So what do you do when the Romans move out? Well you just move in amongst the ruins. We set sail for Terracina, an ancient Roman town connected by the Appian Way. A large section of the town just reused what the Romans built so long ago. Dominating the town is a catholic Duomo build using the shell of a Roman temple. You still enter the church by using the temple’s steps. Ancient columns can be seen as part of the exterior supporting walls. You can see a distain for the heathen Romans as stones from the once proud temple are put in wherever they fit, some carved with what was once a coronus and others with Roman writing that is now upside down. The large tower built much later makes no attempt to unify its architecture with that of the church, but shadows it as it rises high in a layered gothic style. The tower is built like a geography record with each story built in the style of the day starting with its Roman foundation and rising to completion some 1300 years later. Around the church are apartment buildings still using some of the other still standing Roman walls. To some extent I want the Roman ruins to be respected and not altered, but another side of me finds it fascinating that the walls built so long ago to house Romans are still housing Italians today, still fulfilling the job they were created to do.
The next day we hop a bus south to Gaeta. According to Virgle, Gaeta was named after Aeneas’s wetnurse Caieta, who was allegedly buried here. The town is dominated by another tower built next to the church that is topped with a roof of colored ceramic tiles. There is a larger cathedral that is a very fine example of Italian gothic. It is amazing how beautiful these small towns in southern Italy are, and so little is written about them. Even the guidebooks relegate just a few paragraphs to them. With their mixture of colorful ancient past and beautiful harbors, they make it a treat to explore and absorb. We are a little worried about catching the bus back to Terracina. There is only one bus, and we are a little unsure where it picks us up. So at 6:15, our nerves are a bit stressed when we cannot see a bus coming. Weighing the options if we miss the bus seems like not very good choices. Just when we thought we missed our opportunity, the bus comes 15 minutes late and we are relieved to be heading back to the boat. That night we have dinner in a little alleyway that ends up being one of the top 10 dinners of my life. The food was just exquisite and artfully presented. The waitress was incredible. She made us feel cared for and treated like guests. After the antipasti and main course, we were served as a gift from the restaurant a predesert of chocolate and cream. Then desert was served, followed by a post desert treat gratis from the kitchen of briquette type cookies. You gotta love a restaurant that serves 3 deserts after a delicious meal.
The next day we say goodbye to Ryan who catches his train to Rome. Kip and I stay one more day to deal with some boat issues and head for Rome ourselves the following morning.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The Ryan Express Comes to Town
That evening, my friend Ryan calls us from the train station. He has been in Northern Italy and has come down to visit us for a few days. We tell him to just wait for us at the station and we will come meet him. It is about 10 at night. Getting to him proves to be much tougher than we thought. The train we would normally take is no longer running that route. So we try and take a bus. It ends up being the wrong bus and an hour later we are no closer to him than before. So we wait for another bus. By now the streets are teeming with crowds of young 20 somethings on a Friday night sizing each other up for an evening of fun. Buses are running pretty infrequently, so we finally hail a cab. We are literally crawling along in bumper-to-bumper traffic at midnight inching our way toward our stranded guest. By the time we pick him up and finally arrive back to the boat it is almost 2 am. Welcome to Naples Ryan. The next not too early morning, Ryan decides he wants to visit Pompei. Since we just spent the day at Herculean, Kip and I head to Sorrento for a day at the beach. We plan to meet back at the main train station at about 9 that night. It is the same train so we ride together as far as Pompei before splitting up.
Sorrento is a charming town crushed by tourists. Don’t these people know the travel season is over? Two big cruise ships are in the harbor and the streets are crowded with visitors mining through post cards and loot designed specially to lure them into parting with their cash. The beach, however, are all locals lying out soaking up the sun on their already deeply tanned glistening bodies. Each sand filled stretch is more beautiful than the last. The water dashing against the rocks is like liquid glass broken with each pulse of the Mediterranean. We spend the day reading, relaxing and feeling a part of this sand-loving community. In the late afternoon, when the sun lowers across the horizon and casts that golden light across the landscape, blankets are picked up and the backpacks are stuffed with books and half used sunscreen. We head back to Naples and meet up with Ryan at the main train station. He tells of his day adventures of walking around the ruins absorbed in the Roman life so long ago. We grab a bite to eat at an outside restaurant on one of the plazas before heading back to the boat.
Sorrento is a charming town crushed by tourists. Don’t these people know the travel season is over? Two big cruise ships are in the harbor and the streets are crowded with visitors mining through post cards and loot designed specially to lure them into parting with their cash. The beach, however, are all locals lying out soaking up the sun on their already deeply tanned glistening bodies. Each sand filled stretch is more beautiful than the last. The water dashing against the rocks is like liquid glass broken with each pulse of the Mediterranean. We spend the day reading, relaxing and feeling a part of this sand-loving community. In the late afternoon, when the sun lowers across the horizon and casts that golden light across the landscape, blankets are picked up and the backpacks are stuffed with books and half used sunscreen. We head back to Naples and meet up with Ryan at the main train station. He tells of his day adventures of walking around the ruins absorbed in the Roman life so long ago. We grab a bite to eat at an outside restaurant on one of the plazas before heading back to the boat.
