Calling All Vicarious Travelers

Because I used to do my “blogging” using unreliable email, many of the emails are missing. Including ALL of the ill-fated trip to the Southwest in 2001. If you have the emails, please forward them to me, OK?

Thanks

A Real-Life Guide to Travel in Peru, January 2007

Okay, we’ve been here over a week so now we are experts. Here are some things we’ve learned that we pass on to you.

By all means, come to Peru. It is a land of incredible beauty, history, spirituality, art, and friendly people.

Don’t worry too much about Spanish. You’ll pick it up. Many people here speak some English and are only too glad to help you.

Bring sunscreen. You will not find the good stuff in Peru.

Also bring Diamox for altitude sickness and something for ‘turista’. No matter how hard you try, you will most likely get a case of it for at least a day. Jenny, Caitlin, and I all had our day. It’s just too damned hard to live without fruit and vegetables in a country where the fruit and vegetables are so luscious.

Street vendors are everywhere and, at least in Cusco, may not speak Spanish. ‘Manon’ is no in Quechuan.

If a street vendor sees you more than once you become their new best amigo. They will follow you everywhere. You are USUALLY safe in your hotel.

DO NOT GET YOUR SHOES SHINED. Despite their claims, you can’t shine suede. The shoe shine boys are the worst scam and will confuse you to get more money. I know this vicariously only, I did not get my suede shoes shined.

Street vendors sell everything for more than the price you will pay in the markets.

If you go to Cusco, TAKE THE CITY TOUR FIRST. You will gain valuable information, see interesting things, and it only costs $6 to $10 per person.

PERU RAIL SUCKS. There. I said it. That said, take it to Aguas Caliente and then go to Machu Pichu. DO NOT MISS MACHU PICHU.

Hydrate. You can buy agua mineral sin gas (bottled water) on every street corner in the whole country I think. Buy it and drink it. Especially at altitude.

Spend the night in Aguas Caliente. We didn’t but I wish we had. Machu Pichu is lower than Cuscu and Aguas Caliente is even lower. It felt so good to feel good for a few hours. Plus there are hot springs. I could use some hot springs about now.

GO TO THE TEXTILE MUSEUM. 603 Avenida del Sol, Cusco. Two soles by taxi from the Plaza.

Good taxis in Cusco have a yellow and black checkerboard on the sided and a green diamond shaped sticker on the windshield. Do not take any others.

Good taxis in Lima have a sticker with a number and the word sentimo (?) on them. Again, no others. Happy taxi is a safe taxi to call.

If you like children, take pens and pencils. They will love you to death. Well, they will swarm you to death. If you don’t like children, don’t come to Peru. Most of the street vendors are children. Child labor laws appear to be non-existent.

In Lima, if you want, you can go to the museum of the Inquisition. We took a pass.

If you need electricity for any reason, you will need an A plug and a B plug. AAA has them. We have one but not the other and cannot use the outlets in half the apartment. Standardization is non-existent in Peru according to Felipe.

If you can’t identify alpaca by touch, do not fall for claims of the vendors. Much that they sell is mostly synthetic. The spinners and weavers should do just fine but the rest of you need lessons. Free lessons on the Cusco city tour.

Try the anticucho, cebiche (but only in Lima and not from a street vendor), and the chife. Drink chicka. If you drink alcohol, have a Pisco Sour.

Be prepared for humidity in Lima. It is usually around 95%, in a city that gets only 3 cm of rain each year. However, there is a big pond west of Lima that supplies plenty of water to fuel the humidity. In the summer (now) the humidity can be 100%.  HYDRATE.

Be prepared for cold in Cusco. Even in the summer, the mountains are cold at night. Our hotel did not have heat but did have thick stone walls and wonderfully thick wool blankets.

Waving a walking stick at street vendors works sometimes. But do not hit them.

For some reason, my thumb drives are not working so this will be emailed from Houston. Live with it.

Try to come for at least three weeks. We don’t have enough time to see everything but we’re coming back. If possible, have a child marry a Peruvian.

There are internet cafes on every corner. Sometimes two or three. You will not be cut off. The one in Cusco charged $.60 per hour. Such a deal. However, wifi is not as easy to find.

Eat aji de gallina. Preferably at Chez Maggy in Cusco.

Thumb drive is now working. Off to the internet café.

Hasta la manana!
Susie and Jenny

Bones, Lots of Bones, January 2007

We started the day early with a bus tour of Lima, arranged by our son-in-law. Lima is an amazing place with pre-Incan pyramids in the middle of neighborhoods, four hundred year old cathedrals and Spanish palaces still in use, and an American embassy, naturally, that is deliberately larger than the Presidential palace. Although the palace does have guards, lots of them, with machine guns. There are also horse guards with swords…sort of useless, I fear, against the machine gun, but that is true of most of the history of Peru. The guys with the little ‘male member’, to quote my friend Roxie, have all the big guns. The guys who are the real men have no guns and a code of honor. So it goes.

One reason the Incans were wiped out was because the Inca (who is a person, not a group) told his soldiers not to harm the Spanish visitors. The Spanish, those of the little male member, had guns and decided to attack. They surrounded the Inca, preventing him from giving his guys permission to kill the invaders, so the Incan soldiers followed orders and were slaughtered. Oh, and of course there were the usual assortment of nasty European diseases to wipe out the rest of them. Wonder what Nuremburg would do with that one? Gives new meaning to “only following orders,” doesn’t it?

