Just back home from treating myself to a pedicure at WalMart's 'Nails Boutique.' I have always managed to keep both fingernails and toenails in excellent condition all by myself. Whether working in the garden, going on the beach barefoot or out to dinner in fancy sandals, most important as far as I'm concerned is good hands and feet grooming. As mentioned before in other writings, I have always been a 'barefoot' girl and have every reason to believe that's why my feet have remained so healthy even in my 80th year.
Now I could count the few times I've paid to have manicures/pedicures throughout my entire life on my ten fingers. It's just always been part of 'body upkeep' along with cutting/styling my own hair and at one time even applying those 'faux lashes' over my blue eyes, lashes that half the time came loose just when you needed to look your best. So, naturally, I gave into just being happy with mascara. Never one for much makeup, I had been brought up with the idea that a good soap scrub with a washcloth followed with a moisture lotion was enough. A little sunshine and a good diet provided all the color needed.
Often I have chosen to polish my toe nails in other than primary colors: lavender, powder-blue, mint-green, for example. Today I chose a deep red. When I came out to the parking lot to get in my Mazda and drive back home, I noticed that my toenails exactly matched my car's paint job. Go figure.
Probably the best part of having a professional pedicure is the scrubbing away of rough skin and then massaging, all the way up to your knees with a cool creamy lotion. Of course, the whole session begins with a water-massage foot soak that is over much too soon. As I relaxed during the one hour process, with the option of turning on the 'massage-chair' in which client's are seated, I chose to just sit quietly. Great way to bring back memories related to the present. So, here goes.
Over the years I've loved doing volunteer work at hospitals and 'rest-homes' in order to give back for my life's wondrous times. So often I found that the 'Pink Ladies' hospital volunteer women were inclined to choose the option of passing out newspapers and magazines, maybe writing a letter or even reading to someone, along with gentle well meaning conversation and smiles, of course. Nothing wrong with all that. It's just that I noticed no one, and nurses certainly didn't have the time either, wanted to do the actual work of giving a patient a manicure/pedicure while they languished in bed.
Probably this was a most prevalent need noticed when I volunteered for a year at Hondo Hospital in California, where the last victims of Polio cases were either waiting to die as they laid in their 'iron lung' machines or the more positive thinking ones who had graduated to 'rocking-beds' or the art of 'frog-breathing.'
There were some ladies who were in the final stages of MS or other debilitating/often fatal diseases, who also were thankful for me to take the time to carefully remove facial hair that was a side-effect of strong medications. Not a pleasant task, but a very rewarding one to add to my labors of manicure/pedicure. I remember when the husband of one woman arrived for visiting hour and when he saw his wife looking so lovely and smiling he began crying and smiling at the same time.
I became interested in Hondo when a dear friend of mine, whom I met at the women's prayer meeting at the Pilgrim Congregational Church, became a Polio victim. This was the time of the last Polio epidemic in the '50s. Polio ravaged the young every year following the most tragic onset of the crippling disease following the 1916 epidemic which left my mother an invalid. This final tragic episode of Polio left Mary, a lovely young wife and mother of three, completely paralyzed from her neck down.
I immediately signed up for their minimum one year of volunteer service just to be with Mary one full day every week. Since I had grown up with a Polio victim's special needs, I felt I was equipped to handle the dire situation of the moment. My wonderful neighbor, AnnaMae, new in the neighborhood, was there for me looking after my two kids when they came home from school. So together we served as 'volunteers' each in our own way.
Each visit Mary was so despondent, even though she had a wonderful husband and family that stood by her. I had been informed each time of my arrival of her negative feelings and asked to push her to try the steps to get out of the iron lung. "Mary, I hear you won't even try the rocking bed. Come on, You can do this." I was thankful to visit with other patients throughout the day who were more positive thinking, but would always check with her in between to try to cheer her up. It didn't always work.
'Lo and behold, the following week I was greeted with a smiling Mary from her rocking-bed. Weeks later, with the same routine of egging her on to try new things, she would graduate to moments of sitting up in a wheelchair and 'frog-breathing' which was pretty scary, I'm sure. You've probably seen this demonstrated by the late Christopher Reed who showed great positive thinking until the last.