Off to Naples
The Bay of Naples is quite large and there are a bunch of ports to choose from. We head for the north part of the bay. Our first choice of ports, Pozzuoli is full. I knew it was a small port, but hoping the off-season would give us a berth. So we head a little further north to Baia. It too looks completely full, but as we are cruising for a gap in the rows of boats, I see a guy leave and we manage to squeeze in between two pretty large yachts. Two Italian guys hand us the slime lines and take our stern lines. At first they tell us it is not possible to stay here, but then make a magical phone call and tell us if we can open up our wallets enough and pay the high port charges, we are welcome to stay a couple of days. We end up staying three. Getting into the center of Naples on public transportation proves to be a bit of a challenge. We had to catch a bus that took us to the train station, which took us to a second station that transferred us to the Metro, which finally took us to the final train. Yeah it was a bit of a challenge that felt like we were trying to shake some sinister shadow from a John Grisham novel. Ok, maybe I have been reading one two many novels lately. Naples is a very old town dating back to the Etruscans and Greeks. There are ruins scattered like Easter eggs hiding throughout the area. Even the port of Baia has significant ruins of mostly Roman origins. It is said that the port takes its name from Baios, the navigator of Odysseus. It is from Baia that Caligula built his bridge of ships and rafts across to Pozzuoli so that he could exclaim how he had walked across the water from one city to the next. Yeah he was a bit unbalanced. Here also Nero murdered his mother Agrippian and brutally suppressed the conspiracy of Piso. And then ever looming in the background is Mount Vesuvius whose eruption buried Pompei and Herculean in as much as 150 feet of mud. Kip and I explore Herculean for a day, strolling where ancient Romans built villas with beautiful intricate mosaic floors, bartered and sold food and slaves, and relaxed in the ancient grand baths together. It was at the ancient baths that Kip channeled with the ancient Romans and wanted to feel what it was like to be one of them. We were all alone so he stepped into one of the baths and stripped naked while I took his picture, hoping that the ghosts of other Romans would somehow magically appear on the film along side of him. It didn’t take much to talk me into getting my picture taken the same way. There is a time-leap feeling of connecting and sharing in lives long forgotten that were not too different from our own journey through life.
The men of Naples are some of the most beautiful in all of Italy. Olive skin that in the Mediterranean sun easily turns to the golden brown of a marshmallow roasted in a campfire, strong facial features, classical straight Roman noses, dark thick hair and easy smiles flashing perfect white teeth. They are all lean and every muscle shows through their trim bodies. You could pick out a dozen to take home with you on any given block. We went to a bathhouse one night called the Blue Angel. After searching around for a while, we found an unmarked black door on the first floor of a modern glass high-rise. It seemed like an unlikely place for a gay bathhouse, but well worth visiting if you are ever in this part of the world. We weren’t disappointed.
The men of Naples are some of the most beautiful in all of Italy. Olive skin that in the Mediterranean sun easily turns to the golden brown of a marshmallow roasted in a campfire, strong facial features, classical straight Roman noses, dark thick hair and easy smiles flashing perfect white teeth. They are all lean and every muscle shows through their trim bodies. You could pick out a dozen to take home with you on any given block. We went to a bathhouse one night called the Blue Angel. After searching around for a while, we found an unmarked black door on the first floor of a modern glass high-rise. It seemed like an unlikely place for a gay bathhouse, but well worth visiting if you are ever in this part of the world. We weren’t disappointed.
Yippee, Amalfi
Yippee, Amalfi
The next day we cruise along one of Italy’s most beautiful coastlines, the Amalfi Coast. We head for the heart of it, the town of Amalfi. There is little mystery why a town sprung up in this location. Sheer cliffs on both sides leading to a valley between the two majestic mountains gives a perfect location for a maritime based city. The oldest maritime code, Travole Amafitara, originated here centuries ago. Most of the town is tucked away behind an arched wall that connects the two mountains together, protecting it in ancient time from the onslaught of foreign invaders. Now nothing protects it from the onslaught of tourists. Even this late in the season, this place is flooded with foreigner’s carrying charge cards as their weapon of choice. While the heart of the city has been carved out by such weapons, the bones of the city are still clearly present. A magnificent 9th century tower built of colorful rock commands the town below. The impressive Chiostro del Paradiso flanks the Duomo built in the 13th century. We wander around breathing in the architecture detail carved centuries ago.