We toured the central area of Lima, an area we have been warned not to go alone as gringas. There is an amazing hotel, Hotel Bolivar, facing a statue of, yep, Bolivar. I believe this is the place my parents stayed when revolution broke out and there were executions in the square. The hotel used to be called Palace of the Dead but nobody wanted to stay there so now it is the Bolivar. I’ve heard it has the best Pisco Sours but who wants to drink at 10 am? Okay, I heard some of you say you did but no! You may not! That is just wrong! You must wait until lunch time.

This was followed by a tour of the Franciscan cathedral and the catacombs. Oh, dem bones. Little caves, small halls, low ceilings, a claustrophobe’s hell. And graves and graves and graves of bones. Rich folks had niches, and tombs, etc., but the poor went in the hole, so to speak, in this case a huge round mass grave full of bones. They used lime, so it doesn’t smell, for which I am eternally grateful.

After seeing miles of Moorish inspired tiles, about a zillion balconies (very big in Peru…not in size but in importance), and a Virgin who has 365 outfits and is dressed each day, we returned to a park named after a president I actually liked: Kennedy Park. It is so embarrassing to be out of the country and to have to learn to say “mi no gusto el Presidente Americano”. And have EVERYONE agree with you. Jenny also knows how to say he is evil and a robber and everyone agrees with her, too. How low our country has fallen, and the execution of Saddam Hussein just drags us further to the level of those who live by the sword.

We ate a lunch of Chife, sort of Chinese-Peruvian food. It was good, but different. Siesta time!

Caitlin and Felipe came for us about 4:30 and we went to the Indian Market with his grandmother.  With Abuela Pilar and Felipe doing the bargaining, we got some great prices on jewelry, textiles, and other fun things. Not that anything is very expensive here. Our apartment costs $30 a night with bedroom, kitchen, living room and dining room. An apartment is around $100 a month or so. Think about retiring here if you like friendly people, tropical climate, want to extend those pension dollars, and want to speak Spanish.

My Spanish is improving by leaps and bounds. It helps that I am not afraid to jump in and make a fool of myself. My theory is that if you choose the right verb, conjugating it properly is irrelevant. People still know what you mean and will help you. And charades can be fun. Our tour today was in both Spanish and English and I was surprised to find that I understood a great deal of the Spanish. Granted, I’m not ready for law school in Spanish but I don’t want to be a lawyer anyway. Too much arguing.

But I can order food that is NOT Mexican, I can dicker for bargains, I can talk about my family and ask people about theirs, I can find my way around, read signs and some other information, and basically survive in Spanish. All in one week. Pretty good, huh?

After Abuela Pilar saved us many dollars by getting the Peruvian price on things, we went to this great park overlooking the ocean. The park, it turns out, sits on top of a huge mall which is built into the side of a cliff overlooking the sea where we sat outside on a gigantic patio in the Peruvian equivalent of the food court. We ate anticucho (beef heart), chicken, papa relleno (Stuffed potato) and drank chicha, a corn drink that tastes sort of like grape juice but not as sweet. We did not drink the alcoholic chicha, just the regular kind. But I hope to bring home a bottle of Pisco for making Pisco Sours.

Now we are safely in our apartment, at about 9:15, totally ready to sleep. We fly out around midnight tomorrow so only have one more day to enjoy this country. But so far we have not been robbed, raped, ravaged, or too drunk to move. I may work on the last on the plane but only if they serve Pisco Sour.  Or I may just take sleeping pills. Either way, we will be home soon.

Also, keep the photojournalist kidnapped this week in your prayers. He is a good friend of Felipe’s father and Felipe also knows him well. Cristobal, Felipe’s dad, is a photojournalist who works in war zones and he did call yesterday to say he was okay. But this world is a scary place right now and a lot of it sits right in our collective American pocket. Pray that Cris’s friend is returned safely. And for all the troops and people on both sides of this quagmire. If you really need to work on forgiveness, as I do, pray for our President as well.

Did I mention that Senator Harry Reid, our new Senate majority leader, is in Cusco for a fact finding mission at Machu Pichu? Flew into Cusco in a big United States of America jet. Maybe he’s the reason the palace in Lima is surrounded by machine guns.

A Dios!

Susie and Jenny

Ola de Lima, January 2007

But first a few more words about Cusco now that my brain is no longer oxygen-starved. Plenty of air to breathe here on the Pacific but also plenty of water vapor. It is hot and humid.

The high point of Cusco, besides Cusco itself (11,000 feet), was the Cultural Museum of Textiles at 603 Avenida del Sol. This is a museum/workshop/store dedicated to preserving the traditional Andean weaving arts. I went there alone on Saturday (violating Felipe’s number one rule) (but I did take a safe taxi at all times) and took Jenny on Sunday. Men and women in traditional village dress sit around a large pole and weave on backstrap looms. The men work on larger pieces while the women were making smaller items, all beautiful and intricate. The work is all weft-faced and finger-controlled. While there are some shaft looms in the region, it is the men who use them.

Only a few of the people speak any English and some speak little Spanish. I was fortunate to have one young women with very good English who spoke all three to translate for me.