By the end of the year, Mary was being prepared to go home. She was learning 'short-wave radio' along with painting and drawing using her mouth. She did finally return home to her husband and children, and busied herself with her new learned skills. The last I heard she had a forth child and was becoming well known over her radio broadcasts.
Wouldn't you know, just a few short years ago, my only sister found herself hospitalized and also temporarily paralyzed so she couldn't move her limbs unless manually moved by an assistant. What did I do when I saw her after flying to her side in San Jose's hospital? That's right, I gave her a pedicure, painted her toenails a lovely shade of blue. After all, she could see her toes just fine.
I'm thankful to say, that with fine doctors, a loving husband, children, grandkids and extended family, my sister has totally recovered. We laugh about my rushing to her side to give her a pedicure. Hey, maybe it was somewhat of a cure after all?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Backpacking and Route Home
Writing about the beginning of my escape from Greece in my first part of this backpacking tale, I promised to finish telling what thereafter transpired. So, here goes. I had quickly paid my bill at the hostel first thing in the morning, packed my things and headed for the bus to the Athens International Airport. Frantically, I informed them I was leaving now for Rome instead of my ticket date of the next day. The girl at the counter rushed me through, because the plane was already loading.
I had a window seat and watched in horror as suitcases being sent down a moving incline to the plane began bunching together. One by one pieces of luggage began falling about 20 feet to the tarmac, then crashing open and their contents spilling out. Luckily, I didn't see my suitcase in the mess. The conveyor belt was stopped, the pile-up of suitcases straightened out and the rest, including mine, were safely added to the plane's hold. Within a very short time we were in the air headed for Rome.
Believe me, I prayed I wouldn't have anyone sitting next to me on the flight from Rome to New York. Once we landed in Rome and began loading the passengers who would fly with us on to New York, the seat next to me remained empty. Thank God. Whoops! I sighed as I looked out my window. All of a sudden a robust, Catholic Priest plunked down next to me with a huge smile and a handshake. Needless to say, sitting there in my Levis and sweatshirt, with my backpack at my feet, I was not a happy camper. After all, I was raised in the Episcopal Church.
It took a few minutes for Father Farrell to settle into his seat and get his belt tightened over his girth. I began reading the in-flight magazine and he stopped to pray, I guess. Soon the stewardess was offering earphones. I deferred, because I only had drachmas in my pocket. Father Farrell said, "I'll pay for them, because I want to watch the movie. You can use them to listen to music until then," and he plunked them on my tray. The arrangement worked fine. Next our lunch trays were brought. Father Farrell reached back and forth between our two trays, putting meat and veggies on his and all the deserts on mine. "There. I'm Diabetic and fat, you're young and thin," and that arrangement also worked just fine. I was beginning to enjoy my flight after all.
Before we landed we had become well acquainted. He had been the Priest who made arrangements for Americans to meet with the Pope and was now retiring back to his New York parish. "They say I should've been a Baptist," he said, "because I always have candy for the little ones at Sunday School." And, just as we were getting off the plane, he added: "You really should go see the 'Rockettes.' I certainly plan to." We parted then, but having exchanged addresses and phone numbers kept in touch for years until he passed away. What a wonderful friend I had found.
There's more of course. In haste, the counter girl in Greece had only booked me as far as New York, although my original ticket was all the way to Los Angeles. The next plane to LA would be the following morning providing there was a 'no show' and I had no money and nowhere to stay. I sat on the floor next to the check-in desk. Finally, tired of me complaining, they gave me vouchers: bus to the hotel, a single room for the night, dinner and breakfast, then a bus back to the airport. Whew!
Soon after retiring, there was a knock on my door. "Hey, let me in. I'm the bartender and I just got off work." I didn't even breath. Didn't say a word. He finally went away. Actually, I slept well, my 'wake up call' came early, dressed, had breakfast and made it to the airport on time. There I waited at the check-in desk for a 'no show' and that didn't happen. "Sorry, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. All flights are booked to LA." I had no choice but to go into action. "I don't have any money. No place to stay the night. Not my fault that I wasn't booked all the way through to LA," and I said it all loudly. "Just a minute. Looks like we do have a 'no show' in first class. Here's your ticket. You can board now."
