tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70112483182653723372024-03-18T09:00:05.624-07:00TravelnWriteJackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.comBlogger1104125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-29076208013313578732024-03-18T08:59:00.000-07:002024-03-18T08:59:24.300-07:00Let's Go Fly a Kite!<p>Just like that, our hibernating village awakened to spring! Eateries are reopening, fishing boats are being painted and readied for the season. And celebrations are underway. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWNgQnv9VilWdKkpnOQ3_byMpcZi3Z75AD7n19EpPjPpjGl5cnkbkD119WLMXiFta63N28ews8Gcn6jPYMqLqFngymwFgVsNFKWu_-7ZU7-5rprFohZmmYgTzTCirunNtsjs-bww4-3PfaY4atTkMnAzqHmQm57bIJYaw1WM_vYs02HpULFMADYdNBzBF/s4032/agios%20nikolaos%202020.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWNgQnv9VilWdKkpnOQ3_byMpcZi3Z75AD7n19EpPjPpjGl5cnkbkD119WLMXiFta63N28ews8Gcn6jPYMqLqFngymwFgVsNFKWu_-7ZU7-5rprFohZmmYgTzTCirunNtsjs-bww4-3PfaY4atTkMnAzqHmQm57bIJYaw1WM_vYs02HpULFMADYdNBzBF/w466-h339/agios%20nikolaos%202020.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our village, Agios Nikolaos, awakens to spring.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I write today during a three-day holiday weekend in Greece. We end three weeks of Carnival celebrations on Saturday and Sunday, then on Monday kicked off Lent with meat-free feasting and flying kites and outdoor gatherings of families and friends.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdt4rX9Kupn9pNc1nUY-mgQlA_9HpTai9xFyIQfifLxautT6BxLoo0FWTnuFBjLyriu11fINVE5JoqxAnn_RxX_U_LH0oWgdegwR_u75r7pUb9PY7ou2jo9AUyqzoLLzxuhs-b3N6VqjT6KyLqzdHA0LbaRn82grS1IWRY5ck9b65LpnU3OuX_LG700TLt" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="780" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdt4rX9Kupn9pNc1nUY-mgQlA_9HpTai9xFyIQfifLxautT6BxLoo0FWTnuFBjLyriu11fINVE5JoqxAnn_RxX_U_LH0oWgdegwR_u75r7pUb9PY7ou2jo9AUyqzoLLzxuhs-b3N6VqjT6KyLqzdHA0LbaRn82grS1IWRY5ck9b65LpnU3OuX_LG700TLt=w467-h251" width="467" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clean Monday's kite-flying tradition. <a href="https://www.greekreporter.com">Photo credit</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Saturday and Sunday were filled with activities to end Carnival, here called <b style="font-style: italic;">Apokries. </b> Dressing up in costumes and masks - and often referred to as Halloween -- the events were fun and festive community-wide parties. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Q8f0rQl-7aCKJFWPzD_1UHGJpqVq-ZHLT2XH4wWyM1hjqNIIf4eaAzoEmQFGjKgdl-bkaqRTjrc01z_fFjpjhNodY2eI-N389x7sTjDtEugbGWPs3F20y4C11AI2LhgpDcKjbxykDv5eyN8uCrpNZkj5VWQCaVFXOUrCyE9jsb988ZhS_bc1yXB9wQzB/s2016/blogcarnival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Q8f0rQl-7aCKJFWPzD_1UHGJpqVq-ZHLT2XH4wWyM1hjqNIIf4eaAzoEmQFGjKgdl-bkaqRTjrc01z_fFjpjhNodY2eI-N389x7sTjDtEugbGWPs3F20y4C11AI2LhgpDcKjbxykDv5eyN8uCrpNZkj5VWQCaVFXOUrCyE9jsb988ZhS_bc1yXB9wQzB/w346-h409/blogcarnival.jpg" width="346" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carnival comes to the village.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Carnival really got underway two weeks ago on Smoked or Charred Thursday, <i><b>Tsiknopempti</b></i>, when barbeques appeared outside businesses and homes throughout cities and villages. Souvlaki (usually chunks of pork on a skewer) and other meat was served in generous portions and eaten with gusto. </div><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfGyESOVvbYThSnDU4ZoSuikF5Xi-JbrpGvoAzag3NM2CiNojJQa3BW6OGIkQjqcDPjA00GC6LwgLxEIZ2Bexce4SVOIh5THsKQcIG3Yt5aXApWt8tyMqk1g3ssvrNCnTWewr2JNAdojHFtS0_w23Qwlk_Su3vXLNRq2vhnxmiStX6jNUeJKaxMP_CdJT/s960/Meat%20Thursday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfGyESOVvbYThSnDU4ZoSuikF5Xi-JbrpGvoAzag3NM2CiNojJQa3BW6OGIkQjqcDPjA00GC6LwgLxEIZ2Bexce4SVOIh5THsKQcIG3Yt5aXApWt8tyMqk1g3ssvrNCnTWewr2JNAdojHFtS0_w23Qwlk_Su3vXLNRq2vhnxmiStX6jNUeJKaxMP_CdJT/w357-h400/Meat%20Thursday.jpg" width="357" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Tsiknopempti celebration makes ready in Kalamata</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>But like all good things, celebrations must come to an end, and this weekend moved us from Carnival's frivolity to a more somber celebration of Lent, which is heralded in on Clean Monday. In Greek the day is called <i><b>Kathara Deftera,</b></i> the day that officially starts, the seven-week period of fasting, and self-moderation before Easter. </div><div><br /></div><div>Clean Monday is similar to Ash Wednesday in western religion.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kathara Deftera is celebrated with non-meat feasting and flying kites. (For those wondering about the kites: It signifies the ascension and purification of the soul; symbolic of the human spirit flying closer to God. And for kids, it is just plain fun, no matter what the reason.)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdt4rX9Kupn9pNc1nUY-mgQlA_9HpTai9xFyIQfifLxautT6BxLoo0FWTnuFBjLyriu11fINVE5JoqxAnn_RxX_U_LH0oWgdegwR_u75r7pUb9PY7ou2jo9AUyqzoLLzxuhs-b3N6VqjT6KyLqzdHA0LbaRn82grS1IWRY5ck9b65LpnU3OuX_LG700TLt" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="780" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdt4rX9Kupn9pNc1nUY-mgQlA_9HpTai9xFyIQfifLxautT6BxLoo0FWTnuFBjLyriu11fINVE5JoqxAnn_RxX_U_LH0oWgdegwR_u75r7pUb9PY7ou2jo9AUyqzoLLzxuhs-b3N6VqjT6KyLqzdHA0LbaRn82grS1IWRY5ck9b65LpnU3OuX_LG700TLt=w467-h251" width="467" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clean Monday's kite-flying tradition. <a href="https://www.greekreporter.com">Photo credit</a><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Mother Nature has been a bit fickle this celebration weekend with rain and hailstorms dampening parades and concert plans in the region on Sunday but allowing for outside activities on Saturday and Monday. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkiji8SK0q0Q_CSVWnYUeswRP4t9EkOEkhYavT0FGeygqv1mMTlnAgvY-TtJZY4AjyO0wDeRctLVUUJazbYovEuozeKWCk44Km7hg6za02d2ak9fjLnyZ4Ab5wQs_e0HsxyLaCQcLAZT9azQkv12-7eKhKwwZy8nMbZmK67K3b0MU8gnWuU9c4BN_JLWS/s4896/P1020766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkiji8SK0q0Q_CSVWnYUeswRP4t9EkOEkhYavT0FGeygqv1mMTlnAgvY-TtJZY4AjyO0wDeRctLVUUJazbYovEuozeKWCk44Km7hg6za02d2ak9fjLnyZ4Ab5wQs_e0HsxyLaCQcLAZT9azQkv12-7eKhKwwZy8nMbZmK67K3b0MU8gnWuU9c4BN_JLWS/w463-h340/P1020766.JPG" width="463" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kite flying at Pantazi Beach on Kathara Deftera</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Monday's sunshine and light wind was just enough to bring early morning hopefuls to Pantazi Beach just below our home.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgke3btD7idUuJhsFrA-Et5VSlrDG3qQ56zDVfMp9UD4HrSC44WfZIg3SS122oX3FpN8yU08qkEy2HKitxL6vIRuu6gqwucRfHdxzZVke1b0i0EUKIhQB0g_QNvCRxSHZQX4ATo-giFtaDFQpJZWpQKZmZbW9meQCkKrePGOx3Quzab7QNt2pfoQWrxZ5rK/s4896/P1020769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgke3btD7idUuJhsFrA-Et5VSlrDG3qQ56zDVfMp9UD4HrSC44WfZIg3SS122oX3FpN8yU08qkEy2HKitxL6vIRuu6gqwucRfHdxzZVke1b0i0EUKIhQB0g_QNvCRxSHZQX4ATo-giFtaDFQpJZWpQKZmZbW9meQCkKrePGOx3Quzab7QNt2pfoQWrxZ5rK/w486-h363/P1020769.JPG" width="486" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And it worked!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The holiday weekend brought a surge of visitors to our village. The rural villages often draw large numbers of city dwellers on holidays weekends; many are returning to their roots, their family homes, and others are simply seeking a change from the city. Some 60,000 cars were recorded leaving Athens on Friday on the nation's highway - thankfully not all were headed our direction. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8OU8AvsYMNuX7rWsv9frvdxYvo3cCZ8PWWcC_zQsZJA_Vb3viDSZB-cjFZ2V0_K2p5-oaYM-HOJS8JxHdHf_I-EARAkhw6iHpX-91wTcC0NuyOlZZRNZZOdeYiNaDNQi8Hgi-FsV_SheQMu1MVMhmMpMOHZp4FKnC5emToLRo4Fbf5uFf_D7xn_aeI-G/s2016/blognewstreetagnik.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8OU8AvsYMNuX7rWsv9frvdxYvo3cCZ8PWWcC_zQsZJA_Vb3viDSZB-cjFZ2V0_K2p5-oaYM-HOJS8JxHdHf_I-EARAkhw6iHpX-91wTcC0NuyOlZZRNZZOdeYiNaDNQi8Hgi-FsV_SheQMu1MVMhmMpMOHZp4FKnC5emToLRo4Fbf5uFf_D7xn_aeI-G/w487-h346/blognewstreetagnik.jpg" width="487" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Section of Agios Nikolaos waterfront road opened!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The weekend was such a big celebration that our village has even managed to completed repairs to a section of our main beach road and open it to traffic. After a near nine-month closure, let me tell you, that is BIG news! And even more reason to celebrate!!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_q8FY0jRkhDfkY96eZB0XqpCTojP1hChK4eu6wdmnb1sBSzlqtc8gVDD7v0fm1NJcQIgZ10skHtPniWee2wI-q9U2CWWf1EF02T7HJl6mnJwe55u5eYxedTxxtg9WvDTV1PXmfM1sb4YzjuXbg2c271CbcOgJsCjCWiVipBfrzYvxpdJscc4HzdBfjiZ/s2016/blognewstrtolimeni.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_q8FY0jRkhDfkY96eZB0XqpCTojP1hChK4eu6wdmnb1sBSzlqtc8gVDD7v0fm1NJcQIgZ10skHtPniWee2wI-q9U2CWWf1EF02T7HJl6mnJwe55u5eYxedTxxtg9WvDTV1PXmfM1sb4YzjuXbg2c271CbcOgJsCjCWiVipBfrzYvxpdJscc4HzdBfjiZ/w459-h332/blognewstrtolimeni.jpg" width="459" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close up of roadwork at To Limeni in Agios Nikolaos</td></tr></tbody></table><p>And restaurants in the still-under-construction part of the roadwork, didn't let that stop them from opening their doors to the new season.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Lpnjmqk9r2aCwXwdThjC2ahvzkSQpOV6lVjAWtvXdAVp7k8GSCDqqOa738-E7Ht2UBcxW9wf9ITYAVs4sNXWWHHCyzQ6QNb32TKiPrcg7twPBCv46pUC-aapUB9UYfXU6vZ1jqzhPRKQc-OoxriPNDSUHA7TS8miheNOSmXxisRW5GVSgsT7tyjxqb3G/s2016/blogseafoodpasta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Lpnjmqk9r2aCwXwdThjC2ahvzkSQpOV6lVjAWtvXdAVp7k8GSCDqqOa738-E7Ht2UBcxW9wf9ITYAVs4sNXWWHHCyzQ6QNb32TKiPrcg7twPBCv46pUC-aapUB9UYfXU6vZ1jqzhPRKQc-OoxriPNDSUHA7TS8miheNOSmXxisRW5GVSgsT7tyjxqb3G/w368-h400/blogseafoodpasta.jpg" width="368" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seafood pasta a popular Lenten dish</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I realize that some of you are all set to celebrate Easter on March 31st, as that is Easter's date in western religions. Here, the Orthodox church is celebrating Easter on May 5th. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPN3_FsvxdWGFFoLcuFabM_DQTIZ_Tncz3bsd0oJoHV7S9jsxVutSqLuiODO5uQG-v20cmUO1INTMGqfv6S2VHDcnPMioU3OOnM5ylfPNW7Ad2CFukSgwCrjg_s26KmphWgrE8U0O_h4U-6_GOwgOweqCF1t-VE1kloBh31pVLq_3E8ffgrRgyxD49i2k/s2931/bloglentenfood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1980" data-original-width="2931" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPN3_FsvxdWGFFoLcuFabM_DQTIZ_Tncz3bsd0oJoHV7S9jsxVutSqLuiODO5uQG-v20cmUO1INTMGqfv6S2VHDcnPMioU3OOnM5ylfPNW7Ad2CFukSgwCrjg_s26KmphWgrE8U0O_h4U-6_GOwgOweqCF1t-VE1kloBh31pVLq_3E8ffgrRgyxD49i2k/w435-h304/bloglentenfood.jpg" width="435" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another feast: tzatziki, horta, falafel balls and calamari</td></tr></tbody></table><p>As long-time readers know, the weeks leading up to Easter are my favorite time to be in Greece. I honestly think that the three Easters we spent in Greece prior to becoming expats here helped to tip the scales in favor of moving here. There is no other season that highlights the coming together of families, culture, history, religion and traditions as well as do the weeks leading up to Easter.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfL1__Gg2TpSwlINVmLq3opcjd0T15aFOyNgwiZ5To4-b9Wy9jKPLsdpGrD3C-cD301n4ChQ2JwcUsvKgLk9Aj-xAjIX9TE7pQe0hbClecJMlCYl9RbR6Uxrgl3Rqogd5NJVzwQBPzDrXwQTtK1Z8sWc49TcADvEHnvjO_H7ZpgQwm7wqHV4fYRtv3e11K/s2016/blogkalimari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfL1__Gg2TpSwlINVmLq3opcjd0T15aFOyNgwiZ5To4-b9Wy9jKPLsdpGrD3C-cD301n4ChQ2JwcUsvKgLk9Aj-xAjIX9TE7pQe0hbClecJMlCYl9RbR6Uxrgl3Rqogd5NJVzwQBPzDrXwQTtK1Z8sWc49TcADvEHnvjO_H7ZpgQwm7wqHV4fYRtv3e11K/w471-h332/blogkalimari.jpg" width="471" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuffed squid one of my favorite non-meat dishes.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Next weekend is another three-day weekend, the first of Greece's two Independence Day celebrations this year. One is in the spring and the other in October. Both are times of celebration and pride in country and marked with strong displays of patriotism. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdTtrSDkumbhRjyGOqXi_yabbAUoXypuCyjll9bstoPSkEcompzRyqCwkqk5Gl3FXWGfWKpjUZLQMag0Rytz10kVhGbUQfmIH9Spx1hsc1AGEqALwDOU5Uwz4OIrTAKpnyo-R9_lNl9x_KgGsV7SXy1UymQ4-nWunjlDlvw3HsmEFfmjRTJZL-lPbMw4IQ/s4896/P1020764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdTtrSDkumbhRjyGOqXi_yabbAUoXypuCyjll9bstoPSkEcompzRyqCwkqk5Gl3FXWGfWKpjUZLQMag0Rytz10kVhGbUQfmIH9Spx1hsc1AGEqALwDOU5Uwz4OIrTAKpnyo-R9_lNl9x_KgGsV7SXy1UymQ4-nWunjlDlvw3HsmEFfmjRTJZL-lPbMw4IQ/w456-h307/P1020764.JPG" width="456" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring is here!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>So, we are welcoming spring and the celebrations that it brings each year. We hope that wherever this finds you, you are enjoying your surroundings as much as we are ours! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFZ7AAhZYDyJLoD9iKsfZtvVZYjtKAK5SSkM50pk9BTpP1HokFr6OHgkgY7ZGZGC9Yi8bhNj8tVj0PLLK9W3kZV4bTMBQNU3ovioyEJMKk7ZK-QjCUPhsDmbHRRk0sJNCv9pK7EI4WBrd0AiC3EP_3PVog3JCPPyfDcVloFRjyHa0vrnkonK2yhKCmgqH/s1920/Screenshot%20(52)_LI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFZ7AAhZYDyJLoD9iKsfZtvVZYjtKAK5SSkM50pk9BTpP1HokFr6OHgkgY7ZGZGC9Yi8bhNj8tVj0PLLK9W3kZV4bTMBQNU3ovioyEJMKk7ZK-QjCUPhsDmbHRRk0sJNCv9pK7EI4WBrd0AiC3EP_3PVog3JCPPyfDcVloFRjyHa0vrnkonK2yhKCmgqH/w425-h258/Screenshot%20(52)_LI.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign up to get posts as emails<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>As always, thanks for the time you've spent with us. We hope to see you back again. If you'd like to receive these posts as emails, simply go to the blog's homepage and sign up!</p></div></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-48605913732493501052024-03-06T07:01:00.000-08:002024-03-06T07:01:31.813-08:00A Winter's Walk on the Wild Side<p>February's departure and March's arrival made it clear that winter's wild side is still with us in our slice of the Greek Peloponnese where we make our expat home.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidS4H5LDKinslRFVHu-saR8FZKZUa4XhWF1BQgmp_R9iMDL3gj6kzZKnjqCKNGv8Pv06n4Uw6ii-5liLhLnskQl__zhLu34i0U2d0zq_KUXgZISgmdK-e1gWW2PNBuy1Ucnd3VzgfAkojEN7EAW2J825d0kTm2omepaUA4Aq-oUXlOwg1iFRygsILVTg2k/s2016/blogstormlightpost.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidS4H5LDKinslRFVHu-saR8FZKZUa4XhWF1BQgmp_R9iMDL3gj6kzZKnjqCKNGv8Pv06n4Uw6ii-5liLhLnskQl__zhLu34i0U2d0zq_KUXgZISgmdK-e1gWW2PNBuy1Ucnd3VzgfAkojEN7EAW2J825d0kTm2omepaUA4Aq-oUXlOwg1iFRygsILVTg2k/w345-h422/blogstormlightpost.jpg" width="345" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Windblown lamp post on the way to the village</td></tr></tbody></table><p>When we decided to move from the U.S. Pacific Northwest among the factors that helped drive the decision was getting away from ice, snow, cold and the long dreary winter that seemed to stretch from November until April. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijceuD_xBINoH8MuWnepDSNvB13y7RimBAYBtrq3Uyb481IUxeH_XhzME3Gw_aBIDtQym3rNxc4qcZjd2b2-togEAAEXfp8bD94Hk1WJTpRx48AOE4egC5nJTHqUFZAH5kQNj52pzw6yEcGMx7c63NY3qqgoV151wIiEygY4vxXW7Cwo8Sf7WPoIOhHWUC/s2016/blogstormagdim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijceuD_xBINoH8MuWnepDSNvB13y7RimBAYBtrq3Uyb481IUxeH_XhzME3Gw_aBIDtQym3rNxc4qcZjd2b2-togEAAEXfp8bD94Hk1WJTpRx48AOE4egC5nJTHqUFZAH5kQNj52pzw6yEcGMx7c63NY3qqgoV151wIiEygY4vxXW7Cwo8Sf7WPoIOhHWUC/w460-h361/blogstormagdim.jpg" width="460" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The highest waves we've seen here. This is Agios Dimitrios below us.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We succeeded in leaving the snow and cold behind. But we still have winter. And while winter storms in our area don't strike often or stay long, they are wild. </p><p>Our signature storms bring near gale-force howling wind, thunder so loud it reverberates as if bombs were falling in the grove and lightning strikes that turns the sky into an electrified kaleidoscope. The sea becomes a boiling cauldron of angry waves. And sometimes we even get a blanket of African dust! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXo0cZ8tkc63a4rMtGryj3O_2MKlibo8TeCAcIh3ExJPX8sdP2GyzofN2M1C99lXEdrOAmAQNoj8tVojDZbgoLuYTZEa4hkoJMltZE5BwuvGgLLWzPJaZYVi8e7rCpfNOlzihQvZk7Op595SX3BJP0ic0VApHBVf1U22NBPNAD_tZv0c0xIqlBp6-jVxTB/s2016/20240304_175141.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXo0cZ8tkc63a4rMtGryj3O_2MKlibo8TeCAcIh3ExJPX8sdP2GyzofN2M1C99lXEdrOAmAQNoj8tVojDZbgoLuYTZEa4hkoJMltZE5BwuvGgLLWzPJaZYVi8e7rCpfNOlzihQvZk7Op595SX3BJP0ic0VApHBVf1U22NBPNAD_tZv0c0xIqlBp6-jVxTB/w485-h355/20240304_175141.jpg" width="485" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is dust - from Africa - heading our way</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Even though the storms are often short-lived, they are so ferocious that we understand how ancient ones developed beliefs in mythological gods. Some days we are certain that Poseidon, god of the sea, and Zeus, commonly thought of as, the god of the sky and weather, are having one grand war between their respective worlds.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDEKy1rLZdvHm0foPAQi-6Be9JBkj_aBZQU4aZ-Fgk8ybAipW2qKChha7_QCQ0HPFiLPXsSXmJg6zQc-ca69RJXdHCBuh0CX1Y8ShxVzZqnPoN6El3Wfzk1XewZSEXvnUSOU0gldYbJRQcdlXxBmWDRMDxwo1MmWQveon4m4Toh9-Iju53qwTvTNpg23H/s3264/blogstormboat.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDEKy1rLZdvHm0foPAQi-6Be9JBkj_aBZQU4aZ-Fgk8ybAipW2qKChha7_QCQ0HPFiLPXsSXmJg6zQc-ca69RJXdHCBuh0CX1Y8ShxVzZqnPoN6El3Wfzk1XewZSEXvnUSOU0gldYbJRQcdlXxBmWDRMDxwo1MmWQveon4m4Toh9-Iju53qwTvTNpg23H/w467-h342/blogstormboat.jpg" width="467" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our municipal parking lot flooded from waves and weather</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The storm that came with February's end hit with such power and force that it left many of us newcomers shaking our heads in wonder at the destruction left in its wake. In our village, Agios Nikolaos, waves flooded the municipal parking lot - a lot where fishing boats had been moved to from the harbor to keep them safe from the storm. One boat was washed from its trailer and still sits on its side in the lot. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkiWwBicg8BoWfPIAxLPAUdM8TlUEkvYLECIJ0nJn8dc5sAblIpm6Vri1-G9VwDa5x1RnpBNCkisf6-0a9tmP0fQrN_cUfXRYI2nncwe0iUl67Le7KJzMOtq5PH5lyIiQSTk4wuaWU34T_yp6fvEdHL2qX3j34IVuwAw8A4EEHoxt54_lNCovjltuqiV-/s2016/blogstormgarbageroad.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkiWwBicg8BoWfPIAxLPAUdM8TlUEkvYLECIJ0nJn8dc5sAblIpm6Vri1-G9VwDa5x1RnpBNCkisf6-0a9tmP0fQrN_cUfXRYI2nncwe0iUl67Le7KJzMOtq5PH5lyIiQSTk4wuaWU34T_yp6fvEdHL2qX3j34IVuwAw8A4EEHoxt54_lNCovjltuqiV-/w447-h340/blogstormgarbageroad.jpg" width="447" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Municipal garbage bins scattered by the storm</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Municipal garbage bins that normal line the street like soldiers were tossed about by the wind as if they were leaves. Rocks and downed limbs were strewn about the roadway making it impossible to drive on in places. <span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzzf68g6HcQhfztNUueY-dccfIzQ6vkRh7XjJ3VPzwc8Go35NB7vBDvZ21JzQxLDWmwucEcIiJd_QNlIyv60bIOE4cJO_orCyA5nYWw_aY3YjBDs0qtBRc1DC6jtp_kDkAwXGk14-LZqNZa95AHBdhExvVF3cRRoa_GP7Q50Hffx6zLSsB5MdmR2eH_cC/s2016/blogstormwalkway1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzzf68g6HcQhfztNUueY-dccfIzQ6vkRh7XjJ3VPzwc8Go35NB7vBDvZ21JzQxLDWmwucEcIiJd_QNlIyv60bIOE4cJO_orCyA5nYWw_aY3YjBDs0qtBRc1DC6jtp_kDkAwXGk14-LZqNZa95AHBdhExvVF3cRRoa_GP7Q50Hffx6zLSsB5MdmR2eH_cC/w436-h343/blogstormwalkway1.jpg" width="436" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walkway closed in town due to high waves in the harbor</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The walkway at harborside (the one we've been using since road construction closed the road above it) was also closed by waves crashing into it. </p><p>The good news about winter storms is that we have pretty accurate weather warning systems in place these days and we know when a storm is coming and approximately what its strength and duration will be. Advisories are posted on FB by emergency service and government pages. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT0fESWYYsenKgtMdLcWUAA4JiSXhCg7ovkhUWmgof212rLocaSF09t6W_cDjSnXUDDpVPYTufXdDwEHP7LYufeQaw1Vsa0tyumalB1UUrQUD5zS6ha2IvVkYgHafvVEqftP-AME5eY3v2gmcnr3T0m3MQZmqsPxrTmC6Vx3DGtFVCIkxjbyW9MNXji6o/s2040/1000000554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1530" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT0fESWYYsenKgtMdLcWUAA4JiSXhCg7ovkhUWmgof212rLocaSF09t6W_cDjSnXUDDpVPYTufXdDwEHP7LYufeQaw1Vsa0tyumalB1UUrQUD5zS6ha2IvVkYgHafvVEqftP-AME5eY3v2gmcnr3T0m3MQZmqsPxrTmC6Vx3DGtFVCIkxjbyW9MNXji6o/w389-h472/1000000554.jpg" width="389" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The African dust that covered us recently</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We also use a weather app called Poseidon, which shows not only wind and rain but dust storms as well. Our Peloponnese in the map above is under that red circle. And did we have dust!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEr2e9eFgwsqs_mldai5XbGc2E6kIaStgSRspGA2RS3SUB4tLi-bS8XpqaGtkSj7qvuBLtUv1LQS9N1Uw-KCFV_EONMbukiTSrL0bjvOteByBW9UYAivi66VhvtkmZFv0DgoxkFjmjTH5q9v7W8sRQgkM37Z7b2hT6jVtNxO7sTBlQjATSk_0vbrxPsCEi/s2016/20240227_102821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEr2e9eFgwsqs_mldai5XbGc2E6kIaStgSRspGA2RS3SUB4tLi-bS8XpqaGtkSj7qvuBLtUv1LQS9N1Uw-KCFV_EONMbukiTSrL0bjvOteByBW9UYAivi66VhvtkmZFv0DgoxkFjmjTH5q9v7W8sRQgkM37Z7b2hT6jVtNxO7sTBlQjATSk_0vbrxPsCEi/w446-h335/20240227_102821.jpg" width="446" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garbage crews had bins uprighted the next day</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The other good thing about these winter storms is that local folks know how to deal with them. Cleanup was underway as soon as the waves and the wind gusts lessened.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikMP-mDr5LUrj5thGfDA9awY8hEKFvJqghz1b6GoMUHKzVxooetJpSZXQ8CVS-3lK_OjqUtv__LFiDuFxWUTB83LBm1PP97agzdUxWqRv0IR1ljaMGicaXTceAcQsq1Cbjbdz9VxypyI6zqOt3woXXDjthsfAETYT0pG57bHvEBuvT686Nzp8no9jUeJX/s2016/20240227_103410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikMP-mDr5LUrj5thGfDA9awY8hEKFvJqghz1b6GoMUHKzVxooetJpSZXQ8CVS-3lK_OjqUtv__LFiDuFxWUTB83LBm1PP97agzdUxWqRv0IR1ljaMGicaXTceAcQsq1Cbjbdz9VxypyI6zqOt3woXXDjthsfAETYT0pG57bHvEBuvT686Nzp8no9jUeJX/w443-h335/20240227_103410.jpg" width="443" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The morning after. . .</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Dimos, as our municipality is called, had bulldozers out clearing roads and parking lots. Business owners were also at the ready to clear up storm debris. Our Pantazi Beach Bar's outdoor terrace - a favorite place of ours for coffee . . .</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypRPO1456KF-utitIgj05zzG4YSjcOPeZc0DV8WfvDjYilF2IjcK-wNyNkszntrku3rbVF7IzFq8cdHOu6CYkNXPoEyrGvh-dJBsc8rvCt230xRJWvLumhKWzX0tK2NInhZKyIX5ZaP5k3j009T9yRfYSNsGV6J7pdgH-vvIQQJOKExIelPBHiuszSLBM/s2016/20240213_093807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypRPO1456KF-utitIgj05zzG4YSjcOPeZc0DV8WfvDjYilF2IjcK-wNyNkszntrku3rbVF7IzFq8cdHOu6CYkNXPoEyrGvh-dJBsc8rvCt230xRJWvLumhKWzX0tK2NInhZKyIX5ZaP5k3j009T9yRfYSNsGV6J7pdgH-vvIQQJOKExIelPBHiuszSLBM/w456-h323/20240213_093807.jpg" width="456" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A February morning before the storm - Pantazi Beach Bar</td></tr></tbody></table><p>. . .was hit hard by the storm as show in the photo below. I took it from nearly the same spot. But within days debris was cleared, and we are again able to sit on the beachside terrace.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPqYZ_OqYn9MSry7oxneBRgqvhZILM8ssBG-kbX0pZUwWLsU-TcQYM9wLOCnLwiJnoCutZmawNOBa8DgD42Ot6AaQ6uZcRtjU5Oa08T9dibCvAg-QpBkVEi4JMGbzsqqFRYMqUcB0oe8Be7_Kj5rLQUuvlImswnus2IeeuGCI8c1qyuJx0TBazhM4uHw7/s2016/blogstormpantazi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPqYZ_OqYn9MSry7oxneBRgqvhZILM8ssBG-kbX0pZUwWLsU-TcQYM9wLOCnLwiJnoCutZmawNOBa8DgD42Ot6AaQ6uZcRtjU5Oa08T9dibCvAg-QpBkVEi4JMGbzsqqFRYMqUcB0oe8Be7_Kj5rLQUuvlImswnus2IeeuGCI8c1qyuJx0TBazhM4uHw7/w488-h348/blogstormpantazi.jpg" width="488" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pantazi Beach Bar terrace the morning after the storm.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Road construction has resumed in the village, and we are again using the harborside walkway as a bypass.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHBkL3Lj3QqbWwy2RYooqgT3AXnGPsOQ3GF93tzfLJyylM1aKhFABi3C0ZVqzvxIfFKmOhDN7bvhbWlykBGC2Qcjoeo99qdOsCAONCD1tthoHLeP8y_KEfghHRO1ivAou4gR36qjWlx9503ck8MGsGkmJsVnfxJd7-RpRqQ8v2d_QUZQob-ZyKk_Hh4tN/s2016/20240223_111438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHBkL3Lj3QqbWwy2RYooqgT3AXnGPsOQ3GF93tzfLJyylM1aKhFABi3C0ZVqzvxIfFKmOhDN7bvhbWlykBGC2Qcjoeo99qdOsCAONCD1tthoHLeP8y_KEfghHRO1ivAou4gR36qjWlx9503ck8MGsGkmJsVnfxJd7-RpRqQ8v2d_QUZQob-ZyKk_Hh4tN/w343-h435/20240223_111438.jpg" width="343" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harborside bypass is open again</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Winter storm watching is popular on the Pacific Northwest West Coast (United States and Canada). I can tell you that it is much warmer watching storms here than there! The tourism folks in Greece are missing a bet by not promoting winter storm watching. Maybe those of you who like to storm watch should take advantage of the off-season lower airfares and hotel rates and head to our part of Greece and do some storm watching here next winter! </p><p>We hope that whatever season you are in while reading this that the weather gods have been good to you! Thanks so much for being with us on this walk on the wild side of winter in Greece. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-70167476205474073352024-02-22T07:18:00.000-08:002024-02-22T07:18:37.191-08:00Time for a coffee?<p>'Time for a coffee any time soon?' texted one of my girlfriends the other day. Her question was aptly worded as meeting for a coffee is not a hurried affair here - it takes time. </p><p>Going out for a coffee has become one of our favorite pastimes in this chosen expat life of ours, although, doing it 'the Greek way' was initially one of the most difficult behaviors to wrap our heads around.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf43dH_rTkXH6NNya6MlP5Kn0C-htKEiYH2WV6mS7NSmDn6kY4lvxxnBl5jNublleidiCepYVliIPhOCjGccFZKzlQwdDuovejVYXsr451oT9AzPeOvrBYX6bMlpwhoCcFGhIwNFkcLzn7BCzmG1Y8tIeWgZSgglKv78f8vLH57tRFlt8tRmsyoMTAKsqG/s1953/20240219_105230.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1465" data-original-width="1953" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf43dH_rTkXH6NNya6MlP5Kn0C-htKEiYH2WV6mS7NSmDn6kY4lvxxnBl5jNublleidiCepYVliIPhOCjGccFZKzlQwdDuovejVYXsr451oT9AzPeOvrBYX6bMlpwhoCcFGhIwNFkcLzn7BCzmG1Y8tIeWgZSgglKv78f8vLH57tRFlt8tRmsyoMTAKsqG/w458-h342/20240219_105230.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning coffee at seaside in Stoupa village</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We came to this new life bringing our American coffee break habits with us: drink it hot and drink it fast, visit quickly and don't get a parking ticket. So, in Greece we carried that rapid consumption mindset with us, drinking - not sipping - our coffee and observing those around us. 'How can they sit so long over a cup of coffee?' we'd ask ourselves. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEJvSh-_DOcUCEWnwtUWJsf2tRH0mMJprYnoYdl1cVW6U1aTHoDngYna4_nOHB0ggo3jQ4uF4shbqBgjM_lemgyZp__xWRw54T6XdXnrUq-BDKeK1xcjW1Qiy5S7xF4akCPWVCj_Q5yANAEbGV-hUxeHCQz2_Psxjp7DNq7-sXwZ2qqY_8UJFHSy4JvPi/s3264/blogjan920240101_111103.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEJvSh-_DOcUCEWnwtUWJsf2tRH0mMJprYnoYdl1cVW6U1aTHoDngYna4_nOHB0ggo3jQ4uF4shbqBgjM_lemgyZp__xWRw54T6XdXnrUq-BDKeK1xcjW1Qiy5S7xF4akCPWVCj_Q5yANAEbGV-hUxeHCQz2_Psxjp7DNq7-sXwZ2qqY_8UJFHSy4JvPi/w346-h462/blogjan920240101_111103.jpg" width="346" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee and complimentary cake in the village</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Here, the sipping is done so slowly that the coffee can actually cool down before it is finished. Then you tag on a bit of extra time to drink the glasses of water and nibble the complimentary cookies or cake bits brought with it.</p><p>I'd wager that indulging in a coffee over the span of an hour or more, is almost a rite of passage into Greek culture and community. </p><p>This Greek coffee culture is serious business as shown by statistics from the World Coffee Portal: Greeks consume 40,000 tons of coffee a year, 40% of which is consumed outside the home. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmjL6b90vkklzWSq3oVHaaQQgbZS1pxcN8WK0UR7HzcrpArgYHM3bFdJKRTdT80jMlj9XZ0h7YdRbInrazJz2co4kJS-QXSFv1-fIMZgOHWfe_iWXy2_zskewzuRHiowP98WnFzcahb_N4-0A2oQUcI6na4qVgV-JuzqMqMhz060Guxwuoxr383TCHgOq/s2016/blogcoffeecup.