The next day we cruise along one of Italy’s most beautiful coastlines, the Amalfi Coast. We head for the heart of it, the town of Amalfi. There is little mystery why a town sprung up in this location. Sheer cliffs on both sides leading to a valley between the two majestic mountains gives a perfect location for a maritime based city. The oldest maritime code, Travole Amafitara, originated here centuries ago. Most of the town is tucked away behind an arched wall that connects the two mountains together, protecting it in ancient time from the onslaught of foreign invaders. Now nothing protects it from the onslaught of tourists. Even this late in the season, this place is flooded with foreigner’s carrying charge cards as their weapon of choice. While the heart of the city has been carved out by such weapons, the bones of the city are still clearly present. A magnificent 9th century tower built of colorful rock commands the town below. The impressive Chiostro del Paradiso flanks the Duomo built in the 13th century. We wander around breathing in the architecture detail carved centuries ago.
The Magic of Maratea
We came into Martea port in the late afternoon. It wasn’t long before the sun was dipping behind the mountains, fading the color out of the land to the black and white of twilight. There are plenty of berths. The tourists have all gone back to their everyday lives. We throw our lines to a helpful Italian standing on quay waiting for us. He generously tells us where the capitanari is and that it is closed for the day. Kip and I wander up the hill and stop at the first restaurant we come across that is open. It hangs out over the cliff overlooking the harbor. The food ends up being as delicious as the view. It used to take about a half hour to finish a meal. I find it taking hours now. We have slipped into the Italian way of life. Nothing is hurried, and everything is savored, friendships and food alike. I like to refer to Maratea as the Chinque Terra of the south with its string of villages all tenaciously hanging on the cliffs that rise up from the ocean floor.
New Crew and New Adventures
My good friend Kip joined me for a couple more days in Tropea. I ended up staying the better part of a week there. We relaxed, ate at the local trattorias enjoying fresh caught fish of all strange shapes and sizes. My favorite place to eat was a little restaurant right off the main plaza that was carved out by placing chairs onto the stone blocked plaza until they had enough seating to open up a modest place to eat. Dressed in traditional black the matriarch of the family takes your order and pretty much tells you what she wants you to eat. I feel very taken care of and it is nice to just let the meal unfold. Of course what they serve is delicious and we always seem to finish everything that is placed in front of us. We went back to the gay beach just south of the main town, relaxing, reading, and rinsing off in the crystal clear water at the foot of the cliffs. The shore is rocky with travertine rock yielding the story of their volcanic past. Small sandbars are tucked between the rocks making for private protected beaches. The German and the Italian guy was there again but the German would still not take off his speedo. They came over and sat down next to me. A couple of other guys came over to join in. I talked to the German a bit while the others were all talking amongst themselves in Italian. Everyone seemed to had a fun time.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Bronze Warriors and Unsettled Seas
We are headed to the Straits of Messina. The sea has kicked up and the boat rides the rise and fall of the sea. The waves push against the bow of the boat and when the timing is right can drench the front of the boat. A few of the crew get unsettled stomachs, but nothing a few pills can’t fix. We spend the next couple of days pushing our way through it all and decide to tie up at Reggio di Calabria, a port right in the Straits of Messina. We hear there is a wonderful archeological museum. We are not disappointed. It has a fine collection of Greek pottery and small bronze religious symbols. But the heart of the museum are two larger than life bronze statues. And I have to say they are the finest examples of classical Greek sculpture. The detail and craftsmanship on these two pieces is just breathtaking. Every vain, every toenail, every muscle is articulated in a way that can only be described as masterful. While the figures are cast in bronze, there are other metals inlayed to give even a more real quality to the pieces. Lips are tinted red, the teeth are white, nipples bronze all come together to express the idealized male form so important to Greek art. What is fascinating to me is that you could take these figures from the 5th century BC and match them to any Abercrombie and Finch male model today. Not much has changed in 7 thousand years.
That evening, we pick up Ben, one of Matts friends that has been traveling through Europe and the next day Lynn and her daughter end up catching a train to Naples we head to one of my favorite ports, Tropea. It is that storybook town built on the very top of sheer cliffs where the foundations of the building seem to melt right into the sandstone cliffs. Everything about this port seems to have been placed in perfect harmony with the surrounding area. The 200 steps it takes to get up to the town makes you work for your reward. We spend the day exploring the town and head to the beach. Ben is not feeling well so he goes with Mark and Matt to a beach near by. Mo and I decide to check out the gay beach just out of town. We have a vague idea where it is and a rough description. But hey, it seems like it is something two gay boys should be able to navigate to. About 3 KM out of town we head to the shore and walk through a couple of beaches. Our first clue that we are close is when we see a guy that is definitely cruising us. We go a little father and find a couple of guys naked playing in the water. We figure this must be it, and roll out our towels on the warm sand and peel off our swimming suits. The wind and the sun seep into our naked skin. A few minutes’ later, some cute guys set up their space right next to us. I start talking to them and find out they are from the Netherlands. Their English is good and we enjoy getting to know each other a bit more. Yeah it was fun.
