn't doing it just to get some action later on.  Also, I wasn't the only customer benefiting from his hospitality.  He clearly has a large contingency of happy regular customers, and I don't wonder.

The hotel owner, on the other hand, was treating me entirely differently from his other customers (the Mississippi family got no free wine, for example, although they stayed in the hotel for three nights), and kept trying to corner me alone and ask me out to dinner.  Also, he kept making generic remarks on the "openness" of American women -- and trust me, from the context it was clear that he wasn't talking about our honest and straightforward characters.  (I said that I thought American men were quite "open", and he said "I am not gay.  I don't care about the men." That's when I began to see what he was getting at . . . .)  In other words, I felt that he was doing it only to get some extra action later on, which he rather seemed to expect as a quid pro quo for the wine and attention.  And at the same time that this feeling made me very uncomfortable accepting the wine and attention (which I had no problem at all accepting from Lucky, for example), it also felt rude and difficult to decline it.  (By the way, I forgot to mention that the first night, the hotel owner had recommended a place for me to go to dinner.  Then he called the restaurant and told them to send me free drinks on him. That was a bit too much for me.)

By the way, I think the hotel owner finally got the idea yesterday that I wasn't going to sleep with him, and he no longer offers me free wine or even free coffee.  He's still polite, of course, but the special attention has ended, for which I am grateful.  I think I may have helped matters along by sending two very pretty young girls I met yesterday, who asked me if I knew a good and not too expensive place to stay on the caldera, to my hotel.  Oh, don't condemn me!  There are two of them, so they can play buffer for each other!  It's only creepy when you're alone. When I got back to the hotel last night, the two girls were in his office drinking wine, and the owner looked as happy as a pig in clover.  So now I think everyone is happy -- the girls get free wine, the owner is surrounded with pretty young girls, and I get left blessedly alone.

Soon it's time for lunch at Lucky's!

Santorini

Sorry I haven't updated in a couple of days -- I've had my hands full. 

On March 20th, I took the 5 am ferry from Iraklio. Crete to the island of Santorini.  You're supposed to be there at least half an hour after departure, so that meant getting up at 3:45 a.m. in the morning, and being at the ferry station at 4:30 a.m.  I arrived to find the ferry station pitch black, with not a soul around and no boat to be seen.  After about 5 minutes, a taxi pulled up and a man got out.  He spoke some English, and I was relieved to find that he planned to catch the same ferry I did (I was beginning to think that I had only dreamed that there would be a ferry).  We shivered outside together for a while, and at about 4:45, a couple more people came.  Finally, around 5 am, there was no sign of a boat, but they did decide to open the ferry station, so at least we could wait inside. 

To make a long and dull story short, the ferry didn't come until 8:20 am.  I kept thinking that I could have slept another 3 hours and had breakfast at the hotel, so I wasn't very happy.  We arrived at Santorini at about 1 pm (3 hours and 20 minutes late, but who's keeping track).  The hotel owner was there waiting for me with a sign to bring me back to the hotel, which is perched way up on a cliff. 

This is as good a time as any to give you a description of Santorini.  Santorini used to be, long ago, the center of the ancient Minoan civilization.  It also happens to be an enormous (and still active -- sorry Mom!) volcano.  A few thousand years ago, it blew the Minoan civilization to hell, and changed the whole shape of the island.  It is now a spectacular semi-circle of dramatic cliffs (the caldera edge), surrounding a couple of smaller islands in the center, which are still an active (although dormant) volcano.  It's beyond spectacular to see.  I'll post pictures when I get home.

The hotels and restaurants and churches and shops, all lovely and mostly white, are mostly perched up precariously on the caldera edge, overlooking the beautiful sea and the island that is the volcano's center.  You can take boats to the island at the center of the volcano.  I did so and highly recommend it.  It's the weirdest place, almost entirely composed of jagged black volcanic rocks, but with little red flowers (and just about nothing else) growing on places.  In the middle there is the smoking hole that did away with the Minoans.

My hotel is very pretty, with an absolutely amazing view, and the price is right.  There are a few inconveniences, that I suspect are shared with a lot of places on the caldera edge.  For example, you have to flip a switch and then wait for 15 minutes or so if you want hot water.  Also, you are not supposed to flush toilet paper or anything else that isn't human waste down the toilet.  And finally, if you happen to be a single and not too unattractive American woman, the owner will hit on you relentlessly.

I've learned that there are a few code words to indicate that you are about to be hit on, and in case you are a single and not too unattractive American woman who plans on traveling alone, I pass them on to you. 

First, if a man says that he thinks you seem "sporty", and that he likes that about American women, he probably does not mean that he imagines that you like to run and play soccer.  He means that he's hoping that you'd like to have sex with a strange man.  So whatever you do, don't agree that you're sporty.

Also, if he says that he likes American women because they are so "open", that's code for "they like to have sex with strange men."  If you don't want to have sex with him, don't agree that American women are "open."  Other words to watch out for are "crazy", "adventurous," and "independent".

I want to say here and now that pretty much without exception the married men and the women here in Greece have all been delightful and charming, and have been very kind to me.  But the single men -- oh my!  I keep wondering what it is that American women have done here in the past that makes so many of the single men so certain that we're all prostitutes!  As for me, I'm planning to get a t-shirt that says "NO.  I DO NOT WANT TO SLEEP WITH YOU."  However, I suspect it would not do any good. 

Anyway, the owner of my hotel keeps asking me to go to dinner with him, and trying to ply me with wine, and talking about how he's not married and how he likes American women because they are so "open", and calling me in my room to see if I want  him to bring me anything. Luckily, there was (until today, alas!) a delightful family from Mississippi staying in the suite next door to me -- a mother and father, a grandmother, and two great boys aged nine and twelve.  (Seriously, they were delighful.  Why are southern children so well-behaved and sweet?) I latched onto them for my own protection, and seriously, because I liked them very much.  They had a mini-van, and invited me to come on excursions with them, which I took them up on very enthusiastically.  They left this morning, and I miss them very much.

Yesterday, my new little family and I drove out to the site of the Roman/Hellenic era ruins on Santorini.  The guidebook didn't warn us that we'd be driving up and up and up an extremely narrow, guard-rail-less road winding up and up hairpin turns to get there.  It was a crazy windy day, and we were worried we'd be blown right off the hill, but we all agreed it was worth it -- it had to be the best view in Greece, with an absolute city of ancient ruins.  After we left there, we drove up to the pretty little town of Oia, on the tip of Santorini.  It was a lovely day.

My big disappointment here is that the ancient Minoan excavation here on the island is closed indefinitely.  Apparently the roof caved in in 2005, and it's been closed ever since.  Too bad -- it's supposed to be amazing.  However, there's plenty of reason to come to Santorini anyway.

I've more to say, believe it or not, but I need a coffee or an ouzo or something. 

Good news / bad news

Well, the good news is that just today, they've added a ferry directly from Iraklio to Santorini, on exactly the day I want to go.  That means that I'll spend only 4 and a half hours on the ferry, arriving at 9:30 in the morning, and pay only 28 Euro, instead of spending more like 18 hours on two different ferries, paying 160 or so Euro, and arriving at 3 pm in the afternoon.   Although I'd already bought my expensive overnight ferry tickets, and technically I was only entitled to a 50% refund at this point, they gave me a full refund anyway.

The bad news is that (a) the ferry leaves at 5 am, and (b) the forecast for the days I'm in Santorini calls for a 60% chance of rain.  Send some good weather vibes my way, will you?