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmjL6b90vkklzWSq3oVHaaQQgbZS1pxcN8WK0UR7HzcrpArgYHM3bFdJKRTdT80jMlj9XZ0h7YdRbInrazJz2co4kJS-QXSFv1-fIMZgOHWfe_iWXy2_zskewzuRHiowP98WnFzcahb_N4-0A2oQUcI6na4qVgV-JuzqMqMhz060Guxwuoxr383TCHgOq/w326-h400/blogcoffeecup.jpg" width="326" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata coffee stop while running errands</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The coffee culture is so pervasive that the <a href="https://www.athenscoffeefestival.gr"><b>Athens Coffee Festival</b></a>, September 28 - 30, this year is expected to attract some 32,000 aficionados, vendors, and coffee professionals. </p><p>We aren't sure when we morphed into sipping coffee in the appropriately slow manner, but we have become believers in its benefits.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmkKRr9HTjy952crHiuHlAOkMrhmA2_VmizDV3VJZ2o7daBw2o2EO2SMoRUgPNH_SHqoy4ImAVtZ3nuBeIa3X50Hhdc6vnBqe81Daa8WUxNY9zxAVz5CzMlYxKzb6T8yGhtOfas6BnlwEdsIEJSIwk9-VOz1rYsEj2_VRz72vOA6Smgxcle22cYDfjASr/s2016/blogcoffeeagnik.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmkKRr9HTjy952crHiuHlAOkMrhmA2_VmizDV3VJZ2o7daBw2o2EO2SMoRUgPNH_SHqoy4ImAVtZ3nuBeIa3X50Hhdc6vnBqe81Daa8WUxNY9zxAVz5CzMlYxKzb6T8yGhtOfas6BnlwEdsIEJSIwk9-VOz1rYsEj2_VRz72vOA6Smgxcle22cYDfjASr/w439-h351/blogcoffeeagnik.jpg" width="439" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the harbor is a popular coffee activity in Ag. Nikolaos</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Here going out for a coffee can be done with groups of people or by oneself. Coffee sippers might open a book and read for an hour or more, join in a game of backgammon, watch the village happenings, visit with friends or simply sit and sip. You might find some looking at their mobile devices, but seldom will you see people bent over computers as you do in a Starbucks in the States.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDsrCUUxDhteWT-HA7REl5tLkJsh9aAztXTOmmmX4N_LHpUcuYSHM9AdVOVVqVOnNiSjfOAFuvwZNLH_3DIr1Uqxl34HmJFL-q6u_N-ZNFeLqUri9mBHrRS7JKOl3e7Mr0CuEYmScnNC2oFi_YVsIXyDGX2qzYoGGthChetHx0swepDI7h3wUTB0oRo8n/s2016/blogcoffeemedikon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDsrCUUxDhteWT-HA7REl5tLkJsh9aAztXTOmmmX4N_LHpUcuYSHM9AdVOVVqVOnNiSjfOAFuvwZNLH_3DIr1Uqxl34HmJFL-q6u_N-ZNFeLqUri9mBHrRS7JKOl3e7Mr0CuEYmScnNC2oFi_YVsIXyDGX2qzYoGGthChetHx0swepDI7h3wUTB0oRo8n/w383-h436/blogcoffeemedikon.jpg" width="383" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching traffic is a favorite activity while sipping coffee.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>No, coffee in our village is a time for watching traffic make its way down our only north-south route through town. And it is always fun to speculate on which big truck might not squeeze past the balconies and awnings. Or we might watch the fishing boats come and go in the harbor. Or we might just visit with friends or with tourists seated at nearby tables or walking past. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicGK6_j8tgZjvx0P0GMSAeoSMoerU5t52m8U0LCgJt-MSODRs_bAn4m-Id8rOnRqhNv5HBjInO-rEmbS5mm8L6mzg7gVxWlX1Yn0eINLvDeCJKfef8Kmplf9SAoMWYBa2WZV71aGyZBTQwo_G4I8hrNrWf2bG4s9Rf5l1OXxjwtn-WPsB7oT_0Alk3pC4/s2016/blogmolosbooks.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicGK6_j8tgZjvx0P0GMSAeoSMoerU5t52m8U0LCgJt-MSODRs_bAn4m-Id8rOnRqhNv5HBjInO-rEmbS5mm8L6mzg7gVxWlX1Yn0eINLvDeCJKfef8Kmplf9SAoMWYBa2WZV71aGyZBTQwo_G4I8hrNrWf2bG4s9Rf5l1OXxjwtn-WPsB7oT_0Alk3pC4/w454-h324/blogmolosbooks.jpg" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take a book and leave a book at the local coffee shop.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Sometimes we use the coffee time to select books from the 'take a book, leave a book' shelves available at a number of the cafes in town. This is a particularly nice feature of having coffee out, when living in an area where we don't have libraries or bookstores.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1LQiWo-nKcDd8g7V8CaZ1ew-XKfsZedbGMXvwpdv6TrIQ0CPy2nQ3BLroQKHXHsXoSJJN6x-BpalCwCHiZIcsbB7iitnSpaQhLsC-5hDq-V6gzGlsarLBkSywqyKrKDgZMQAHWYo6qKh68U7XTRhqThtQs6xWZS3tojFU-AFowdQ5qUyIbasLArFGfpqP/s2016/blogkafeniotoday.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1LQiWo-nKcDd8g7V8CaZ1ew-XKfsZedbGMXvwpdv6TrIQ0CPy2nQ3BLroQKHXHsXoSJJN6x-BpalCwCHiZIcsbB7iitnSpaQhLsC-5hDq-V6gzGlsarLBkSywqyKrKDgZMQAHWYo6qKh68U7XTRhqThtQs6xWZS3tojFU-AFowdQ5qUyIbasLArFGfpqP/w360-h432/blogkafeniotoday.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning coffee at the Kafenio in our village</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>And going out for coffee could almost be reasoned to be healthy here because often it is paired with a walk.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Getting to the Coffee</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-I-VIx5VQgmyo9bOJIwmYre1ggUD-AoLP3nD39G4lZpReuhVHQbBjVV8xEgVl1pXwEm2wY34NTkhokFX5NYqMMCYEZZ2doYo_fdqT2VtSF3KqiDz9NPDfIi-KXGPOplR6DkCQSpmLdEgDQr70hHoPZj0YylkvgEq-Yb2Q4hQhOfLzlXK5LggiLVssjNA/s2016/20240213_114631.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-I-VIx5VQgmyo9bOJIwmYre1ggUD-AoLP3nD39G4lZpReuhVHQbBjVV8xEgVl1pXwEm2wY34NTkhokFX5NYqMMCYEZZ2doYo_fdqT2VtSF3KqiDz9NPDfIi-KXGPOplR6DkCQSpmLdEgDQr70hHoPZj0YylkvgEq-Yb2Q4hQhOfLzlXK5LggiLVssjNA/w449-h332/20240213_114631.jpg" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A grove on my way to coffee called out for a photo</td></tr></tbody></table><p>For most of the year the weather is conducive to walking to the coffee shop, taverna, or the traditional <i>kafenio</i>. We have versions of them all in the two villages that are walking distance from our <i><b>Stone House on the Hill</b></i>. So, when we go for a coffee, we generally get in a two-mile walk. Walking is such a normal activity, done by so many, that we often pass friends and neighbors, and we get in a visit or two as well as exercise. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduILHil2ypIKeBNPbKft-c49ZTyXyB5J9FCbU6MTKV2xryQItaZcj-dmlutfQFiFT6sUGbJBkhtWOSHja-CBkQ2YLOcniQ-E_EIPSifFcT45b7vonLIgPW0hM6gwcUSPGCJ3PYh3oyBnL09uf8KedwQCrCzfp49RM88z_Knh5-RAbD5l2nG32oQxN_LTL/s2016/20240213_113215.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduILHil2ypIKeBNPbKft-c49ZTyXyB5J9FCbU6MTKV2xryQItaZcj-dmlutfQFiFT6sUGbJBkhtWOSHja-CBkQ2YLOcniQ-E_EIPSifFcT45b7vonLIgPW0hM6gwcUSPGCJ3PYh3oyBnL09uf8KedwQCrCzfp49RM88z_Knh5-RAbD5l2nG32oQxN_LTL/w365-h422/20240213_113215.jpg" width="365" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my way home from coffee - the seaside route</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our route takes us through olive groves and along the sea - I never tire of photographing scenes along the way.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6bFlvZqSd3dtGlwLZk8aF4ZvThpqeA0IzZCi48qAI6ApBtqbmXjlcoj-MXiLJ05-ItUZtZaGEKLRysAO6LIrXc-Fc3pCf4kOSBWNJ9pgkmzmxCgg8EXvuIVDJFECLdw_eSyXGjtKonPpNz4dYd2d_oM5FBXr8JWhCZAGmMzdEnHzwSu5HW7b_E6SKEzN/s2016/blogbessiethecow.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="455" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6bFlvZqSd3dtGlwLZk8aF4ZvThpqeA0IzZCi48qAI6ApBtqbmXjlcoj-MXiLJ05-ItUZtZaGEKLRysAO6LIrXc-Fc3pCf4kOSBWNJ9pgkmzmxCgg8EXvuIVDJFECLdw_eSyXGjtKonPpNz4dYd2d_oM5FBXr8JWhCZAGmMzdEnHzwSu5HW7b_E6SKEzN/w354-h455/blogbessiethecow.jpg" width="354" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A 'friend' on the coffee shop route</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We've obviously adapted to this coffee culture as we often chuckle at how easily the mornings 'get away from us' these days when all we've done is to go out for a coffee. </p><p> And we now understand why some jokingly say that drinking coffee is the National Sport of Greece.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7WAV-3TdOYXYLV_lnX6zyLolxcFzWw-5K4FUlhMyTxcFgbALkShbJZIpqHykr8ogvqRaquHNOCO-ft56m63ay6jOxngTGf1qdkMGzOrB9g9VDKzj26IVp5bGIp9JKfBbPtDyt47ruQo8Y64bKOCxt1Gxm1dc_kXSWn3Syr_gawbIGgQcXjW2JXGspEs_/s3864/20221227_111545.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3864" data-original-width="2898" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7WAV-3TdOYXYLV_lnX6zyLolxcFzWw-5K4FUlhMyTxcFgbALkShbJZIpqHykr8ogvqRaquHNOCO-ft56m63ay6jOxngTGf1qdkMGzOrB9g9VDKzj26IVp5bGIp9JKfBbPtDyt47ruQo8Y64bKOCxt1Gxm1dc_kXSWn3Syr_gawbIGgQcXjW2JXGspEs_/w372-h435/20221227_111545.jpg" width="372" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee Pantazi Beach February coffee</td></tr></tbody></table><p>That's it from Greece where winter is still hanging on, although the wildflowers have sprouted along our 'coffee route' and spring is just around the corner. We can even sit outside for most of our coffees. We thank you for the time you've spent sipping coffee with us. We send wishes for your continued safe travels.</p>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-50754695268422307372024-02-08T07:47:00.000-08:002024-02-08T07:47:13.523-08:00Got a Bee in my bonnet! <p>It seemed odd that during the first week of February my garden would be buzzing with a swarm of bees. One or two maybe, this time of year but certainly not a swarm. Actually, there's seldom more than a couple zipping between blooms any time of year.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4wAC3rABtbCypQ1Elt99QjoNYjg6OPqG0XJ4_Ftvr6Mkl5hOyHuTfjkHgbkX6VeRyYcQTw63Vpkb2RO3nmt6JSJtforhmqpJqfZhXpsW3svXC9LYf7AvA7jQ8OdmQimc2KvYySq0MVDT9ycwk5RyKvw-QkhAbdqSYO4oOOcQn6hRG6nPbjpD8WGl3r5-/s2016/bloggarden22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4wAC3rABtbCypQ1Elt99QjoNYjg6OPqG0XJ4_Ftvr6Mkl5hOyHuTfjkHgbkX6VeRyYcQTw63Vpkb2RO3nmt6JSJtforhmqpJqfZhXpsW3svXC9LYf7AvA7jQ8OdmQimc2KvYySq0MVDT9ycwk5RyKvw-QkhAbdqSYO4oOOcQn6hRG6nPbjpD8WGl3r5-/w366-h418/bloggarden22.jpg" width="366" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February blooms at the Stone House on the Hill</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>But at least a couple dozen of the winged critters were hovering around a water bucket I use in the side garden. I went to the front door and another dozen or so were swarming around another water bucket I keep there. When I picked it up, they swarmed around it AND my hand.