Tropea is also the departing port for my crew. The next day they take trains to Naples and Rome to catch their flights back home. We have been a good crew and I will miss their spirit, friendship and helpfulness. In a couple of days, my friend Kip comes from San Francisco to join me. Ryan comes later in the week. I keep myself busy taking time for things that I have been putting off. I remember also to take some time off in the late afternoon to go to the gay beach again. This time there are all Italians there except one very cut German boy. His blonde hair and fair skin contrasts sharply with the jet black hair and olive complexions of the Italians. The German and his Italian buddy come over to me and start to talk. It is all in Italian and I try to convince them I don’t have any idea what they are talking about. They just talk a little louder to me. A few things I pick up. They ask me if I am a porn star. I had to laugh about that. Then they tell me my dick is very big (grande) and the Germans dick is very small (piccolo) but he is handsome don’t you think. He still had his swimming suite on, and was way too shy to take it off. Despite all the coaxing from his Italian friend, he remained in his speedo. A couple more Italians gravitate towards us and before long they are all sitting around talking about something I know not what. I think part of the conversation was about me because they would all look down at my dick and then keep talking. One of them wants to know how big my dick gets. At least I think that is what he is asking. I just smile and tell them I have no idea what they are talking about. So he reaches over and starts stroking me. A couple of the other guys start stroking as well as my dick starts to swell. It ends up turning into a circle jerk with everyone participating except the shy German. I could tell he got hard in his speedo, but was still to shy to pull it out. It is nice to know that gay boys love to play no matter what part of the world you are in. Nothing serious, just bantering back and forth and jerkin off together. They ask me if I will be back tomorrow (domain) . I just smile.
On my way back through the city of Tropea, I notice there are huge crowds all lining the streets. It looks like a parade is about to take place. I melt into the sidelines and wait. Sure enough the procession marches towards us. This seems to be a religious event. There are small groups of about 10 people representing every church in the town. All of them are catholic and all have their own unique robes on. Most have a white smock and then a colorful shawl over their shoulders. Gold lame, shades of blue, royal reds trimmed in gold, white with black trim yellows and all kinds of bright colorful fabrics. I think I like the bright magenta ones the best with their square hats and a puff ball on top all matching of course. At the end of the church delegations, all the priests from the town walk in one group. They are followed by a huge painting of the Virgin Mary in a silver frame complete with a candelabra on each side. It looks quite heave as the 6 or 8 guys that are shouldering the weight struggle by me. There is one guy singing into a microphone some religious song. Occasionally the crowd sings back to him a line from the hymn. After the religious section passes, the dignitaries from the town pass. I think the mayor is the one with the green/white and red sash running across his chest. Next the police force, followed by the boy scouts. And at the very end, a marching band, probably from the local high school. I have no idea what the celebration is about, but that night the sky is lit up with fireworks bursting into blossoms.
That evening, we pick up Ben, one of Matts friends that has been traveling through Europe and the next day Lynn and her daughter end up catching a train to Naples we head to one of my favorite ports, Tropea. It is that storybook town built on the very top of sheer cliffs where the foundations of the building seem to melt right into the sandstone cliffs. Everything about this port seems to have been placed in perfect harmony with the surrounding area. The 200 steps it takes to get up to the town makes you work for your reward. We spend the day exploring the town and head to the beach. Ben is not feeling well so he goes with Mark and Matt to a beach near by. Mo and I decide to check out the gay beach just out of town. We have a vague idea where it is and a rough description. But hey, it seems like it is something two gay boys should be able to navigate to. About 3 KM out of town we head to the shore and walk through a couple of beaches. Our first clue that we are close is when we see a guy that is definitely cruising us. We go a little father and find a couple of guys naked playing in the water. We figure this must be it, and roll out our towels on the warm sand and peel off our swimming suits. The wind and the sun seep into our naked skin. A few minutes’ later, some cute guys set up their space right next to us. I start talking to them and find out they are from the Netherlands. Their English is good and we enjoy getting to know each other a bit more. Yeah it was fun.