I did buy several pieces, as well as more p’huska and some more alpaca fiber. I did not realize that the smattering of weaving and spinning-related words I have managed to pick up are Quechuan, the language of the Incan people. At least now I know why the Spanish-speakers always looked at me weird.

I sat in the Plaza des Arnes for awhile, spinning in the Quechuan tradition very poorly, and many women came by and taught me their techniques. I am now producing a fine alpaca yarn with only occasional ‘wobble’ in the spindle. The technique is bottom whorl and many things are reversed. I did not see anyone using the Andean plying bracelet technique although they do a miniature version around their fingers while winding on and while plying. The spinners among you are welcome to a (clumsy) demonstration. The women were all amazed to see a gringa spinning on a spindle and had many questions. I muddled through in my week’s worth of Spanish and had some of the best interactions of the whole trip.

The spinners were also curious about the top whorl spindles I use. Fortunately, I had grabbed some at the last minute and handed them out. We had many laughs as I tried to spin Quechuan and they tried to spin top whorl. I also had to explain roving with no words for it. Charades was the only possible option but even then it was hard to explain this fiber preparation technique. I think that some of the women thought we just had clean, straight-haired sheep with wool several feet long.

Also in Cusco, we visited Qorichanka, an ancient Incan temple that was once covered in gold. Guess who got the gold. Juan Pizarro, brother of THE Pizarro, owned at one time both the hostel we were staying in and the Temple of the Sun. Guess who got the gold. He brought in the Dominicans and they immediately built a very ugly church over Qorichanka. Fortunately, a 17th century earthquake destroyed the church but the Temple of the Sun remained. The art is gone, except for an ugly oil mural of the life of St. Dominic. We were not allowed to photograph the oil but who wanted to? The temple itself is beautiful with masonry that we have not figured out how to duplicate. The stones are huge and fit perfectly with NO gaps. The design is trapezoidal which is proven to be earthquake proof. They cut the stones by drilling a series of holes with stone and bronze tools then filling the holes with wet wood. As the wood expanded, the stones, made mostly of basalt, split. How they moved them without the wheel is beyond me.

The Incas had amazing building skills, better mummification than the Egyptians, and an advanced system of “writing” involving cords with intricate knots of different colors. Naturally, the entire library of these ‘quipu’ were burned by the Spanish. There are times I just want to resign from the entire northern hemisphere. In fact, by American standards it is very cheap to live in Peru and we are entertaining moving here after we retire. Boy howdy would my Spanish ever get good or what?!?!? We would, of course, maintain a bedroom for all of you to visit. Not at the same time, of course.

While the Incas had an elaborate writing system, Peru sorely needs editors. We have purchased two books, both translations from Spanish, and there are so many errors. They clearly need another level of editing, just in English, after the translation occurs. I see my work cut out for me. But first my Spanish needs to include more than ‘No tengo mas dinero’ and ‘Donde es los banos’. I did wave a stick at some street vendors and that seemed to work.

As to my Spanish, last night we met Felipe’s grandparents and we were able to have interesting conversations about history, archaeology, geography, art, deforestation of the rain forest, and travel in our common language of Spanglish. Poor Felipe and Caitlin were, I’m afraid, used as human dictionaries. Pepe, the grandfather, grew up in Aerequipa, an intellectual center, and studied at Oxford. He has forgotten much spoken English from lack of use but he reads medical journals in English regularly. Oh, we also talked about medicine. At 86, he is still the director of the cardiac program in Peru. He is also very proud of his pisco, a traditional Peruvian liqueur made from grapes. Since this is the base of Pisco Sour, I was only too glad to sample. It was delicious.

To make a pisco sour:

Three parts pisco, two parts sugar water, one part lemon, egg white. Put in blender and let ‘er rip. Garnish with a drop of cinnamon. I may try to bring some Pisco home just for this purpose.

Felipe’s grandmother is gracious and friendly and we also had many interesting conversations. It was she who gave me the pisco sour instructions. We spent a lovely afternoon and evening with them and today will meet them again after our bus tour of Lima. We felt welcomed into their family and were also visited by Felipe’s aunt Pilarica, her husband Gustavo, and children Alejandro and Joanna. Joanna lives in Park City, UT and is marrying a gringo in February.

As far as I can make out, there are only two traffic rules in Peru: a) Threaten to hit other cars and pedestrians and stop short of actually hitting them, but only by inches, and b) Do not honk on red. It is okay to honk at all other times. Felipe actually told us this.

Today we will take a bus tour of Lima in the morning. More later.

Oh, on day two we toured the Sacred Valley of the Incas. Due to my fall in the man-made hole, and the fact that there was nothing to breathe, we did not climb to the top of Ollantaytombo. Instead, we sat in a plaza and Jenny handed out mechanical pencils to the children. (This was a marvelous suggestion from Becky, Jenny’s sister. Thanks Becky!) They did not know how to use them so I first said Mi lama Susan (I am called Susan- while I am a spelling Nazi in English, I have no real sense of Spanish spelling yet) and then demonstrated in my journal by writing Susan ß mi nombre. The children all then wrote their names, including the arrow and mi nombre. What a great souvenir. We also gave out Bic pens, another great conversation starter. But it did have people swarming around us like fish in Hawaii. However, I am not afraid of people while I am afraid of fish.