I was next to the last person to board. I had the isle seat. The last person was a tall man carrying a custom pool-cue case with gold letters 'JA' and he looked very wealthy. I got up for him to sit at the window: "Why don't you sit at the window?" he said. "I travel this route all the time. I'll sit on the isle." I did. He did. In a few moments we were in flight and I could see the Statue of Liberty? No, wrong side of the plane.
'JA' was reading a script for Gun Smoke. I wondered, who is this important person? "Say, don't you ever go to the movies?" He looked perturbed. "Sure," I said. He frowned, "Did you see the movie, Poseidon Adventure?" "Sure." "Well, I almost won an award for playing Shelly Winter's husband." About that time, a very handsome man (found out he was well known on the horse-racing circuit) leaned across the isle. "What's the matter Jack, met someone who doesn't know who you are?" After that we were are great friends for the whole trip.
Still in my Levis, I probably looked like a 'flower child' (no one ever believed I was 40) and I mentioned I would need to borrow a coin for the payphone, because I only had drachmas and would need to get my transportation back to Claremont taken care of. Jack Albertson reached into his pocket. "Here's a dime for the phone call and a dollar just in case you need it. Come see me on the stage in Odd Fellows next month." As we stepped onto the tarmac, the guy I'd met across the isle, caught up with me. "What a cheap guy. Here's a twenty." I said I'd pay him back. "That's a deal. I'll come take you to dinner one night." And he did. It was a short, but enjoyable friendship.
I did go to LA to see the stage play Odd Fellows. Afterwards, I went back stage. "You can't come back stage. Sorry." noted the guard at the steps. "Just tell Jack Albertson there's a lady here with a dollar and a dime." Jack did welcome me. I did repay him and we had a good laugh. I might add that he was one of those rare actors who had been married for many years and was totally in love with his wife. What a wonderful man. What a nice coincidence, on my travels home, after my first backpacking trip to Europe.
I had a window seat and watched in horror as suitcases being sent down a moving incline to the plane began bunching together. One by one pieces of luggage began falling about 20 feet to the tarmac, then crashing open and their contents spilling out. Luckily, I didn't see my suitcase in the mess. The conveyor belt was stopped, the pile-up of suitcases straightened out and the rest, including mine, were safely added to the plane's hold. Within a very short time we were in the air headed for Rome.
Believe me, I prayed I wouldn't have anyone sitting next to me on the flight from Rome to New York. Once we landed in Rome and began loading the passengers who would fly with us on to New York, the seat next to me remained empty. Thank God. Whoops! I sighed as I looked out my window. All of a sudden a robust, Catholic Priest plunked down next to me with a huge smile and a handshake. Needless to say, sitting there in my Levis and sweatshirt, with my backpack at my feet, I was not a happy camper. After all, I was raised in the Episcopal Church.
It took a few minutes for Father Farrell to settle into his seat and get his belt tightened over his girth. I began reading the in-flight magazine and he stopped to pray, I guess. Soon the stewardess was offering earphones. I deferred, because I only had drachmas in my pocket. Father Farrell said, "I'll pay for them, because I want to watch the movie. You can use them to listen to music until then," and he plunked them on my tray. The arrangement worked fine. Next our lunch trays were brought. Father Farrell reached back and forth between our two trays, putting meat and veggies on his and all the deserts on mine. "There. I'm Diabetic and fat, you're young and thin," and that arrangement also worked just fine. I was beginning to enjoy my flight after all.
Before we landed we had become well acquainted. He had been the Priest who made arrangements for Americans to meet with the Pope and was now retiring back to his New York parish. "They say I should've been a Baptist," he said, "because I always have candy for the little ones at Sunday School." And, just as we were getting off the plane, he added: "You really should go see the 'Rockettes.' I certainly plan to." We parted then, but having exchanged addresses and phone numbers kept in touch for years until he passed away. What a wonderful friend I had found.
There's more of course. In haste, the counter girl in Greece had only booked me as far as New York, although my original ticket was all the way to Los Angeles. The next plane to LA would be the following morning providing there was a 'no show' and I had no money and nowhere to stay. I sat on the floor next to the check-in desk. Finally, tired of me complaining, they gave me vouchers: bus to the hotel, a single room for the night, dinner and breakfast, then a bus back to the airport. Whew!