<p>As with all mysteries about life in Greece - the place we live as expats - it took a while, but today the mystery of the bees was solved: </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyI5t6EPh0UOfMDhl8x4H5meofnE2ImGY1a7BBN1og5H3zrYGcdsSf-4ABUX8BFYr0E6KBOKzL8ahpbCaj6MZiOU6kydjehKh-kv89nqD3eL2dwhpgKEhOlrAMQ0C_iHOVS1yO7Jp3NLXUvoBJtLBmVHpn36JBHYou4Sn6haxCoQHHH7F9uW_bdLnuObP/s2016/blogbeehives.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyI5t6EPh0UOfMDhl8x4H5meofnE2ImGY1a7BBN1og5H3zrYGcdsSf-4ABUX8BFYr0E6KBOKzL8ahpbCaj6MZiOU6kydjehKh-kv89nqD3eL2dwhpgKEhOlrAMQ0C_iHOVS1yO7Jp3NLXUvoBJtLBmVHpn36JBHYou4Sn6haxCoQHHH7F9uW_bdLnuObP/w475-h322/blogbeehives.jpg" width="475" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new neighbors</td></tr></tbody></table><p>They are our new neighbors! And quite a subdivision of them is in the previously vacant lot between six houses in our neighborhood. Not only have they settled in for a long stay, but it appears more of them are coming! And Google tells me that bees are social little creatures and that thousands could inhabit a hive. Lucky us! The new neighbors are many and sociable!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmBerDcio16v8x7j0eOcyBbRhHnk1OhJWzordcLD5Ef8hfPTzyvS7jlaqoAU8b5F_Vzf8y8PXaPlf2qSknV8-r2NxXpYaH2j6gRugJ99jU3OCs8vFQhmgHzTW3vOVtrnzT2h-rBig9owtYB_3-Ee57GgQLoNPqGDClim9VXo_aPgydkwmWIjL2gwbAlie/s3627/blogshothill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2720" data-original-width="3627" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmBerDcio16v8x7j0eOcyBbRhHnk1OhJWzordcLD5Ef8hfPTzyvS7jlaqoAU8b5F_Vzf8y8PXaPlf2qSknV8-r2NxXpYaH2j6gRugJ99jU3OCs8vFQhmgHzTW3vOVtrnzT2h-rBig9owtYB_3-Ee57GgQLoNPqGDClim9VXo_aPgydkwmWIjL2gwbAlie/w436-h334/blogshothill.jpg" width="436" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bees live above our Stone House on the Hill</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We've seen plenty of beehives in our slice of the Peloponnese. We are among the many who brag about some of Greece's best honey being produced right here. </p><p>But none of the hives we've seen before were sitting among and this close to residential houses. You better believe we expat neighbors have discussed the newcomers. We've speculated about probable regulations, and the unlikelihood of there being any about bee hives. But who would one even contact at the Municipality to ask, we chuckled. And what if they aren't allowed? Then what? More laughs.</p><p>The two police officers who patrol a wide swath of our area would surely get a laugh out of it as well if we were to contact them. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfxWWvLdAwCxwYk6lFb52DKNsOujFggheZt7jM55gRO4WTippwOVEW9jWO8nnYiB2Bwsxc3p3TdsChUYe5sy_AH9TqPmR7BEL4j3ZgJqLBLHRkKWLZJkMHgkMaSO_GUIyiO4dT6CCvizl7QvqzncpPb4G9I3Hj4xPW_pl_NFdd2kmi1vxetApaBHCPVHN/s3780/greekhood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfxWWvLdAwCxwYk6lFb52DKNsOujFggheZt7jM55gRO4WTippwOVEW9jWO8nnYiB2Bwsxc3p3TdsChUYe5sy_AH9TqPmR7BEL4j3ZgJqLBLHRkKWLZJkMHgkMaSO_GUIyiO4dT6CCvizl7QvqzncpPb4G9I3Hj4xPW_pl_NFdd2kmi1vxetApaBHCPVHN/w357-h424/greekhood.jpg" width="357" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our 'hood to the neighboring village</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The bees' sociable ways could be considered 'pestering', but they certainly aren't classified as 'pests', so the private pest control service would get a laugh out of it as well. </p><p>And really, no one wants to hurt them, we'd just like them to move a few miles into the wilderness. Perhaps a relocation service? More laughs.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFtYszLbQimmI4fGJ925DYJCtExFXzedIwbK2eQB4KcN6Q2fdinllfc_eqcFE-Y0MqUZXriBS6-mIwZSm-owNJ4qtk5jszd-DeK0JPZWDJe2AAxF_1iJGonk5564n4UZ9NSlF5HiGTi-USl5YAyQSVUxpKUgn7rWVnzHHjbx1M7txUx0NMzERpYePy5Fm/s4896/P1020340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFtYszLbQimmI4fGJ925DYJCtExFXzedIwbK2eQB4KcN6Q2fdinllfc_eqcFE-Y0MqUZXriBS6-mIwZSm-owNJ4qtk5jszd-DeK0JPZWDJe2AAxF_1iJGonk5564n4UZ9NSlF5HiGTi-USl5YAyQSVUxpKUgn7rWVnzHHjbx1M7txUx0NMzERpYePy5Fm/w464-h325/P1020340.JPG" width="464" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home of the bee hives, our home lower right corner</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The lot is for sale, asking price is 350,000 euros - thus, buying the lot and moving the bees is not an option. </p><p>So, like with many things that don't quite compute in the expat mind, we will file this away as another one of 'those' experiences that serves to remind us we are living on foreign soil. It simply can't be treated as it would be 'back home'. </p><p>And the bees are a good segue into another topic of expat living we are currently focused upon and that is the quest for the residency permit.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">On the Road to Residency Again</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SCFEO76u-tFxYJvChwv46dkVPvvykrPfpmwC3wVEl-lh1dxaKXdarTaYyHZ-x27wQtzitrTyG71vp7b3ZKGt76_uqVO7cx5Qi7XR6iV4x5tlYirohdAOCD3ZP-LxeC4u6_Mkz9Eq5B9qM52Mpg8ySKVdEdOT6Q1QIie_11VM2lwG2rDa-i5smhVPxgca/s742/IMG_1832-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="601" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SCFEO76u-tFxYJvChwv46dkVPvvykrPfpmwC3wVEl-lh1dxaKXdarTaYyHZ-x27wQtzitrTyG71vp7b3ZKGt76_uqVO7cx5Qi7XR6iV4x5tlYirohdAOCD3ZP-LxeC4u6_Mkz9Eq5B9qM52Mpg8ySKVdEdOT6Q1QIie_11VM2lwG2rDa-i5smhVPxgca/w299-h361/IMG_1832-1.jpg" width="299" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those residency permits - a reason to rejoice!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Long time readers probably just rolled their eyes, and said, "Oh, not that again already!!' But yes, with a permit that requires renewal every two years, one must start gathering documents, dotting 'i's' and crossing 't's' several months in advance of 'expiring' as we call it. We've started the' pre-app' preparation.</div><div><br /></div><div>The good news is there has been no change in the required amount of income, health insurance or documentation required to make us eligible to continue living here. We gather it, submit it and wait for it to be reviewed, and that is where the bad news comes in. . .</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdbf7eGx-4UvcUpB6mlqLOVmTrI75-8u79dJBgIvcmL7-d9HA65T3sJS6nmcueIvjfWNpEUPSssR7j5DRuljPWm7PvgqBfVcAi1Gv1EcAVoDRJFoGMaGNCa9DgkGVWyvSAdDnB9F4Bb4vD4DZOw3P5VfWpCNrxymP1sCLEHJoB5ayYAiPD3KBlaP9Cfb4/s4896/P1010577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdbf7eGx-4UvcUpB6mlqLOVmTrI75-8u79dJBgIvcmL7-d9HA65T3sJS6nmcueIvjfWNpEUPSssR7j5DRuljPWm7PvgqBfVcAi1Gv1EcAVoDRJFoGMaGNCa9DgkGVWyvSAdDnB9F4Bb4vD4DZOw3P5VfWpCNrxymP1sCLEHJoB5ayYAiPD3KBlaP9Cfb4/w432-h324/P1010577.JPG" width="432" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The traveling life brought us to Greece. . .</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Note to new readers: it is during the review process that we are not allowed to leave Greece, other than for trips as might be necessary back to our home country. The reasons for not being allowed outside we are told, is that our temporary residency paper only signifies we've applied to continue to be residents. It doesn't guarantee we will be granted a renewal.</div><div><br /></div><div>With it, we are basically just like non-visa travelers who visit countries in the Schengen Zone. There is a 90-days-in and 90-days-out rule which travelers, and apparently, we, must abide by. Because we have been living here, we've technically already exceeded those 90 days. So, if we leave Greece, we could be barred from returning because we'd overstayed your 90 days. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhndEERfTw0ZOo2bRdrxazv2FdIPSU9PaQBYLI1kCPTUzQYxIFcxjOm5lI9N-X0lPqcqiKevNwkw0fmdv27Hfhgm-cgwY1u0vwKpLc_XO8i7zb_z6QZtHeETApEcECo0fXD9-VE3nfSdvz4fVK4f7_nqxYIRHUWyZiwbTJTkXXb9iue6owrIyUYlTr9edss" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhndEERfTw0ZOo2bRdrxazv2FdIPSU9PaQBYLI1kCPTUzQYxIFcxjOm5lI9N-X0lPqcqiKevNwkw0fmdv27Hfhgm-cgwY1u0vwKpLc_XO8i7zb_z6QZtHeETApEcECo0fXD9-VE3nfSdvz4fVK4f7_nqxYIRHUWyZiwbTJTkXXb9iue6owrIyUYlTr9edss=w380-h400" width="380" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No welcome after 90 days</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Staying longer than 90 days in the Schengen Zone is considered a serious offense and could result in fines, penalties, deportation or forced exit and being blacklisted for future travels.</div><div><br /></div><div>After having the Immigration officer taking our fingerprints in Kalamata two years ago say in a no-nonsense voice, "You cannot travel out of Greece until you have your permit.' (<i>The Scout</i> had asked if a week getaway to Italy was allowed - it clearly wasn't.) we aren't going to travel outside Greece while waiting our permit.</div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">A Lengthy Lockdown Ahead</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU7MmyNFhLHCJ0SC0PG5j6gwJC8e-A2Kfd_HOH3fntZ5Geb4HLWU40_WOR4kXkav03sGKBRW8wbJErX-VQOLboINKlvG8lXRalDIzjG-mqTBm21qFARuog8XfiAMfXwdKiSECCANPnMEHry_3ZffsGNRrtqj7HZpEUPsu1mTIIK3KovuokNzmYNK18YhAk/s4896/P1010625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU7MmyNFhLHCJ0SC0PG5j6gwJC8e-A2Kfd_HOH3fntZ5Geb4HLWU40_WOR4kXkav03sGKBRW8wbJErX-VQOLboINKlvG8lXRalDIzjG-mqTBm21qFARuog8XfiAMfXwdKiSECCANPnMEHry_3ZffsGNRrtqj7HZpEUPsu1mTIIK3KovuokNzmYNK18YhAk/w448-h326/P1010625.JPG" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greek islands beacon during lock down</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Fully prepared to spend a few months 'locked down' in Greece we were lining up destinations to see in the coming months. It took 4.5 months to get that bit of plastic two years ago, so perhaps it would be six months this time, we speculated.