Tropea is also the departing port for my crew. The next day they take trains to Naples and Rome to catch their flights back home. We have been a good crew and I will miss their spirit, friendship and helpfulness. In a couple of days, my friend Kip comes from San Francisco to join me. Ryan comes later in the week. I keep myself busy taking time for things that I have been putting off. I remember also to take some time off in the late afternoon to go to the gay beach again. This time there are all Italians there except one very cut German boy. His blonde hair and fair skin contrasts sharply with the jet black hair and olive complexions of the Italians. The German and his Italian buddy come over to me and start to talk. It is all in Italian and I try to convince them I don’t have any idea what they are talking about. They just talk a little louder to me. A few things I pick up. They ask me if I am a porn star. I had to laugh about that. Then they tell me my dick is very big (grande) and the Germans dick is very small (piccolo) but he is handsome don’t you think. He still had his swimming suite on, and was way too shy to take it off. Despite all the coaxing from his Italian friend, he remained in his speedo. A couple more Italians gravitate towards us and before long they are all sitting around talking about something I know not what. I think part of the conversation was about me because they would all look down at my dick and then keep talking. One of them wants to know how big my dick gets. At least I think that is what he is asking. I just smile and tell them I have no idea what they are talking about. So he reaches over and starts stroking me. A couple of the other guys start stroking as well as my dick starts to swell. It ends up turning into a circle jerk with everyone participating except the shy German. I could tell he got hard in his speedo, but was still to shy to pull it out. It is nice to know that gay boys love to play no matter what part of the world you are in. Nothing serious, just bantering back and forth and jerkin off together. They ask me if I will be back tomorrow (domain) . I just smile.
On my way back through the city of Tropea, I notice there are huge crowds all lining the streets. It looks like a parade is about to take place. I melt into the sidelines and wait. Sure enough the procession marches towards us. This seems to be a religious event. There are small groups of about 10 people representing every church in the town. All of them are catholic and all have their own unique robes on. Most have a white smock and then a colorful shawl over their shoulders. Gold lame, shades of blue, royal reds trimmed in gold, white with black trim yellows and all kinds of bright colorful fabrics. I think I like the bright magenta ones the best with their square hats and a puff ball on top all matching of course. At the end of the church delegations, all the priests from the town walk in one group. They are followed by a huge painting of the Virgin Mary in a silver frame complete with a candelabra on each side. It looks quite heave as the 6 or 8 guys that are shouldering the weight struggle by me. There is one guy singing into a microphone some religious song. Occasionally the crowd sings back to him a line from the hymn. After the religious section passes, the dignitaries from the town pass. I think the mayor is the one with the green/white and red sash running across his chest. Next the police force, followed by the boy scouts. And at the very end, a marching band, probably from the local high school. I have no idea what the celebration is about, but that night the sky is lit up with fireworks bursting into blossoms.
We Are Off to Italy
The next day we head to Corfu, the last Island in the Ionian Sea. I am delighted to take them around and show off all my favorite spots. We have dinner at this great restaurant that serves the best Gyro’s in Greece for 1.50 euros each. Across the street we get fresh baked bread and some sticky treats for breakfast the next day. Then down the road to one of my favorite Gelato stores around. The streets are still crowded, but not as much as last time I was here. All the tourists have packed up and headed for home. It is just the locals and a few stragglers like us. We wander the shops and pick up a few memories. It is almost midnight and the streets are still teeming with excitement.
The next day, we get up early and start the crossing to Italy. It is a clear day with some good winds. The sea is a bit unsettled, but nothing to worry about. We are able to sail most of the way over. Last time I made the crossing, the sea was smooth as glass. This time we were bobbing up and down with the swells. It makes for a much more tiring day. Hard to lay out on the trampoline and soak up the sun and a good book. We manage to entertain ourselves by playing some cards and a little Yache in the saloon. In the early afternoon, we once again see land and soon are safely tucked away at the port of Marina di Lucca. After telling the crew about how beautiful Lecche is, we decide to arrange for a car to rent the following day and head for dinner. It is fun returning back to the small family run trattoria that so welcomed us on our first trip through. The food is incredibly good, and everyone is more than ready to begin chowing through Italy with all of its anti-pasta, first plate, second plate and dessert. The Italians love to eat, and love to cook, and we love to sample all they have to offer. Steamed clams, baby octopus, all kinds of pasta, fish, veal and a whole array of other options. We eat way more than we should and don’t have an ounce of guilt. I think one of the best parts of this trip is sharing dinner with family and friends, taking a couple of hours to eat a fine meal and enjoying the flow of conversation back and forth across the table. The Europeans do it so much better than we do in the states. It is a tradition I hope I keep the rest of my life.
The next morning we are off to Lecche. When we get to the car rental place, we realize that there is no way all 6 of us are going to fit in these little cars. So we end up getting a second one. On our way, we stop in Gallipoli and wander the narrow streets in this ancient city. It is Sunday and things are pretty quiet. We are drawn in by the architecture and patina of the buildings that have weathered for centuries. When we get to Lecche, everything is pretty much closed up. Even the churches are all closed. They will open again in the late afternoon. We wander around, recording the crazy baroque architecture with our digital cameras. The narrow roads and three story buildings seem a little less like a giant maze this time around. I have a few key touchstones to remember where I am and how to get to where I want to go. Much to our delight the bakery that sells delicious snacks mostly stuffed into bread rolls is open. We order food that we have no idea what is inside. Whatever is hot coming out of the oven gets the most attention. Everything is delicious as we sit in the warm sun trading bites of our choices. Then just down the street is a wonderful gelato store. We choose between all of the flavors that one can ask for and enjoy to strong sweet flavors that only come from Italian gelato.