Soon after retiring, there was a knock on my door. "Hey, let me in. I'm the bartender and I just got off work." I didn't even breath. Didn't say a word. He finally went away. Actually, I slept well, my 'wake up call' came early, dressed, had breakfast and made it to the airport on time. There I waited at the check-in desk for a 'no show' and that didn't happen. "Sorry, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. All flights are booked to LA." I had no choice but to go into action. "I don't have any money. No place to stay the night. Not my fault that I wasn't booked all the way through to LA," and I said it all loudly. "Just a minute. Looks like we do have a 'no show' in first class. Here's your ticket. You can board now."
I was next to the last person to board. I had the isle seat. The last person was a tall man carrying a custom pool-cue case with gold letters 'JA' and he looked very wealthy. I got up for him to sit at the window: "Why don't you sit at the window?" he said. "I travel this route all the time. I'll sit on the isle." I did. He did. In a few moments we were in flight and I could see the Statue of Liberty? No, wrong side of the plane.
'JA' was reading a script for Gun Smoke. I wondered, who is this important person? "Say, don't you ever go to the movies?" He looked perturbed. "Sure," I said. He frowned, "Did you see the movie, Poseidon Adventure?" "Sure." "Well, I almost won an award for playing Shelly Winter's husband." About that time, a very handsome man (found out he was well known on the horse-racing circuit) leaned across the isle. "What's the matter Jack, met someone who doesn't know who you are?" After that we were are great friends for the whole trip.
Still in my Levis, I probably looked like a 'flower child' (no one ever believed I was 40) and I mentioned I would need to borrow a coin for the payphone, because I only had drachmas and would need to get my transportation back to Claremont taken care of. Jack Albertson reached into his pocket. "Here's a dime for the phone call and a dollar just in case you need it. Come see me on the stage in Odd Fellows next month." As we stepped onto the tarmac, the guy I'd met across the isle, caught up with me. "What a cheap guy. Here's a twenty." I said I'd pay him back. "That's a deal. I'll come take you to dinner one night." And he did. It was a short, but enjoyable friendship.
I did go to LA to see the stage play Odd Fellows. Afterwards, I went back stage. "You can't come back stage. Sorry." noted the guard at the steps. "Just tell Jack Albertson there's a lady here with a dollar and a dime." Jack did welcome me. I did repay him and we had a good laugh. I might add that he was one of those rare actors who had been married for many years and was totally in love with his wife. What a wonderful man. What a nice coincidence, on my travels home, after my first backpacking trip to Europe.
Backpacking and the Greek Isles
Finally, I reached the Greek Island of Santorini (Thera of ancient times) and stayed for several days. There was a simple, although more vigorous way to reach the top of the cliffs. So rather than the expense of hiring a donkey, I managed the plain old foot-path way and the view as I climbed higher and higher was well worth the effort.
As seen from the ships that pass the island, the buildings seemed carved from a huge white marble slab. On closer examination, they are of concrete whitewashed annually and rounded, without a squared line anywhere in sight. Absolutely beautiful with lush greenery and brilliant flowers, like jewels here and there. Once you have meandered out of the business district and hostels, the houses are dotted here and there with farming evident. Other than tourism, these resident families generally depend on income from the men who are employed by the Greek ship building industry.
It's been years since I was on the island. I see from current brochures that it has built a more posh tourist business, so I probably would not want to go back. I loved the fact, while there, that it had just a small town atmosphere with friendly people. I should clarify 'friendly' with this next tale of one evening with a group of fellow backpackers and a local young Greek gentleman willing to show us a bit of their culture. We were escorted to a small family-cafe inland and enjoyed a fine Greek dinner followed by a small group of musicians playing Greek music.
Suddenly, a young couple began dancing (I was told brother and sister since they still followed the custom of single women not allowed to be seen with a single man). When they left the dancing and returned to their seats, some people began throwing clean plates that broke into pieces, with much noise and applause. I got so excited. I didn't have a plate to throw, so I threw my wine glass. As it broke among the plates scattered across the floor, the applause and music stopped. It was evident what I had done was not a bit appreciated by anyone in the room.