Well, Jenny is awake and we want to get some breakfast before our tour so I must end this.

Hasta la huego            !

Susie and Jenny

PS. While Felipe’s family struggles with English just as I struggle with Spanish, it is the common words that stump us. Words like syncretism and inundation are easily understood by both. What’s that about?

PPS. Maggie, remember to feed Sophie. We know she is evil but dead cats stink up the house.

¡Vamos Peru!, December 2007

Twenty-nine hours, no sleep, and two long layovers later, we are in Peru. The flights (all three of them) were uneventful but exhausting. We spent four hours in the George W. Bush International airport in Houston, my least favorite airport for obvious reasons. What fool decided to name an airport after an idiot? Tom Delay? It does not inspire confidence in this flyer, and I must fight all inclinations to demand an independent audit of the maintenance on all Continental flights because of it. Despite the fact that Houston is a main hub for Continental, I really like Continental. Of course, any airline that isn?t Northwest is fine with me.

We did spend the night in the Lima airport, not the great adventure I expected for my 55th birthday. We mostly sat on singularly uncomfortable chairs at a table in a food court that featured a McDonald?s, a Manos Morenos, a Dunkin? Donuts and a Papa Johns. We talked to fellow travelers, ate some chicken thing, drank Inka Cola (a yellowish sort of Mountain Dew), and looked at the clock a lot. Every fifteen minutes, a man would make us move so he could mop the floor. Very clean place, Lima Airport.

Finally we boarded LAN Peru flight 095 at 4:50 am bound for Airequipa and Cusco. Airequipa is in Southern Peru and we flew over an amazing canyon, deeper than the Grand Canyon and all brown. It is summer here and in Lima it was hot and humid. On the back of our LAN seats was this: Live Vest Under Seat. Sort of makes you worry about your feet. And since both my journal and my knitting disappeared, I believe they really did mean LIVE, not LIFE.  On the way to Cusco I started to worry about altitude sickness and by the time we landed I was prepared to be hospitalized as soon as they popped the cabin on the plane. But no, I was just slowed to a crawl, was so glad I brought my cane, and eager to get to bed. Two things I noticed: there are no machine guns in the plaza but lots of police all standing around talking to each other, and there is no air here. In fact, the minute we touched down in Cusco, my left sock popped off, affected I?m sure by the pure vacuum we are attempting to breathe.

On the drive into Cusco, we saw something called a ferreteria. I?m not sure, as it?s not in the Rough Guide Latin American Spanish phrasebook and dictionary, but I?m guessing it?s a place to eat ferrets. Pass.

We are staying at a hostel, the Sumac Wasi, just a half block off the main Plaza in Peru. It is bare bones but our hosts are fabulous, with probably the best service I have ever experienced and I?ve stayed in some 5 star US hotels over the years. And $32 a night is a very good price. It is actually a 400-year-old colonial mansion on a small cobblestone alley full of restaurants, travel agencies, shops, and potholes, many of which I have already found. I will probably break my ankle before this is over.

We checked in around 8 am, drank mate de coca tea, talked to Alfredo, our tour organizer for the next three days, chewed the coca leaves, and went to sleep for several hours. Around 4 pm, we set out to find some sopa for a light dinner to combat the altitude. An anoxic brain injury, no sleep, and now no air does not make the adjustment easy although we did manage to walk four blocks, haggle with street vendors, feed ourselves, and climb the stairs to our room. Where it is now 8 pm and I?m going to bed.

Across the street was the Wasi Grill, a very nice little spot with a fireplace and great lawa maiz (cream of maize soup ? does that take you back to middle school? Remember in geography how every country in Latin America had maize as its main crop? Of course, that was before cocaine, but still. Maize!) Tastes sort of blandly corn-ish. But the sopa had spinach in it as well and a half bowl filled me up. Jenny had a minestrone, in name only, that was fabulous.

Since I?d lost my journal, I wanted to go to a biblioteca to buy another one.  The minute we hit the Plaza, we were surrounded by women and young people selling everything from post cards to carved gourds, woven belts and watercolors. Naturally, the weaving interested me and the young woman gave us a demonstration of weaving on her backstrap loom. We ended up doing some bargaining and bought two woven belts, and the LOOM! I gave her a toy wheel drop spindle and she and another woman were fascinated with my spinning ?upside down? as the puzkas used here are all bottom whorl and I use top whorl. We also bought a couple of intricately carved gourds and some goodies for some of you. Total cash outlay? Probably $30. Including the loom. It feels somewhat exploitive to buy someone?s handiwork so cheaply but they follow you around begging and some of it is really quite lovely. Many of the vendors are just children, others are young women, some with babies on their backs, and others are early adolescent boys.

Jenny just pointed out that my bed is under a painting of a saint spinning wool. The spinning bed. How fitting as we are here partly to buy stock for Two Old Batts, our newly formed yarn and
fiber business.

Anyway, we haven?t drunk the water or the pisco, but are enjoying the coca tea. Tomorrow we go to the Sacred Valley, 2000 feet lower, and the market where I buy fiber and pizka. We may skip the ruins tomorrow unless there is more air to breathe. At 11,000 feet, this place is definitely heart-pounding.