The next day, we get up early and start the crossing to Italy. It is a clear day with some good winds. The sea is a bit unsettled, but nothing to worry about. We are able to sail most of the way over. Last time I made the crossing, the sea was smooth as glass. This time we were bobbing up and down with the swells. It makes for a much more tiring day. Hard to lay out on the trampoline and soak up the sun and a good book. We manage to entertain ourselves by playing some cards and a little Yache in the saloon. In the early afternoon, we once again see land and soon are safely tucked away at the port of Marina di Lucca. After telling the crew about how beautiful Lecche is, we decide to arrange for a car to rent the following day and head for dinner. It is fun returning back to the small family run trattoria that so welcomed us on our first trip through. The food is incredibly good, and everyone is more than ready to begin chowing through Italy with all of its anti-pasta, first plate, second plate and dessert. The Italians love to eat, and love to cook, and we love to sample all they have to offer. Steamed clams, baby octopus, all kinds of pasta, fish, veal and a whole array of other options. We eat way more than we should and don’t have an ounce of guilt. I think one of the best parts of this trip is sharing dinner with family and friends, taking a couple of hours to eat a fine meal and enjoying the flow of conversation back and forth across the table. The Europeans do it so much better than we do in the states. It is a tradition I hope I keep the rest of my life.
The next morning we are off to Lecche. When we get to the car rental place, we realize that there is no way all 6 of us are going to fit in these little cars. So we end up getting a second one. On our way, we stop in Gallipoli and wander the narrow streets in this ancient city. It is Sunday and things are pretty quiet. We are drawn in by the architecture and patina of the buildings that have weathered for centuries. When we get to Lecche, everything is pretty much closed up. Even the churches are all closed. They will open again in the late afternoon. We wander around, recording the crazy baroque architecture with our digital cameras. The narrow roads and three story buildings seem a little less like a giant maze this time around. I have a few key touchstones to remember where I am and how to get to where I want to go. Much to our delight the bakery that sells delicious snacks mostly stuffed into bread rolls is open. We order food that we have no idea what is inside. Whatever is hot coming out of the oven gets the most attention. Everything is delicious as we sit in the warm sun trading bites of our choices. Then just down the street is a wonderful gelato store. We choose between all of the flavors that one can ask for and enjoy to strong sweet flavors that only come from Italian gelato.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Islands, Icons and the Ionians.
It feels different visiting this beautiful island once again. No longer do I feel like the stranger in a strange land. It is more like returning home. I am anxious to show them all the treasures we discovered on our first visit. The underwater lake, the huge cave with all of its stalagmite and stalactites, and the beaches this beautiful island has to offer. After an afternoon of running around we kick back for a barbeque chicken dinner on the boat. The town passes in front of us as we share each other’s company and each other’s friendship. The next day we head to Lefkas. Along the way we once again search out the grottos and private beaches. Left over chicken and cold watermelon make a perfect lunch between the snorkeling and the cave exploring. They are overcome by the beauty of the water and light inside these little gems. When we get to the last and deepest cave, nerves once again collapse as we go further and deeper into that unknown darkness. Mark spots some light way in the distance and I am willing to swim just a little further to investigate, but they tell me they aren’t having their captain going into the dark abyss alone and they aren’t going. It doesn’t take much to talk me out of this maybe not too smart idea and we head back to the boat.
Oracles and Old Ruins
We arrive at the small port of Itea. It is a nice marina that was built with Euro funds and completed by the Greeks. But they just haven’t gotten around to finding someone to manage it all, so the berths are free and there is no water or electricity. It is the closest port to the ancient of Delphi, home to all the ancient oracles. I talk to some Australians that have been sailing for years. They tell us the lay of the land and how to catch the bus to Delphi in the morning. We go to the store and fill up 4 shopping carts with provisions including lots of water. The marina is a couple of blocks away, and the Greeks are having a fun time watching these crazy Americans wheeling shopping carts full of food down the bumpy roads of their city.