Immediately, our Greek gentleman quickly pulled me into the kitchen and my friends scooted out the front door. The music began once again, only this time chairs were crashing to the floor and a fist fight had begun in the dining room among the broken dishes and my broken glass. The owners, a middle aged couple, blocked the kitchen door to the dining room and tried to cheer me up saying everything would be alright, that they knew I didn't know their custom (according to my interpreter).
The four of us began doing a Greek dance around the kitchen to the music and clamor in the next room before my Greek friend whisked me out the back door, onto his motorcycle and safely returned me to my hostel. It turns out, the plate throwing is only done by a tribe to compliment their own. If anyone outside of that tribe throws a plate (never a glass) it is a reason to start a fight, which they enjoy. That's why this custom was outlawed throughout Greece and only shown as an 'old custom' to entertain tourists at big hotels in the city. This was an island and they had their own rules.
Aw, but wonderful experiences were there for me on Thera. I was allowed a private tour of an ancient city, once buried in ash and carefully being excavated, to watch how gently ash is brushed from old relics, cobble-stone streets, wall murals. The volcano eruption of years ago that buried Pompii also broke Thera into two pieces, the smaller the shape of a crescent moon and what is now Santorini. The Greeks believe they have uncovered 'The City of Atlantis' and the major findings have now been placed in the Greek Museum of History.
As noted in earlier posts, I mostly wear sandals if it's not wise to go barefoot. I went hiking with my two room mates on a sunny afternoon far above the city being uncovered. We decided to go down what looked to be the easiest route, down over volcanic ash. Bad decision. Halfway down the slope I was slipping and sliding in sandals with sharp stickers in my bare skin. I could go no further.
One friend, a young sturdy woman who taught skiing in Switzerland, just put me on her back and carried me down the rest of the way. Amazing strength, I felt she'd just saved my life. The next day was her birthday. I decided to treat her to breakfast at a little cafe nearby where later in the day Greek men congregated to play games and commiserate no doubt. By now, the cafe owner knew who we were and when I told him it was her birthday he brought us glasses of Cognac at 8:am in the morning. Talk about amazing!
It was time to return to Athens, as the weather was getting much cooler. I had borrowed jackets and sweaters from friends and they too were heading to their homes in other countries. I shall always remember Thera and it was a topic of conversation with the Greek Ambassador's wife while in Kuwait as a newspaper reporter during the 1990's. I will relate the completion of my backpacking trip to Europe in another post, and believe me, there are more surprises in my 'escape' from Greece to Rome to New York and finally Los Angeles and home.
As seen from the ships that pass the island, the buildings seemed carved from a huge white marble slab. On closer examination, they are of concrete whitewashed annually and rounded, without a squared line anywhere in sight. Absolutely beautiful with lush greenery and brilliant flowers, like jewels here and there. Once you have meandered out of the business district and hostels, the houses are dotted here and there with farming evident. Other than tourism, these resident families generally depend on income from the men who are employed by the Greek ship building industry.
It's been years since I was on the island. I see from current brochures that it has built a more posh tourist business, so I probably would not want to go back. I loved the fact, while there, that it had just a small town atmosphere with friendly people. I should clarify 'friendly' with this next tale of one evening with a group of fellow backpackers and a local young Greek gentleman willing to show us a bit of their culture. We were escorted to a small family-cafe inland and enjoyed a fine Greek dinner followed by a small group of musicians playing Greek music.
Suddenly, a young couple began dancing (I was told brother and sister since they still followed the custom of single women not allowed to be seen with a single man). When they left the dancing and returned to their seats, some people began throwing clean plates that broke into pieces, with much noise and applause. I got so excited. I didn't have a plate to throw, so I threw my wine glass. As it broke among the plates scattered across the floor, the applause and music stopped. It was evident what I had done was not a bit appreciated by anyone in the room.
Immediately, our Greek gentleman quickly pulled me into the kitchen and my friends scooted out the front door. The music began once again, only this time chairs were crashing to the floor and a fist fight had begun in the dining room among the broken dishes and my broken glass. The owners, a middle aged couple, blocked the kitchen door to the dining room and tried to cheer me up saying everything would be alright, that they knew I didn't know their custom (according to my interpreter).