Susan and Jenny

PS. Maggie? Did you feed the cat and bring in the mail?

Your Flight is Now Boarding, December 2006

Welcome aboard, Flight WTF-Are-They-Going-Now

We’re in the final countdown on our trip to Peru, a trip that almost didn’t
get off the ground. Literally.

Felipe, the much-adored son-in-law (although he has so far failed to provide
grandchildren) called yesterday. . .three days before liftoff. . .to tell us
that Peru is in turmoil and that we should come after the first which, of
course, we cannot do. His aunt, a Peruvian of a certain age, was abducted by
a taxi driver on Thursday in Lima and beaten and robbed. The streets are
full of thugs with guns. In Cusco, the tourist capitol of South America
because of Machu Picchu, the streets are also full of cops with guns. Because
it is the holidays, nobody is out on the streets but the tourists and the
bad guys. And the cops in Cusco.

We spent a frantic twelve hours trying to decide what to do and finally
agreed, with Felipe, that we could go to Cusco as long as we didn’t leave
our hotel without a guide. So I spent the day rearranging things so we go to
Cusco first, get back to Lima when Caitlin and Felipe do, and trying to find
a guide on the freaking Saturday before Christmas. But I did it. So we’re
going.

Then this morning, 68 hours before we leave, Jenny confesses that she
doesn’t know where her passport is and could she have the safe deposit box
keys. For obvious reasons, she does not get to be in charge of Things You
Should Not Lose. Her passport, BTW, was NOT in the safe deposit box. In the
future, I will be in charge of her passport. What, may I ask, is wrong with
keeping it in the underwear drawer?

She spent the day tearing the house apart, I spent the day fuming at her and
making Christmas presents for some of you and confirming reservations,
canceling reservations, changing reservations, and sending emails to Peru.

Finally, she finds the stupid passport. The trip is on again. My blood
pressure is falling. The wash is in the machine. I know as much Spanish as I
probably ever will know. Since all I can do is order Mexican food, and
Peruvians don’t eat Mexican food, I should be just fine. I probably will
unknowingly eat guinea pig, one of the national dishes. So it goes. You eat
one rodent, you eat them all. Don’t ask what rodent I’ve already eaten.

More later.

And if you don’t want to travel with us, let me know. Those who have taken
this trip before know what it’s like, but you virgins may be frightened. And
you should be.

Stream of my consciousness is always terrifying. Just wait until Tuesday
night when we spend the night in the Lima airport—my idea, of course. Every
woman in her fifties and/or sixties should spend at least one night camped
out in a foreign airport. Jenny is very worried that my spontaneous and
weird ideas will get us in trouble. I’m not. Besides, it will be my 55th
birthday when we get to Lima and I want to spend it sleeping in the airport.
Not to mention that I see no reason to leave the airport for the five hours
between flights and waste money on a hotel room in a big, strange city
populated by people with guns. All in a language I don’t speak. How the hell
am I even going to know if I’m being abducted? Unless they say bano, or taco
and enchilada, I’m sunk.

Oh, yeah. Why are we going to Peru anyway? Because Caitlin and Felipe are
there right now (well, in about two hours they’ll be there) and this is the
lesbian version of Meet the Fokkers with Jenny in the Barbra Streisand role
and me as Robin Williams. We are going to meet Felipe’s grandparents when we
get to Lima.

Anyway,

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Joyous Kwanzaa, Good Solstice and all……

See you in Peru.

Susan aka Susie aka Mom and Jenny aka Saint Jenny aka The Woman Who Loses
Everything

PS. I tried to make sure this got to all the women of Chrysalis and the
Portland Purls but I’m sure I missed some. Feel free to share. Also feel
free to write back.

Another PS. Jenny reminded me that when my mother went to South America, a
revolution broke out in every single country she visited (including Peru)
the day she got to it. Jenny thinks there may be a genetic predisposition to
tip the scales toward national unrest in third world countries. I think she
should just concentrate on keeping track of her passport.

Yet another PS. Jeanne, Becky S., and Connie: Please forward to the rest of
the family. I don’t have their email addresses. Thanks.

Athens Redux, May 2002

We spent the night on a ferry masquerading as a cruise ship.  A
wonderful way to travel as long as you don’t think about all the
people breathing all the air and using it all up. I tried not to.

We got into Pireas around 6 am but slept in until 7 and then took the
Metro to Athens. Arriving at our hotel, we discovered that Athens was
closed for Easter Monday and, because May Day came during Lent, it
was also closed the next day for May Day. With nothing to do, we
headed for the airport to a) change our tickets to leave earlier and
b) rent a car.

Mission accomplished, we decided to actually drive said car in
Athens.

A word about the Greek language.

Greek uses a different alphabet and all letters come in both big and
little forms. If you were in a sorority, as I was, you may know the
big letters. You probably don’t know the little ones. With a little
experimentation, you might discover that the thing that looks like a
small cursive r is really pi so it is pronounced p.  The thing that
looks like a p is really an r. The thing that looks like an upside
down v is really an l, the v is an n (I think), the triangle is a d,
and then there is the o with a – in the middle which is “th” and a
bunch of other stuff.  Now, Jenny is driving. We have rented a Fiat
Siencento (Italian for pieceofshit) and I am attempting to navigate
this thing through the streets of Athens. The street signs are mostly
non-existent. When you do find one, it is on the corner of a
building, whereever they could find space, it is small, it is blue,
it is in Greek with some smaller Roman letters underneath. And you
can only see the one which says which street you are on. You cannot
see the one on the cross street without going down that street which
you cannot do because they are all one way streets the wrong way.