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6kmkhr-ncHfnx55_8A_7fChXibbtXro05uJYMij2Hkw9uXI-cTEYULZLWPOGC-MlJk-B6AOHpbwt5CumJgIPz2-dcFTT94aUbRM1bJoPNiuFXtP1Do0kK8VZgTnZznOQv4KnzEUzMAMXwBpor9ZEVpuDTpYfuhVLe8hiItKG5T3kdoHdAbgMpwScfYIg/s4896/P1010818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6kmkhr-ncHfnx55_8A_7fChXibbtXro05uJYMij2Hkw9uXI-cTEYULZLWPOGC-MlJk-B6AOHpbwt5CumJgIPz2-dcFTT94aUbRM1bJoPNiuFXtP1Do0kK8VZgTnZznOQv4KnzEUzMAMXwBpor9ZEVpuDTpYfuhVLe8hiItKG5T3kdoHdAbgMpwScfYIg/w430-h323/P1010818.JPG" width="430" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Staycations ahead</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Last week we came close to booking a cruise for January 2025. Just before we did, we learned Greek Immigration is understaffed and backlogged. Seriously backlogged. They are currently reviewing applications submitted last April 2023. A ten-plus-month wait. We may not have our permits by next January! We didn't book the cruise or anything else.</div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Too Old to Be an Expat?</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MRL2A_aTeONPmN9ZXraEeMReEsdBG3F4xNA3UF1c2UDj2bYjeMG4TQ0ObhR7USiCEtyl8XY3n6ExwOG21FCFB7NWa7x3rx1UWi_Awaid9HhzOXIBgIzOlFDf8iOPiFT3XSjddIV7T8zfJyCVHY2qZ3BAkc6m4BOXSYXIMclpUs4leqhRZikVOs27pxg-/s960/13902638_1027976440585584_4852466712891240773_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="775" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MRL2A_aTeONPmN9ZXraEeMReEsdBG3F4xNA3UF1c2UDj2bYjeMG4TQ0ObhR7USiCEtyl8XY3n6ExwOG21FCFB7NWa7x3rx1UWi_Awaid9HhzOXIBgIzOlFDf8iOPiFT3XSjddIV7T8zfJyCVHY2qZ3BAkc6m4BOXSYXIMclpUs4leqhRZikVOs27pxg-/w313-h352/13902638_1027976440585584_4852466712891240773_n.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petra, Jordan</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>A few posts back I took a light-hearted look at when one might consider oneself too old to be an expat. This backlog in Immigration has prompted us to think about the question again in a more serious vein. While the years go quickly here, the years are going quickly, period. We aren't getting any younger and we ask ourselves how many of the years left before us do we want to spend locked down and unable to travel? It is a question being asked by many expats right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>For now, we will continue gathering our documents for Immigration and prepare road trip plans for Greece in 2024! </div><div><br /></div><div>As always thanks for being with us and wishes to you for safe travels. Where are you traveling this year? Let us know in the comments below or by email - we may just be traveling vicariously with you!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-24031758982046818742024-01-24T07:58:00.000-08:002024-01-24T07:58:21.374-08:00The Night of the Jackal<p>They begin just after sunset, those haunting cries that echo across our valley in rural Greece. Sometimes soft and distant and other times so loud and close that you nearly jump out of your skin. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkxI3ndYIcSrSbS0XmA3jdrNaCmguaEnGb2Qh5PZ1M8PTUS6dVQyqLD042cPM2lXwO-R0v1dIvT0n_isdXrrJl80gasRBsptZt4tQOX7CXxuuyGzVYhD0Lnrorc4tzecwSz4eePYUZcJsxXb1aUlB9oxed2HTEEYYflu97AJ_jT0hNxluEvuOQyQGfcI_/s2016/blogjackalssunset.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkxI3ndYIcSrSbS0XmA3jdrNaCmguaEnGb2Qh5PZ1M8PTUS6dVQyqLD042cPM2lXwO-R0v1dIvT0n_isdXrrJl80gasRBsptZt4tQOX7CXxuuyGzVYhD0Lnrorc4tzecwSz4eePYUZcJsxXb1aUlB9oxed2HTEEYYflu97AJ_jT0hNxluEvuOQyQGfcI_/w473-h342/blogjackalssunset.jpg" width="473" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset is time for the jackals calls to begin.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Nightfall is the time of the jackals and their blood curdling cries. It is when they begin their search for food and drink; the search and piercing nocturnal cries often continuing intermittently until dawn.</p><p>These omnivorous predators, smaller than the North American coyote, are in search of small- to medium-sized animals. Traveling in pairs, sometimes packs, their mournful cries sound like sound effects for scenes of the untamed frontier in old Western movies.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3F_wI7qT1e04V5uL-qqMdBM9szdTPvusjmRBYDwqw641tc5AGMcSvi8WMlveqEJRn9iCzku-MLdJQCjb96_Xb-Z7gw43vZfnOEAyDDxDdPJEXhmZXbxiT1D4d2trgLjG2q_F_NgCxk4E2QNKYNhtmUJo0TFmNACBESVXmVVMXYGReYJ1xy53IjO71c730/s2016/blogjackalsnight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3F_wI7qT1e04V5uL-qqMdBM9szdTPvusjmRBYDwqw641tc5AGMcSvi8WMlveqEJRn9iCzku-MLdJQCjb96_Xb-Z7gw43vZfnOEAyDDxDdPJEXhmZXbxiT1D4d2trgLjG2q_F_NgCxk4E2QNKYNhtmUJo0TFmNACBESVXmVVMXYGReYJ1xy53IjO71c730/w406-h435/blogjackalsnight.jpg" width="406" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Night view from The Stone House on the Hill</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Their eerie calls used to be a rarity at our home on a hillside outside the small Greek fishing village where we've made our expat life. These days they are almost as much a ritual as the sunset itself. We told a recent visitor that if it sounded like jackals were just outside the window of the ground floor guest room - they probably were!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC0_WzWXIygMdNdCJlFuou2ECSm40aotiFiya96e1DxeNZk49zJITYbfjvDuhphvYDsZcPpl0tge7U3mlfLm-9XSjAbxYVnT0hWWiEvDG1gSyXncoG4iaHz1p3OnSgRxG6udxpPfAF2m2XIMDAVXbIi--aAoeQL9ThhQn0FIB6kucF_U7fKONFVWRta2BH" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="147" data-original-width="220" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC0_WzWXIygMdNdCJlFuou2ECSm40aotiFiya96e1DxeNZk49zJITYbfjvDuhphvYDsZcPpl0tge7U3mlfLm-9XSjAbxYVnT0hWWiEvDG1gSyXncoG4iaHz1p3OnSgRxG6udxpPfAF2m2XIMDAVXbIi--aAoeQL9ThhQn0FIB6kucF_U7fKONFVWRta2BH=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golden jackals are found in Greece<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Luckily, we've only encountered three of them and each at a bit of a distance - all looking much worse for the wear than the one in the photo above -- however, we find their tracks in our flower beds and olive grove. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6Qs4m6YDa-NEPrYC6apcD9ryLJueibHSW2Sin9Ge7-ACDQc0JbX8TMBrKLfBs5x8zSxoARNiVEsMQlwjZWohex8qFcBY4ssNF6iEDI2BWSGqVqogz9GrDlcQ4tPWMKDsVxGwTmEApCe_A8Z4opUv-BI4dPiJ_FKFNbBDACW3USb4TMifZbd74ZT3bs0x/s2016/bloggatas3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6Qs4m6YDa-NEPrYC6apcD9ryLJueibHSW2Sin9Ge7-ACDQc0JbX8TMBrKLfBs5x8zSxoARNiVEsMQlwjZWohex8qFcBY4ssNF6iEDI2BWSGqVqogz9GrDlcQ4tPWMKDsVxGwTmEApCe_A8Z4opUv-BI4dPiJ_FKFNbBDACW3USb4TMifZbd74ZT3bs0x/w372-h419/bloggatas3.jpg" width="372" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maggie and Princess on alert</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We know why our cats head for the upper decks of our home and keep watch on their property below. Two sets of neighbors, each with a young cat just a few months old, report their cats have disappeared, both believed to be victims of jackals. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPulvFKh84vPADpUrcVRBhQcOnX0V4Z3T1aZ-MA6wPfT91xt7M1VwXY_WbFSQJQ9KbqqubQN1oHh5NKslXdOnE2P4yTD0W_8uyFcbdLQ8FwCBdWXlaGrt_lvjd_xPM16ol_pYKkJFdVpGy1dGfjXCvMKXXDfz7xBIWrOYmNJ1C-DP6CB2rooALqLqfjxX/s2016/bloggatas1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPulvFKh84vPADpUrcVRBhQcOnX0V4Z3T1aZ-MA6wPfT91xt7M1VwXY_WbFSQJQ9KbqqubQN1oHh5NKslXdOnE2P4yTD0W_8uyFcbdLQ8FwCBdWXlaGrt_lvjd_xPM16ol_pYKkJFdVpGy1dGfjXCvMKXXDfz7xBIWrOYmNJ1C-DP6CB2rooALqLqfjxX/w475-h343/bloggatas1.jpg" width="475" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now we are safe on The Scout's lap!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>On only a few occasions have our two cats been outside on ground level when I heard the first of the jackals' cry. As I've hurtled out of the house and into the darkened grove with just my mobile phone flashlight, I've been thankful that the cats have come running at the sound of my voice. I really didn't want to meet up with one of the scavengers.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxY7GniBzUp0rQO6FgcCIHENbHRABxfesY1MNOVTkpNo6Gct04HVBoT7fqwhbZ3ifIN4OClUrTFLg8_D20TPXGFI2rRW1QzJntIRk5sCUEbAR1BytNtzJMvQmQq6gj1cs4Fu_lSEqiyIlnvBm9lz14-JEHAae__n3C4RKyVA1XIz77VOUWhfRABwZvsaq/s4000/P1140504.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="423" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxY7GniBzUp0rQO6FgcCIHENbHRABxfesY1MNOVTkpNo6Gct04HVBoT7fqwhbZ3ifIN4OClUrTFLg8_D20TPXGFI2rRW1QzJntIRk5sCUEbAR1BytNtzJMvQmQq6gj1cs4Fu_lSEqiyIlnvBm9lz14-JEHAae__n3C4RKyVA1XIz77VOUWhfRABwZvsaq/w365-h423/P1140504.JPG" width="365" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not far from our home in Greece we spotted this 'yard art'</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Wanting to live differently, we chose an expat life in rural Greece. A narrow track road leads up the hill to the seven homes that comprise our spread-out neighborhood carved out of olive groves in the Mani region of the Peloponnese. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIK0uVoUqKhxlFAdL9dAIA-cyoMJlksEKwLVxhI7OuMkZ4uZ3q51XCr1UvAtYaX8EKHBsSVrMRWlK1QvNFcQVfM3TTmyZqPlmWz66CBn4NslqmJt2VW1t3OkNwnSkwwsUujT1xOfAqXRI8FztufrQop60Aw_-NER4oYDFD7TjN2dEqiAhHPhna4I-n1HRu/s2016/blogourroadhome.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIK0uVoUqKhxlFAdL9dAIA-cyoMJlksEKwLVxhI7OuMkZ4uZ3q51XCr1UvAtYaX8EKHBsSVrMRWlK1QvNFcQVfM3TTmyZqPlmWz66CBn4NslqmJt2VW1t3OkNwnSkwwsUujT1xOfAqXRI8FztufrQop60Aw_-NER4oYDFD7TjN2dEqiAhHPhna4I-n1HRu/w348-h379/blogourroadhome.jpg" width="348" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our Greek road home.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Back when we moved, our focus was on culture, cuisine, language and lifestyle of a different country. We were thinking about functioning within a place where English isn't the first language and where you don't order 'French fries with ketchup' when dining out (when you do eat that style of potato here, they are 'chips' and if dipped in anything, it is mayonnaise).