The four of us began doing a Greek dance around the kitchen to the music and clamor in the next room before my Greek friend whisked me out the back door, onto his motorcycle and safely returned me to my hostel. It turns out, the plate throwing is only done by a tribe to compliment their own. If anyone outside of that tribe throws a plate (never a glass) it is a reason to start a fight, which they enjoy. That's why this custom was outlawed throughout Greece and only shown as an 'old custom' to entertain tourists at big hotels in the city. This was an island and they had their own rules.
Aw, but wonderful experiences were there for me on Thera. I was allowed a private tour of an ancient city, once buried in ash and carefully being excavated, to watch how gently ash is brushed from old relics, cobble-stone streets, wall murals. The volcano eruption of years ago that buried Pompii also broke Thera into two pieces, the smaller the shape of a crescent moon and what is now Santorini. The Greeks believe they have uncovered 'The City of Atlantis' and the major findings have now been placed in the Greek Museum of History.
As noted in earlier posts, I mostly wear sandals if it's not wise to go barefoot. I went hiking with my two room mates on a sunny afternoon far above the city being uncovered. We decided to go down what looked to be the easiest route, down over volcanic ash. Bad decision. Halfway down the slope I was slipping and sliding in sandals with sharp stickers in my bare skin. I could go no further.
One friend, a young sturdy woman who taught skiing in Switzerland, just put me on her back and carried me down the rest of the way. Amazing strength, I felt she'd just saved my life. The next day was her birthday. I decided to treat her to breakfast at a little cafe nearby where later in the day Greek men congregated to play games and commiserate no doubt. By now, the cafe owner knew who we were and when I told him it was her birthday he brought us glasses of Cognac at 8:am in the morning. Talk about amazing!
It was time to return to Athens, as the weather was getting much cooler. I had borrowed jackets and sweaters from friends and they too were heading to their homes in other countries. I shall always remember Thera and it was a topic of conversation with the Greek Ambassador's wife while in Kuwait as a newspaper reporter during the 1990's. I will relate the completion of my backpacking trip to Europe in another post, and believe me, there are more surprises in my 'escape' from Greece to Rome to New York and finally Los Angeles and home.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Backpacking Through Italy
In the first writing of my backpacking trip to Europe, half a lifetime before, I have given you the beginning and ending of my adventure. Now I'll share with you the really exciting, fun, wonderful moments that ran throughout this first daring 'all by myself' journey.
My trip to Europe spanned from August through October, which I'd read would be less crowded with tourists, and as I traveled that turned out to be true. Landing in Rome was indeed awesome, flying in over the Vatican and roof-top gardens on ancient buildings, along busy cobblestone streets. I headed for the closest pensione noted in my travel book and settled in. It was a very tiny private room, with a washbasin and the communal toilet just down the hall. No bath or shower, so I had to manage with my small sink, but I was up to it just to be in Rome.
Over my month and a half stay in Italy I traveled by bus and train from the toe of the boot all the way up to Venice. I followed the life of Michelangelo to every possible corner. Climbed up and around the Leaning Tower of Pisa and found it was much smaller than I had imagined. The Sistine Chapel Ceiling was outrageously beautiful and that was before the restoration. I felt weak in my knees looking up and finally sat on the floor for quite some time wishing I could just lay on my back for hours in admiration of the work of art. Seeing the Statue of David also took my breath away, and the hundreds of marble statues throughout Italy were incredible. I especially was enthralled with Michelangelo's unfinished piece where it appeared the man was literally climbing from within the block of marble. Fantastic!
I had one after-dark tour of the Tivoli Gardens with lush plantings draped along massive stepped plantings that had been threaded with tiny electric lights for night viewing. I had opted for 'art as food for soul' rather than money for food. Lost a few pounds, felt wonderfully full of new found energy. Yes, I tossed coins in many fountains and when no one was looking even dipped my bare feet in one fountain after walking miles. Thinking of food, I managed most meals on fresh fruits and vegetables stopping for a pastry once in a while with a cup of tea. Remember, I travel on the cheap. I meet the real people.