Meanwhile, people are driving like maniacs, motorcycles are whizzing
by, I’m trying to translate Greek into Roman letters and then figure
out where we are on a map which has Roman letters but is missing most
of the streets. We are not having fun.  Athens is not on a grid.
Athens is not even square. Athens is a rats nest and we were the very
stupid rats. And the Acropolis, big as it is, will not stay in one
place long enough for you to triangulate and find your way home.

An interminable time later, we pulled into a parking place somewhere
near the Plaka and headed for lunch. An hour or so later, we returned
to our car. Which has had the window bashed in. Nothing important has
been stolen but there is glass everywhere. We call the rental people
and they say bring the car to someplace they claim is just a few
blocks away. You see where this is going?  We are now lost in Athens
in a broken car full of glass looking for an address we can’t find on
a street I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist. When we accidentally found
the place, we got a new car. We also got a bill for the window and
another charge for the 50 km we had driven trying to find the car
place.  Athens is becoming even less fun. (Are you counting? That’s
two rental cars which have now exacted their pound of flesh….)

Later: The oracle at Delphi…….

Susie and Jenny
— End forwarded message —

Somewhere in the Aegean, April 2002

We have been off in the Greek Islands, in Santorini and Crete, and
have not had access to internet much but have certainly had
adventures.

We missed the Folk Art museum in Athens because it was closed but may
get there tomorrow.

A few days ago, we set sail from Athens on the metro to the port of
Pireas to catch the ferry to Santorini. Pireas is a giant zoo and
nobody really knows anything. In fact, the whole ferry system seems
to be that way.

Here are my rules for using the Greek ferries:

1) Find a REAL travel agent who has a computer for all the ferries.
There are small travel agents who only know one ferry line so one
person tells you there is a ferry every night at midnight, the next
says there is only a ferry at 1:45 Thursday and Sunday and a third
says there is a ferry tomorrow.  This leads to rule number

2)  Get several opinions and don’t believe anyone until you have a
ticket in your hands. Then make sure you can read the friggin’ ticket
because Greek is most certainly not English and that Greek alphabet
is a doozy.  More on that later.

3) If at all possible, travel by Minoan Lines, especially the high
speed ferry which is a luxury cruiser and from which I am writing
these posts in the floating internet cafe.

4)  Minoan Lines have escalators and elevators and luggage storage
areas. Find them and use them. Steps, throngs of people, all of whom
are younger and fitter than you, will make your life miserable,
especially if you have luggage to carry.

5) First class cabins have two bunks. Second class have four.  Lux is
basically the fanciest hotel you’ve ever stayed in except the floor
rocks a bit.  We went to Santorini first class, for a grand total of
99 euros total.  Too bad when we went to get tickets from Crete to
Pireas, the only choice was deck or lux.  We took lux 150 euros total
and have a suite! Sweet.  Cheaper than a plane and a hotel and this
boat has several restaurants, shopping mall, swimming pools,
internet, video games, a movie theater, etc, etc, etc.

6) You can board the ferry a couple hours early and eat on board. The
ferry gets to Pireas at 5 am but we can stay on board until we are
ready to get off…..what a way to travel!

But I digress.  Back to our first ferry journey.  There we are at the
metro station and we have no idea where to go. Jenny heads out, I
follow although I am wondering why she always gets to be the guy and
why guys never ask directions, and we head up the street. A couple of
blocks later, having dragged our luggage through throngs of people
waiting in what passes as a Greek line for the bus, we finally ask
and are told to go back. We do. And somebody yells at me because my
suitcase touched his box. Fortunately, all the people who have been
yelling at us have done so in a language we don’t speak so it’s
pretty easy to not take it personally. Maybe I should mention this to
my therapist….

OK, so we go back to the metro station and I send Jenny to ask this
time.  She comes back and says Gate C. Now, if I had been paying
attention, this might have mattered because, remember, we are in
Greece. And if I remember correctly, there is no C in Greek.  But
Jenny then decides to hail a cab. Remember our vow of no cabs? We got
in the cab, said we wanted to go to the Flying Dolphins terminal and
our driver, who spoke no recognizeable English, said OK. Which means
no in Greek but what do we know. Using handsignals, we agree on 4
euros which for some mysterious reason he then raises to 5 euros and
proceeds to drive us away from the harbor and attempts to dump us at
the Flying Dolphin’s kiosk at the yacht basin. No way are we going by
yacht for the paltry price we paid.

So we head back to the harbor because, frankly, we just plain refused
to get out of the guy’s cab.  He keeps making the sign of the cross
over and over and over and finally dumps us at any old gate and we
start walking.  And we gave him the 5 euros even though the meter
read 2,53 because this guy was freaking us out.