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8S6ud3Q9oOluTbYw1WW7UJ5iMtwJR-FoEtD5N1_dnrzST4LYEqslWNblr4K_UGu5dxbGMoHt5ocDkcvS9a8KVwzVVL2IFWXRMmADwFjAZy1mjw6jfd2WpKA5wRQpHQTUHwkkko8ztE43ornEPKgQtFqqrRd38yEs_vHrSAlwG9mUtkmKauQFqLIBvzFpM/s2045/blogjan34.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="2045" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8S6ud3Q9oOluTbYw1WW7UJ5iMtwJR-FoEtD5N1_dnrzST4LYEqslWNblr4K_UGu5dxbGMoHt5ocDkcvS9a8KVwzVVL2IFWXRMmADwFjAZy1mjw6jfd2WpKA5wRQpHQTUHwkkko8ztE43ornEPKgQtFqqrRd38yEs_vHrSAlwG9mUtkmKauQFqLIBvzFpM/w512-h350/blogjan34.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our slice of Greece - rural and sparsely populated. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We didn't give that much thought to the new experiences we'd have simply living in an agricultural setting. But roaming jackals and the wild boar who also patrol our hillside in bulldozer-like fashion remind us that we aren't in suburban Seattle any longer. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6U4OIZfX-hb8IFLlLsRnUM13haZaQQCcGQrDiFqE7wbwsLhf9gxfmTzBsZsz2jhvxUAA_7T-8aKIVpYoyjQCi2Ck5Z9WnW1cFymTOCIFBVyCDwpnmFDbhvC4AGaWwNL_BcWDAY81bk_RnkgKem9PS6TkLv0LgMb4nFIVCYJl01jspK2-a5n1e7jqfYrg/s2016/blogjackalsboars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6U4OIZfX-hb8IFLlLsRnUM13haZaQQCcGQrDiFqE7wbwsLhf9gxfmTzBsZsz2jhvxUAA_7T-8aKIVpYoyjQCi2Ck5Z9WnW1cFymTOCIFBVyCDwpnmFDbhvC4AGaWwNL_BcWDAY81bk_RnkgKem9PS6TkLv0LgMb4nFIVCYJl01jspK2-a5n1e7jqfYrg/w499-h351/blogjackalsboars.jpg" width="499" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild boars roam near our home</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><div>This summer a neighbor was injured when he encountered the wild boar family - a moving destruction crew - on the road about a mile from our house. He was on his motorcycle and was charged by one of the boars. They've destroyed several terraces in our olive grove and dug up plants but luckily, we've not been any closer than the night we encountered them on our way home and the blurred photo was taken.</div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Living Differently </span></h3><p>Even as we watch homes and tourist accommodations being built at a breakneck pace around our valley in recent years, we still live in a rural setting where wide open spaces stretch for miles. And for the most part, the rural setting affords us pleasant, even heart-warming, new experiences.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKc8MjtsV5CaPp9-nA6HCfAnNiOF41AzDlITZCyat2VcCOGlZ_eoxhVQurOWUP1op0v2bZoV7yHqBaULwLjkq_WByFa75APcGQti_gPsvV5Gd4KKXOg7prVCNYWqSzdFXLuLu2tg0MSQYCupZK_SF0gpVRL8Y_9b4ol-PtRgIKqz5bQIwOXy2MkxMwc_D/s2016/blogbessiethecow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKc8MjtsV5CaPp9-nA6HCfAnNiOF41AzDlITZCyat2VcCOGlZ_eoxhVQurOWUP1op0v2bZoV7yHqBaULwLjkq_WByFa75APcGQti_gPsvV5Gd4KKXOg7prVCNYWqSzdFXLuLu2tg0MSQYCupZK_SF0gpVRL8Y_9b4ol-PtRgIKqz5bQIwOXy2MkxMwc_D/w396-h441/blogbessiethecow.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giving me the once over</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>When I meet friends for coffee, I usually walk to the kafenion and I pass the guy pictured above grazing in the olive grove just below our house. Sometimes he calls out a greeting and sometimes prefers just to keep an eye on me.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNWaHNPDjAF7ANQeWnJR9S9NN9yYPCdGxrNnaT_exqFWzxj__bRgq_RpKtQAZGYW1CA9RXhhiYo-N1bwwftWjusvR1F8H4OnVUjVNg4WNXJCmDb1ELCByLWa-eZfJ66RpX3Gjc172SGivhZb2CIXf4HjDhBwrkHwdQDZajyHOc-VZXH33mmcX0ryEjGTtm/s1080/blogjackalscattle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNWaHNPDjAF7ANQeWnJR9S9NN9yYPCdGxrNnaT_exqFWzxj__bRgq_RpKtQAZGYW1CA9RXhhiYo-N1bwwftWjusvR1F8H4OnVUjVNg4WNXJCmDb1ELCByLWa-eZfJ66RpX3Gjc172SGivhZb2CIXf4HjDhBwrkHwdQDZajyHOc-VZXH33mmcX0ryEjGTtm/w459-h421/blogjackalscattle.jpg" width="459" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cattle being led to graze in olive groves</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>He and his wife and child - as I like to think of them -- are regularly led to the grove to graze by an older Greek lady who owns them. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaopVT3DV5g64ZwO2AAdYB_apUhyphenhyphenDZg7iGx3k339GKc9q5htJI5BPf8mrlOmA6Twsy_Q6C99gUdG2oMzct4kHout4cHmsGW8rkykFM82rZqOJNgizAdbTmbEPZRUsDBFq_HNcM1XaHg5ueI8OoUuGsEXQFKbabqO8PR_bM8vxtXidTpahuB9oeZFDdXCXI/s3461/blogroadaboveus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3461" data-original-width="2987" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaopVT3DV5g64ZwO2AAdYB_apUhyphenhyphenDZg7iGx3k339GKc9q5htJI5BPf8mrlOmA6Twsy_Q6C99gUdG2oMzct4kHout4cHmsGW8rkykFM82rZqOJNgizAdbTmbEPZRUsDBFq_HNcM1XaHg5ueI8OoUuGsEXQFKbabqO8PR_bM8vxtXidTpahuB9oeZFDdXCXI/w425-h452/blogroadaboveus.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traffic jams are common on our village roads</td></tr></tbody></table><p>If we set off in the opposite direction, towards Platsa, the village at the top of our hill, we often find ourselves caught in a bit of a traffic jam when the herd above us is moving from one grazing spot to another.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcR4HjrE6Rl8LKzE8vuBZCGDt2kX9SDF17DPlNiwXHR9aJIeUiIWanSNiutAb_ptQYb9KZa9lfmRumCTCWdSK-cQizhmKE9ZNd6B-L2lmRozd4zUvYpRI7No3eDkNSOcWiU37n7495sizFSZWmZnMpAlHGosbHIajh2yFAW_4ZHzV4Tg6CLI3Pgt0G74k/s2176/bloghighwaytraffic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="2176" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcR4HjrE6Rl8LKzE8vuBZCGDt2kX9SDF17DPlNiwXHR9aJIeUiIWanSNiutAb_ptQYb9KZa9lfmRumCTCWdSK-cQizhmKE9ZNd6B-L2lmRozd4zUvYpRI7No3eDkNSOcWiU37n7495sizFSZWmZnMpAlHGosbHIajh2yFAW_4ZHzV4Tg6CLI3Pgt0G74k/w400-h338/bloghighwaytraffic.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highway slowdowns </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Traffic jams aren't limited to just the local access roads though, they can occur on the highway that cuts through our area as well. Here 'the highway' is a two-lane road, versus the single lane local roads.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOkUA-gNsaoyN0IWtzNKpsNQJ8OCAN5BoCWbUjn6owfoCuw0P22eo9NkkJuIZxtVx_7393X_JO7WytPe_lXkO3LuVcU0Ivjn3UZutL46Rd4XEq-Vz0p3hErDZyWV4kz99I-NWDqy00BKvqu6sGDWvKjKqT0yiwQCrI4f-iiVyxwBBYywrP3tAtuEhBv23/s2016/blogcookingfireplace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOkUA-gNsaoyN0IWtzNKpsNQJ8OCAN5BoCWbUjn6owfoCuw0P22eo9NkkJuIZxtVx_7393X_JO7WytPe_lXkO3LuVcU0Ivjn3UZutL46Rd4XEq-Vz0p3hErDZyWV4kz99I-NWDqy00BKvqu6sGDWvKjKqT0yiwQCrI4f-iiVyxwBBYywrP3tAtuEhBv23/w405-h421/blogcookingfireplace.jpg" width="405" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slow cooking in the fireplace</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Critters aren't the only thing different about this rural lifestyle. It inspired me to try my hand at slow cooking the old-fashioned way: in a glazed clay pot over an open fire. Embers, actually, in the fireplace. We've successfully cooked a number of dishes that way and it is a family affair as <i>The Scout</i> is in charge of preparing the fire and getting the embers 'just right' while I work on the food.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRqEINF6kwv7fk6zgiwiBuILya5ZeGvT9WjCqKcCbDva3-rHkmC4qzMjh1o3AIa0kALbnsf3jEAzTJpQQS814xHKh42L5Yyf51nBjQyQyGsfzDU0IPV9UjZRTRcDom__bFhHzfB9au06HjrSX2q6fRz4m3Ki_RaSvBxJDCEn1SxDCNyk9CgML0x3IWLjt/s3194/bloghortahunting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3194" data-original-width="3024" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRqEINF6kwv7fk6zgiwiBuILya5ZeGvT9WjCqKcCbDva3-rHkmC4qzMjh1o3AIa0kALbnsf3jEAzTJpQQS814xHKh42L5Yyf51nBjQyQyGsfzDU0IPV9UjZRTRcDom__bFhHzfB9au06HjrSX2q6fRz4m3Ki_RaSvBxJDCEn1SxDCNyk9CgML0x3IWLjt/w420-h418/bloghortahunting.jpg" width="420" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horta hunting</td></tr></tbody></table><p>While on the topic of food, this is the season for 'horta hunting'. Horta is the name for wild greens harvested from along roadsides and olive groves. A good friend, who runs a local taverna took us and two friends out last year on a horta hunting expedition. She showed us the kind you want to harvest, and which to avoid. It was one of our finest days!</p><p>We are living differently, that's for sure! </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7JAdkkSoyO3rr2Ee6JlqS4mKxgLHqSgpleZhLBzNse4VJZw9szRi9mrvd4SvGxGnD324ZCfHCt0Lqqum64sHpXQtpW6IvgWkCsU4GRomEHJBNM4iA86msSJuLpfPVMSi2bbyIdXa-Q3I3dEfUwJ5D_4xNv5jDnC4FEebpRLI10KtM7P7nzr81Dyu7dAY/s1920/Screenshot%20(52)_LI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7JAdkkSoyO3rr2Ee6JlqS4mKxgLHqSgpleZhLBzNse4VJZw9szRi9mrvd4SvGxGnD324ZCfHCt0Lqqum64sHpXQtpW6IvgWkCsU4GRomEHJBNM4iA86msSJuLpfPVMSi2bbyIdXa-Q3I3dEfUwJ5D_4xNv5jDnC4FEebpRLI10KtM7P7nzr81Dyu7dAY/w409-h262/Screenshot%20(52)_LI.jpg" width="409" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get TravelnWrite as an email</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We thank you for being with us as we learn new things about our adopted world and ourselves. We wish you safe travels and fun adventures in your world and hope to see you back with us soon. If you are new to TravelnWrite, you can sign up to receive these posts as emails. Just head to the homepage and fill in your email address - I promise I won't overload your in box!</p></div></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-83479505064197325502024-01-15T07:16:00.000-08:002024-01-15T07:16:15.410-08:00With a Toss of a Cross<p>With the toss of a cross the holiday season came to an official end last week and winter arrived in the Greek village we call home.