One aside you might enjoy me sharing: I had read that women were often pinched on the butt as tourists. In order to fit in with the locals I opted not to shave my legs or underarms. Very 'bohemian' and very Italian at the time. I was never pinched on the butt. Besides, I found that at 5'7" I was taller than most Italian men and my size 8 shoe was probably bigger than theirs. I did 'hitch-hike' from Venice out to Burano the island of lace making, and Murano the famous island of glass blowing, generally in a very small motor craft.
I finally decided to head for Greece on a moments notice, the way I generally like to travel. That's how my suitcase was left behind at the dock. Three weeks later the suitcase caught up with me, sorry to say, and I had to lug it around once again. My greatest travel lesson, pack only what you absolutely need to pack. I ended up generally wearing the same half dozen outfits again and again, which certainly fit in my backpack alone. Another travel hint that I obeyed, "leave your expensive jewelry at home."
Arriving by ship to the port outside Athens, brought us through a very narrow passage with high cliffs to either side and armed Greek military guards standing along the edge with their high-powered rifles and looking very stern in deed. You could almost touch the walls of the passage from the deck of the ship by leaning over close. The ship had to enter this space with engines cut way back so we were sort of drifting.
I had read, in my little travel book, that the best place to spend my first night would be the YWCA, where someone would speak English, the dorm-style rooms were clean and orderly, you could shower and do some laundry and the cafeteria buffet-style was decent. I stayed and recouped before heading out on my own the next day.
I did find that as an American female I could have a free-lunch just by walking by the sidewalk restaurants near the ruins. A Greek man would offer me a seat at his table, always one who did speak a little English: "Now that you've had lunch, would you accompany me to my flat/" I would show surprise at such a question and adamantly reply. "Thank you for lunch, but no." "That's alright, my friends have seen you dining with me and will believe you have fulfilled my wish. That's enough for me." Well, what do you expect? Of course, there is such a thing as 'a free lunch' if you plan carefully.
As in Italy, I went to every ruin I could get to by bus or train. I met delightful people along the way, others who were backpacking. We would join together from time to time which allowed me to enjoy some after dark outings at small restaurants on various Greek Islands. Passing from one island to the next by boat I paid for the lower level, because it was cheapest. There were no women and the men looked a bit scary. I managed to talk the 'gate-keeper of the stairs' to let me go up top. He allowed me to escape and the view from that level was gorgeous. From Mykonos to Crete we passed an island that had steep cliffs where donkeys were carrying passengers and luggage up zig-zag trails. Our boat didn't stop there, but I was told this was the Island of Santorini I knew I had to return. Once on Crete I announced I would like to catch the next boat back that very night. "Sorry, you'll have to wait until morning. No more boats tonight."
I soon found a small pensione where I could stay the night. I decided to take a walk out through the vineyards. A wagon being pulled by a horse stopped in front of me. There were two men riding atop piles of freshly picked grapes, with two women children walking alongside. One of the men reached back into the wagon and handed me a huge bunch of beautiful grapes, saluted me, then they went on their way. The sun was just setting and it had become a serendipity that I had to remain for that night.
I did catch the morning boat to Thera after a cup of very strong coffee thick with grounds. The night before at the pensione an Italian couple shared a special drink with me, apparently some grapes are buried in the ground to rot over time before being made into this very pungent drink. A couple sips is guaranteed to give you a very good night's sleep. I'll save my stay on Thera for the next part.
My trip to Europe spanned from August through October, which I'd read would be less crowded with tourists, and as I traveled that turned out to be true. Landing in Rome was indeed awesome, flying in over the Vatican and roof-top gardens on ancient buildings, along busy cobblestone streets. I headed for the closest pensione noted in my travel book and settled in. It was a very tiny private room, with a washbasin and the communal toilet just down the hall. No bath or shower, so I had to manage with my small sink, but I was up to it just to be in Rome.
Over my month and a half stay in Italy I traveled by bus and train from the toe of the boot all the way up to Venice. I followed the life of Michelangelo to every possible corner. Climbed up and around the Leaning Tower of Pisa and found it was much smaller than I had imagined. The Sistine Chapel Ceiling was outrageously beautiful and that was before the restoration. I felt weak in my knees looking up and finally sat on the floor for quite some time wishing I could just lay on my back for hours in admiration of the work of art. Seeing the Statue of David also took my breath away, and the hundreds of marble statues throughout Italy were incredible. I especially was enthralled with Michelangelo's unfinished piece where it appeared the man was literally climbing from within the block of marble. Fantastic!