We then hike about a mile, hot sun, tired, hungry, cranky and hauling
luggage (mine full of books, of course) and we meet a policeman and
decide to ask for his help.  He asks for our tickets and Jenny
says “I don’t know where I put the tickets.” I’m about ready to start
screaming at this point.  She finally finds them and he tells us to
walk way over there so we head that way.  Suddenly, a Greek Zorba
wannabee appears and says “Where are you going?” and I mutter “Crazy”
and he insists on seeing our tickets and then hijacks my luggage and
heads for our boat.  I scurry to keep up with him, afraid he has
stolen my library, and he goes all the way to the boat and finds out
we can’t board for an hour. I try to get my luggage back and he says
no, we can’t wait there, and we say we will wait there, and he
somenow now gets Jenny’s luggage as well and says we have to wait at
the local taverna and drags us over there. At which point Jenny gives
him some euros and then he acts like we didn’t give him enough, what
with all the highjacking and theivery he has engaged in on our behalf.
But dinner was pretty good and he did go away to be replaced by a big
black dog that sat at our table and begged.

More to come…..

Susie and Jenny
— End forwarded message —

Crete, April 2002

We got to Crete on orthodox Good Friday and found a very nice hotel
after our next run-in with a taxi driver. This time we only got as
far as off the boat and a taxi driver overheard us wondering where to
get a rental car.  He announced that everything was closed and there
were no cars but he had a friend…..

Being very stupid, and very tired, we allowed him to agree to take us
to his friend’s car rental place. We agreed on 5 euros. He didn’t
even turn the meter on. Because it was about four blocks away and
only worth a 1 euro drive max. And, of course, there were rental cars
everywhere we went and no problem at all.  I am beginning to form an
opinion of Greek taxi drivers.

Crete has a mountain with a profile on it which is believed to be
Zeus. HOwever, someone has built something on the nose part so now it
looks like Zeus has a zit.

Our hotel had an ocean view, and beautiful grounds, and wonderful
rooms. And mosquitoes. And a gecko. In our room. Not my idea of
luxury. Have you ever tried to catch a gecko? The thing finally
landed up on the wall and wouldn’t come down. I decided
antihistamines were in order so I could sleep because I sure wasn’t
going to sleep with mosquitoes buzzing around and a gecko watching me
from high on a wall.  I was even more worried in the morning when the
gecko was no longer on the wall. What if it walked on me while I
slept? Yuck.

Saturday was lovely and we headed for the Minoan ruins of the Palace
at Knossos. Knossos has been partially reconstructed and was
beautiful. Since it was Holy Saturday, we didn’t have to pay which
was even better.  We got there before the tour busses and had the
place pretty much to ourselves so I was able to indulge my fantasies
and experience the birds, the trees, the surroundings as if tour
busses did not exist. It was awesome.

When the tour busses arrived, we headed for the hills and the tiny
village of Anougia, very close to the cave in which Zeus was born.
Anougia is known for its weaving and embroidery and we wandered
around, looking at weaving and embroidery. The women in the shops
invited us into their homes to look at their looms, and served us
Easter breads fresh from the oven. Yes, we did buy stuff.

From there we drove back to Iraklio to go to the museum, also free,
and figure out how we wanted to spend Easter Vigil. As we drove, we
saw families out cutting special wood for roasting the paschal lamb.
In a small store we saw families selecting their lambs from a pen and
young boys carrying butchered lambs home on their backs for spit
roasting.

We finally decided to attend vigil at St. Titus in Iraklio. Titus was
the apostle to Crete and was the person the Epistle to Titus was sent
to.  Rumor has long held that St. Paul wrote that epistle but he
probably didn’t.  What we do know is that Paul may have shipwrecked
in Crete, near the village of Lendas which we visited the next day.
We also know that Titus died on Crete and his head is in a case in
St. Titus. We went and looked but it’s covered with a bishop’s miter
so it wasn’t as cool as it could have been.  People, mostly women,
kept kissing the case the head was in. And the icons. And almost
anything else in the church including the frescoes.

The orthodox also light a lot of candles and the churches smell of
beeswax and incense.  After they light the candles, they put them in
trays full of sand. Almost immediately, a man comes around, snatches
all the candles and blows them out. I wanted to ask why but my Greek
wasn’t up to it.

Around 11:30 we gathered in the courtyard with about a thousand other
folk, all awaiting the light.  Someone told us that a flame from
Jerusalem is flown to Athens at noon on Saturday and then flames lit
from that one are then flown to the islands in time for the vigils.
Don’t know if it’s true but I sure like the idea.

Crowds were milling around, inside the church and out, kissing icons
and heads of saints and frescoes and lighting candles then suddenly
the crowd left the church and entered into the square and the doors
were closed. There was a small procession, with a cross completely
decorated with flowers, and then a liturgy in Greek began as the
flame arrived and spread throughout the town. After awhile, the dead
were clearly awake as the fireworks began. These people set off
fireworks in crowds. Pretty scary but also pretty cool.  Then the
cross was carried to the door of the church and the priests began
demanding that the doors of heaven be opened. After great pleading
and arguing, the doors swung open and people entered the church. We
didn’t because a) I am allergic to the incense which was now filling
the church and b) we were tired and anxious to get back to our hotel
and sleep with a gecko.

As we left, we saw many families carrying the flame in lanterns and
candles to take home and light their own Paschal candles.