The next day we catch the bus to Delphi. It is about a half hour bus ride up the steep hillside overlooking an endless valley of olive trees. There is still a town in the shadow of ancient Delphi. You pass through the town and on the far edge the ancient city still rises. The ruins are extensive and very well preserved. This was once thought to be the center of the Greek world. In the center of the ancient town is an intricately carved stone that looks like the end of a bullet. We are told that it represents the navel, symbolizing the point where all the world receives all the nourishings of the gods. Like Hollywood showing off all their starlets for posterity to see, you enter the city traveling through their own hall of fame. Lined on both sides of the street are statues of ancient heroes with footnotes carved into their pedestals recording grateful nations gratitude. The statues are long gone pillaged by the British Empire, churches and foreign fortune hunters. A few are now housed in the onsite museum. Further up the hillside is the city Treasury. Built out of gleaming white marble, it was meant to show off the wealth of the citizens. The marble was hewed from far off quarries. Built in 500 B.C., it testifies of the dedication it took to impress the world with its wealth. There are grand temples to Apollo, and smaller temples to other now cast-off gods. And a huge stadium built to show off the young men to the world of their physical prowlness. People would come from all over the known world to pay homage to the gods and get answers to questions from the oracles. Fortunes were told and lives received meaning from what was taught. The journey to Delphi would take weeks or months. So people from all over the known world would linger for weeks discussing ideas and sharing knowledge. And when they left, they realized for the first time that they were a part of a nation, a part of a much bigger world. It is one of the most impressive and arguably one of the most important ancient sites I have seen in Greece.
The next day we catch the bus to Delphi. It is about a half hour bus ride up the steep hillside overlooking an endless valley of olive trees. There is still a town in the shadow of ancient Delphi. You pass through the town and on the far edge the ancient city still rises. The ruins are extensive and very well preserved. This was once thought to be the center of the Greek world. In the center of the ancient town is an intricately carved stone that looks like the end of a bullet. We are told that it represents the navel, symbolizing the point where all the world receives all the nourishings of the gods. Like Hollywood showing off all their starlets for posterity to see, you enter the city traveling through their own hall of fame. Lined on both sides of the street are statues of ancient heroes with footnotes carved into their pedestals recording grateful nations gratitude. The statues are long gone pillaged by the British Empire, churches and foreign fortune hunters. A few are now housed in the onsite museum. Further up the hillside is the city Treasury. Built out of gleaming white marble, it was meant to show off the wealth of the citizens. The marble was hewed from far off quarries. Built in 500 B.C., it testifies of the dedication it took to impress the world with its wealth. There are grand temples to Apollo, and smaller temples to other now cast-off gods. And a huge stadium built to show off the young men to the world of their physical prowlness. People would come from all over the known world to pay homage to the gods and get answers to questions from the oracles. Fortunes were told and lives received meaning from what was taught. The journey to Delphi would take weeks or months. So people from all over the known world would linger for weeks discussing ideas and sharing knowledge. And when they left, they realized for the first time that they were a part of a nation, a part of a much bigger world. It is one of the most impressive and arguably one of the most important ancient sites I have seen in Greece.
On The Sea Again
It feels like things are on track again. With a nervous crew who are all new to being on a boat in a foreign country, we dodge the morning ferry traffic out of Athens. I doubt there is any city in the world that has more ferries coming and leaving its port. Our eyes are focused as each ferry zooms past us, in front of us and behind us. It feels like that early computer game where the toad is trying to cross the road without becoming road kill. I have gotten pretty good at roughing out speeds and figuring out points of impact. They are concerned with the ones closest to our boat. I know they will pass way before we are in their paths. I have my eye on the ones far off in the distance that I know will be much more of a concern. We make it through them after just a few stops to let them pass in front of us. You have to make a move sooner or later or things just get more complicated. And just when we think we are out of the traffic lanes, a couple more head for us for one last shot at us. And then, like being morphed into another dimension, the traffic is a distant memory and we find ourselves in the solitude of the sea, headed for the Corinth Channel. About 5 hours out of Athens, we pull up to the quay, show the officials our papers, pay the toll and wait for the gates to once again open to us. Everyone takes the opportunity to jump into the deep blue Mediterranean Sea. Jenny thinks the water looks like blue Gatorade. Without too much of a wait, we are herded into the cannel and head for the port of Itea.
A New Crew
Ali, Mark, Matt, Lynn, and her daughter Jenny arrived in Athens just a couple of days after my return. We all became fast friends a couple of years ago while training for the AIDS ride that rides annually from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I have done the ride for the past 3 years, but was unable to this year since I was in Europe. I missed doing the ride. Seeing California one mile at a time up close in a way that can never be experienced in a car. They raised 11 million, had 2300 riders and about 500 support staff. I met Jenny for the first time. Jenny is Lynn’s 17-year-old daughter that is spending this time with her mother before heading off to college in the fall. They all spent a couple of days in Athens checking out the sounds and sites before catching up with me at the marina. I met up with them in the evening, and we went to check out some of the gay clubs. Not knowing exactly where we wanted to go, we went online and found a couple that sounded like fun. As it turns out, there is a whole mini Castro in Athens with a bunch of clubs all close together. We checked them out and ended up deciding on one that had a nice outdoor section and a dance floor on the inside. Mostly we just hung out and watch all the cute Greek boys. There was very little difference in the crowd to what you find at Badlands on any given weekend. Lots of cute boys with way too much thick black hair. You gotta love that. The next day we set off on our first leg of our great adventure. We are already a day behind schedule.