I had one after-dark tour of the Tivoli Gardens with lush plantings draped along massive stepped plantings that had been threaded with tiny electric lights for night viewing. I had opted for 'art as food for soul' rather than money for food. Lost a few pounds, felt wonderfully full of new found energy. Yes, I tossed coins in many fountains and when no one was looking even dipped my bare feet in one fountain after walking miles. Thinking of food, I managed most meals on fresh fruits and vegetables stopping for a pastry once in a while with a cup of tea. Remember, I travel on the cheap. I meet the real people.
One aside you might enjoy me sharing: I had read that women were often pinched on the butt as tourists. In order to fit in with the locals I opted not to shave my legs or underarms. Very 'bohemian' and very Italian at the time. I was never pinched on the butt. Besides, I found that at 5'7" I was taller than most Italian men and my size 8 shoe was probably bigger than theirs. I did 'hitch-hike' from Venice out to Burano the island of lace making, and Murano the famous island of glass blowing, generally in a very small motor craft.
I finally decided to head for Greece on a moments notice, the way I generally like to travel. That's how my suitcase was left behind at the dock. Three weeks later the suitcase caught up with me, sorry to say, and I had to lug it around once again. My greatest travel lesson, pack only what you absolutely need to pack. I ended up generally wearing the same half dozen outfits again and again, which certainly fit in my backpack alone. Another travel hint that I obeyed, "leave your expensive jewelry at home."
Arriving by ship to the port outside Athens, brought us through a very narrow passage with high cliffs to either side and armed Greek military guards standing along the edge with their high-powered rifles and looking very stern in deed. You could almost touch the walls of the passage from the deck of the ship by leaning over close. The ship had to enter this space with engines cut way back so we were sort of drifting.
I had read, in my little travel book, that the best place to spend my first night would be the YWCA, where someone would speak English, the dorm-style rooms were clean and orderly, you could shower and do some laundry and the cafeteria buffet-style was decent. I stayed and recouped before heading out on my own the next day.
I did find that as an American female I could have a free-lunch just by walking by the sidewalk restaurants near the ruins. A Greek man would offer me a seat at his table, always one who did speak a little English: "Now that you've had lunch, would you accompany me to my flat/" I would show surprise at such a question and adamantly reply. "Thank you for lunch, but no." "That's alright, my friends have seen you dining with me and will believe you have fulfilled my wish. That's enough for me." Well, what do you expect? Of course, there is such a thing as 'a free lunch' if you plan carefully.
As in Italy, I went to every ruin I could get to by bus or train. I met delightful people along the way, others who were backpacking. We would join together from time to time which allowed me to enjoy some after dark outings at small restaurants on various Greek Islands. Passing from one island to the next by boat I paid for the lower level, because it was cheapest. There were no women and the men looked a bit scary. I managed to talk the 'gate-keeper of the stairs' to let me go up top. He allowed me to escape and the view from that level was gorgeous. From Mykonos to Crete we passed an island that had steep cliffs where donkeys were carrying passengers and luggage up zig-zag trails. Our boat didn't stop there, but I was told this was the Island of Santorini I knew I had to return. Once on Crete I announced I would like to catch the next boat back that very night. "Sorry, you'll have to wait until morning. No more boats tonight."
I soon found a small pensione where I could stay the night. I decided to take a walk out through the vineyards. A wagon being pulled by a horse stopped in front of me. There were two men riding atop piles of freshly picked grapes, with two women children walking alongside. One of the men reached back into the wagon and handed me a huge bunch of beautiful grapes, saluted me, then they went on their way. The sun was just setting and it had become a serendipity that I had to remain for that night.
I did catch the morning boat to Thera after a cup of very strong coffee thick with grounds. The night before at the pensione an Italian couple shared a special drink with me, apparently some grapes are buried in the ground to rot over time before being made into this very pungent drink. A couple sips is guaranteed to give you a very good night's sleep. I'll save my stay on Thera for the next part.
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