The next day we went to Lendas, a tiny town on the southern coast and
the legendary spot of Paul’s shipwreck. There is a small healing
center (aesclepion) there with Byzantine ruins over Roman ruins over
Minoan ruins. We ate paschal lamb at Zorba’s Cafeteria right over the
sea. Beautiful. Then we dipped our toes in the water and headed back
to catch the overnight ferry to Athens.

Athens….Again?

Susie and Jenny
— End forwarded message —

Athens, April 2002

We got to Athens yesterday and what did we find? A big, dirty,
Western city, very noisy.  On the plus side, the Parthenon was our
view last night over a dinner of moussaka and wine. Traffic is insane
here. Maniacal taxis which we refuse to ride in although the drivers
are very aggressive to get your attention. But they have a reputation
for cheating tourists and our Greek is limited so far to Thank you
and no and yes. Of course no in Greek would sound like OK and yes is
ne so we don’t always say what we mean and now understand “It’s all
Greek to me” with a new sense of urgency.  Despite advertisements,
most street signs are not in Romanized letters so we are perpetually
lost and have experiences like being totally surrounded by helpful
people on busses who speak no English trying to explain to us where
we are.

Right now, I am in the Internet cafe across from the National
Archaeological Museum. We spent the morning in the museum and saw
some incredible stuff. Unfortunately, the frescoes from Santorini
exhibit was closed. Bummer. Just have to come back I guess.

Jenny is across the street in the Museum garden drinking Coke Light
and writing postcards. I saw the chance to get some technology along
with my caffeine (and ICE made from bottled water…heaven!)

We got to Athens around noon yesterday, checked most of our stuff at
the airport, and caught a stinky hot bus into Athens after arranging
for a room near the Plaka, the old part of Athens.  Our hotel had an
elevator made of a phone booth on cable and our scariest moment was
when two fat ladies, with suitcases and packs, (that would be us) got
on and a man decided to join us. I wouldn’t have done it.  But we
survived and are now wandering the town.

This afternoon we will go to the Folk Art museum and then take the
metro to Pireaus to catch the overnight ferry to Santorini. The ferry
leaves at 10 pm and arrives as the sun comes up in the crater. I
can’t wait. We were able to get the last first class cabin on board,
around 70 dollars for the cabin and passage, and we will sleep on
board. Our first “cruise”.

A special delight: An English keyboard. What a pleasure simple things
can be.

Still, we both miss Istanbul. What an incredible city. 13 million
people make it among the largest in the world but it is slower,
quieter, friendlier than any city I’ve ever been. There is almost no
traffic because cars are incredibly expensive, gas runs around $5 a
gallon, and the average income is only $3000 a year, a little higher
in Istanbul. But a new car costs about twice what we pay at home.
Everybody walks or takes the bus or commuter train.  And the people
are so wonderful. If you haven’t been, go. You will not regret it.
And once you go, you will want to go again and again.

Another note about Istanbul and Turkey:  Being in some of the most
spectacular mosques and churches, ancient and more contemporary, in
the world was an incredible experience.  We worshipped in the Grotto
of St. Paul, oldest church known in the world, while an ABC camera
crew interviewed Marcus Borg and our guide Mehmet. (We happened on
them accidentally in a museum and they recognized him and did an
impromptu interview). We sang Alleluia in ancient caves where small
house churches worshipped with the likes of Basil and the Gregories
(and their sister, Macrina, who is really the mother of the church
because she kicked their collective butts and made them get going!)
in Cappadocia. We did Taize chants in the cave where John wrote
Revelation on Patmos and again at the church in Nicea. And the
mosques in Istanbul were some of the most beautiful worship spaces in
the world and contained a great sense of the luminous and numinous
(dictionary, Mags).  This has been a great pilgrimage and I can feel
my faith being renewed and invigorated as the days pass (and as I
start to rest up…sure is nice to be traveling at a more leisurely
pace now that we have left the tour.)

Last night, wandering around the base of the Acropolis, we wandered
into a small Orthodox church just outside the Plaka and were there
for part of the hours long celebration of Orthodox Holy Week.  This
Sunday is Orthodox Easter and we won’t attend because of my serious
allergy to the incense, but last night was incense free and very
lovely. We never did get the name of the church because all they
could find was a man who spoke German and my “bischen” of German was
in remission at the time. (Bischen = little).  But the paintings,
while not ancient, were amazing and the ceiling of the church told
the entire Gospel story as far as we could tell. And, in addition to
the Gospellers in the corners, and the church fathers, there were row
upon row of women saints as well, some placed above the church
fathers which is important because there is a hierarchical form used
in these murals with the Risen Christ at the very height of the dome.

Further on, we found the 11th century Byzantine church of Saint
Catherine and again we lit some candles and spent a few minutes. Then
further yet, the Church of the Metamorphosis in the Plaka area.  The
churches are an embarrassment of riches to a parched soul. And
welcome oases in the midst of crazed international city!

Now, I am ready to close and head for the Folk Art museum if Jenny
has finished her postcards.

On the boat I plan to practice the Greek alphabet so I can at least
read the street signs and find a bathroom! (Fortunately, all of the
later seem to be marked WC and I’ve yet to encounter a squatter in
Greece! Amazing how concerned you become about bodily functions while
traveling!)

Blessings to all!
Susie and Jenny (heading for the quiet of the Greek isles tonight…I
can’t wait!)
— End forwarded message —