Ashes, Ashes, All Falling Down
After a short trip to California for my daughters wedding, I am back in Athens. It was a very nice wedding with mostly family, about 80 guests. Somehow as I sat there with family in this very simple wedding dinner, I thought how sometimes the celebration of two people seems more personal with just family and close friends without all the trappings that some weddings seem to gather. It is good to be back in Athens. The wild dogs are still here, the bars at the marina are still playing loud music until the wee hours of the night, and most important, it appears the boat has been fixed. I contact the mechanic and arrange for the boat to be put back into the water. After making all of the necessary payments and getting all of the right official stamps on all the right papers my boat is once again sailing in the air and back where it belongs, in the water. It feels like home again.
Since coming back to Athens, there has been a constant flurry of ash swirling in the air and around the boat. It is everywhere. I wake up and it has built up in the cockpit like a light frosting of snow. I keep the windows closed even in this oppressive heat, but it still seems to filter in. I don’t know how far away the fires are, and I really don’t know much about what is going on. No TV, no radio, no newspaper, just little bits from people that are still connected to the real world. They were deliberately set, and people are dying. It may be politically motivated, but everyone just sees it as a national tragedy that never should have happened. Some talk about terrorists that have now found a new country and more people to scare. People try to make sense out of something that is senseless.
Since coming back to Athens, there has been a constant flurry of ash swirling in the air and around the boat. It is everywhere. I wake up and it has built up in the cockpit like a light frosting of snow. I keep the windows closed even in this oppressive heat, but it still seems to filter in. I don’t know how far away the fires are, and I really don’t know much about what is going on. No TV, no radio, no newspaper, just little bits from people that are still connected to the real world. They were deliberately set, and people are dying. It may be politically motivated, but everyone just sees it as a national tragedy that never should have happened. Some talk about terrorists that have now found a new country and more people to scare. People try to make sense out of something that is senseless.
And So the Propeller Turns, We Hope
I met with the guys at Yanmar who are fixing my engine problem on Friday. They told me that they would need cash in order to obtain the part. So I arranged to get some cash and told them that I would meet with them on Monday morning. I got up early Monday morning, picked up the cash and headed to the dealer. Everything is working perfect. I just have to drop it off at the dealer and they should be able to fix my boat while I am gone. I am trying to remember how to get to the Yanmar dealer, but after picking my way through the streets of Athens, I get there only to find the place padlocked and the metal doors pulled down. I look at the time and realize it is noon, so I am thinking maybe they closed for lunch. It is not uncommon for businesses in Europe to close for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. But what is a little troubling is the note on the door written in Greek that says something about 11/08/07 through 29/08/07. Hummm.
So I go next door to the little coffee place and ask them if the business next to them is closed for lunch. He tells me they are closed until the end of the month......
What was looking very promising now has turned into a complete nightmare. Looks like the best laid plans are all falling apart.
I headed back to the marina and talk to Stallos, the Lagoon guy that has become my patron saint of broken boats and confused Americans. He looks a little worried and calls the mechanic. Turns out they delivered the part to the mechanic and I can go back and settle up all the money stuff with him. From the depths of the abyss to the shinning sunlight, hope once again surfaces. So I take a cab back to where I was, meet with the mechanic and hand over him the cash. He gives me a receipt and brings me along with the part back to my boat. They tell me they will start tomorrow and it should be done by the time I get back. With all fingers and toes crossed, I leave it in their hands. One last plead with my most hopelessly at their entire mercy plead, I give them a fond farewell
So I go next door to the little coffee place and ask them if the business next to them is closed for lunch. He tells me they are closed until the end of the month......
What was looking very promising now has turned into a complete nightmare. Looks like the best laid plans are all falling apart.
I headed back to the marina and talk to Stallos, the Lagoon guy that has become my patron saint of broken boats and confused Americans. He looks a little worried and calls the mechanic. Turns out they delivered the part to the mechanic and I can go back and settle up all the money stuff with him. From the depths of the abyss to the shinning sunlight, hope once again surfaces. So I take a cab back to where I was, meet with the mechanic and hand over him the cash. He gives me a receipt and brings me along with the part back to my boat. They tell me they will start tomorrow and it should be done by the time I get back. With all fingers and toes crossed, I leave it in their hands. One last plead with my most hopelessly at their entire mercy plead, I give them a fond farewell
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