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzg79lYp_nmyBCY_a6TWLIz7DLFrSACN3ooighs6Y3exLWR2Ak0EWgL91QfZrQFy-Oefaremv_XRqYR-xDXc5VmUbhlTljIFRLDlVYt3f6LA4Uj5DBw8-6Q7Z5sb5gZ7VkGUSmRBdSi3q2pL36IUmjrmr_t1ntsvr8omMuSf6OMnrOuQNeWuJSe6M1Nag/s2016/blogjan2024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzg79lYp_nmyBCY_a6TWLIz7DLFrSACN3ooighs6Y3exLWR2Ak0EWgL91QfZrQFy-Oefaremv_XRqYR-xDXc5VmUbhlTljIFRLDlVYt3f6LA4Uj5DBw8-6Q7Z5sb5gZ7VkGUSmRBdSi3q2pL36IUmjrmr_t1ntsvr8omMuSf6OMnrOuQNeWuJSe6M1Nag/w451-h327/blogjan2024.jpg" width="451" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for the Blessing of the Water in Agios Nikolaos</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The Blessing of the Water, which involves tossing a cross into the rather frigid waters of the village fishing harbor and having it retrieved by a brave - young - swimmer, is an annual religious tradition in the Greek Orthodox religion. It commemorates Christ's Baptism in the Jordan River. Throughout the country similar ceremonies and pageants took place on January 6th, the day known as Epiphany or Theophany on religious calendars.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwAoJMu3VInMs5eYmAcDxGprD1j64aJwV8URNuc5myfa99DIOFT3u1smxIQVL5xOuSRmrxwsRLpoTO_5mHfs-uxbcmZbwv6emW-V6GUhpiLISZH9YGJ67IDMN3C0C4GWO0sbcUGL_3DurZ9xq7BoX3ISsBc-uSVUz3UZjvq18bgKWIWAkYWSF4TjW7IlG/s2016/blogjan20243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwAoJMu3VInMs5eYmAcDxGprD1j64aJwV8URNuc5myfa99DIOFT3u1smxIQVL5xOuSRmrxwsRLpoTO_5mHfs-uxbcmZbwv6emW-V6GUhpiLISZH9YGJ67IDMN3C0C4GWO0sbcUGL_3DurZ9xq7BoX3ISsBc-uSVUz3UZjvq18bgKWIWAkYWSF4TjW7IlG/w369-h451/blogjan20243.jpg" width="369" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to the harbor ceremony</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In our village of Agios Nikolaos in the Mani region of the southwestern Peloponnese, the day dawned picture-perfect, with blue sky and sunshine. Harborside tables at restaurants and cafes were filled long before the bells of the church (also named Agios Nikolaos, the patron saint of sailors) began announcing the mid-morning service. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCYkprGeIfLAfurs9PPtQfPt0CiJsNpvLCqu__mT4w4zrbIhYmDUdescHpexshxOOslGs3q7pla57vJCd8RVNrvbeZUvhlDU66ikZThxjcKMCJBy6NiVUcsgf9YtBFtMM84FTrubOB1f9Fa0LQ6IhyhYPzllrDjctBnLocnoXXFa2V_IS-raWnHyqaePp/s2016/blogjan20244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCYkprGeIfLAfurs9PPtQfPt0CiJsNpvLCqu__mT4w4zrbIhYmDUdescHpexshxOOslGs3q7pla57vJCd8RVNrvbeZUvhlDU66ikZThxjcKMCJBy6NiVUcsgf9YtBFtMM84FTrubOB1f9Fa0LQ6IhyhYPzllrDjctBnLocnoXXFa2V_IS-raWnHyqaePp/w385-h426/blogjan20244.jpg" width="385" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pappas Panayotis in Agios Nikolaos</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Villagers and visitors alike were waiting for the colorful procession of officiants and congregants to make its way from the church to the harbor's parking lot. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayBIhBXW6G0tQsWqTAHRFW55B2IKEOS_mIwJovNVrsLWFb2hwgQFocRJEjfJnBKw4TA2Mp8erkmfkCZWZ2XTFL7kbzxoj0Y9DckO_9HFqsV5_XzW7cMk9ffecFLy5M-iO68Tc0j5mgwrZAhsuR2WdpLOZNZ4GfuGuXnlcuJ-shhY2TlNbb1M6JqS0hVRR/s2016/blog20247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="431" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayBIhBXW6G0tQsWqTAHRFW55B2IKEOS_mIwJovNVrsLWFb2hwgQFocRJEjfJnBKw4TA2Mp8erkmfkCZWZ2XTFL7kbzxoj0Y9DckO_9HFqsV5_XzW7cMk9ffecFLy5M-iO68Tc0j5mgwrZAhsuR2WdpLOZNZ4GfuGuXnlcuJ-shhY2TlNbb1M6JqS0hVRR/w366-h431/blog20247.jpg" width="366" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ceremony at harborside</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Once there, our village priest, Pappas Panayotis, offered a brief service, blessed the cross and tossed it into the water. Young swimmers stood on the harbor's breakwater, opposite the parking lot and launched themselves into the water to retrieve the cross as soon as the Pappas released it. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZXpiKIEKto1utgqHrkixuO7S-YyAtTerNl2UModZuAbUVlFZmxgWI3y7nSp_6AphwMmSH-aUvXnyeP4gm5y3lxwGFw4kTNAHxsl2kGBlQ83qXn9iXqstsop3o9qg4Qg2c7Ch3QZieiPbffhTr5LLK_mzjcXn4h9Id7AEf5vNRCyLDdZ2N8OWLuG_T_JX/s2016/blogjan30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZXpiKIEKto1utgqHrkixuO7S-YyAtTerNl2UModZuAbUVlFZmxgWI3y7nSp_6AphwMmSH-aUvXnyeP4gm5y3lxwGFw4kTNAHxsl2kGBlQ83qXn9iXqstsop3o9qg4Qg2c7Ch3QZieiPbffhTr5LLK_mzjcXn4h9Id7AEf5vNRCyLDdZ2N8OWLuG_T_JX/w341-h422/blogjan30.jpg" width="341" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of two brave swimmers helped from the water</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Just like that, the ceremony ended. The swimmer who retrieved the cross was blessed. The crowd shifted toward our small fish market to the side of the parking lot where the counter -- normally used to display the catch of the day -- had been turned into a magnificent banquet table, filled with platters of sweets and savory goodies donated by the local bakery, restaurants and individuals.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbM36PepAvTL83xSrCjs-1bjX8p87wMNKWodmp9_9Y4hCKkbVbLLnSwiWHb1cb01zD_sdvWkjm_SQ5_Kb3q9fST7cIDvDgZ3JCeQH_CKAuDv0GYMOba5yAeKFTbSuWDDNE5pBTg8mSs7z9OAFhV69X2c-o9xmjv4YBwrhS1smP3r5TOIsDBXJ3Ri8emUn/s2016/blogjan20241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbM36PepAvTL83xSrCjs-1bjX8p87wMNKWodmp9_9Y4hCKkbVbLLnSwiWHb1cb01zD_sdvWkjm_SQ5_Kb3q9fST7cIDvDgZ3JCeQH_CKAuDv0GYMOba5yAeKFTbSuWDDNE5pBTg8mSs7z9OAFhV69X2c-o9xmjv4YBwrhS1smP3r5TOIsDBXJ3Ri8emUn/w352-h438/blogjan20241.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Table begins to fill with donated tasty treats.</td></tr></tbody></table><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Then Came Winter</span></h3><div>That holiday Saturday was gorgeous, so much so that we stopped on our way home to admire 'our' Pantazi Beach.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFrTa2RHuOIeSNhx0cKPZE0Ptks2m2a0CclXzjyUePmv65OgdEyXNR1NLg5t_R8STY8pSCkntYkkvbIU6bhzyb8eXVTz3UOt-6p1QEsYKoHcy1GhlCUeiwpymTovKvX2b1aipYHE-gAQs8f_SN5i37EGglqEiYSaKcRcbcLLqKj2-FWv7lLti4wOCzuR6/s3820/blogjan31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3820" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFrTa2RHuOIeSNhx0cKPZE0Ptks2m2a0CclXzjyUePmv65OgdEyXNR1NLg5t_R8STY8pSCkntYkkvbIU6bhzyb8eXVTz3UOt-6p1QEsYKoHcy1GhlCUeiwpymTovKvX2b1aipYHE-gAQs8f_SN5i37EGglqEiYSaKcRcbcLLqKj2-FWv7lLti4wOCzuR6/w460-h369/blogjan31.jpg" width="460" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pantazi Beach just like Hawaii</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>This stunning beach is walking distance from our home at the base of the hill. In tourist season it is jam-packed with tourists and sunbeds but on this day, it was empty and inviting. The slight breeze, the warmth, and the wave action that day reminded us of similar scenes in Hawaii.</p><div>Well, that was Saturday. . .by the next morning, winter in all its stormy glory, had arrived. We again stopped to admire the beach, this time for the wild fury of the place. The roar of enormous waves, gusting wind and sea mist showers were what greeted us on Sunday morning.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaEuiRxT8hsXSNR7EPxNwxK3Nl2DdEHURYD1GqKrm548eN1ongN39K2trYXt27YnszTCVMV_iKL_MmVjukWQKqirhLjoVpfmvjyNqBO3hC-NVw8reTeebChJdSWlVFRvY3sEyH-6bXSG2cmHLeSUX6aSvKjQqEw2-D7Q6KQ9Xbcb64JtcQP3paicM9ODS/s1440/blogjan35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaEuiRxT8hsXSNR7EPxNwxK3Nl2DdEHURYD1GqKrm548eN1ongN39K2trYXt27YnszTCVMV_iKL_MmVjukWQKqirhLjoVpfmvjyNqBO3hC-NVw8reTeebChJdSWlVFRvY3sEyH-6bXSG2cmHLeSUX6aSvKjQqEw2-D7Q6KQ9Xbcb64JtcQP3paicM9ODS/w437-h350/blogjan35.jpg" width="437" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a difference a day makes in winter here. . .</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Weather here could be described as Longfellow once poetically wrote of the little girl with a curl: 'When she was good, she was very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid.' Further down the beach, the giant waves had carried driftwood, rubble and large stones onto the roadway. The skies were leaden, and the rain came - at times - in buckets. Such is winter in our slice of Greece.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrz1YQPmrlShqn_gwY1pMNoRcdBvYzG-ZTa-AKIfa8WEftA4eFPPBX041TQBqUumZSkY6YJZ2MD9opI27Y3ZablM-tbzsTEhz1oHygC4o6ovuq9koMJiUgsWwPEqwfraXqRPS_mH5Zntoyupo24lxYCKIbqMWeWNPykEBXkNJRDsZ0M86fBc2VNWSKKCb/s2016/blogjan32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrz1YQPmrlShqn_gwY1pMNoRcdBvYzG-ZTa-AKIfa8WEftA4eFPPBX041TQBqUumZSkY6YJZ2MD9opI27Y3ZablM-tbzsTEhz1oHygC4o6ovuq9koMJiUgsWwPEqwfraXqRPS_mH5Zntoyupo24lxYCKIbqMWeWNPykEBXkNJRDsZ0M86fBc2VNWSKKCb/w364-h436/blogjan32.jpg" width="364" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Saturday night in the village</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Winter weather definitely puts our village into hibernation. Olive harvest is coming to a close. Only a few fishing boats remain in the harbor. The slash from olive groves is being burned as weather permits. Restaurants close for maintenance. At night streets are deserted. </p><p>However, gardens are flourishing again, revived by the rain and cool temperatures. Roses and geraniums are in bloom, reminding us that spring will soon be on its way.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie6-x_u7yesqDfObtViSWzCH-dX3QF80oQ04WLa178wqaNF_ylHMZlkYS1UvsxYUceaGG_dHvD1lr9S5-ruL3RVAnYc1YBp5foFzsQrcntqpwJXyzX40OIUe9FZm4WwePEtTla684aM97xya-NTg0-LkhUDcvM_dG0u1H8TEXI_5tOBQoSiRN-pmxCH6WZ/s1440/blogjan39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie6-x_u7yesqDfObtViSWzCH-dX3QF80oQ04WLa178wqaNF_ylHMZlkYS1UvsxYUceaGG_dHvD1lr9S5-ruL3RVAnYc1YBp5foFzsQrcntqpwJXyzX40OIUe9FZm4WwePEtTla684aM97xya-NTg0-LkhUDcvM_dG0u1H8TEXI_5tOBQoSiRN-pmxCH6WZ/w457-h428/blogjan39.jpg" width="457" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My rose, a bit wind-beaten, in the garden</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Spring seems far distant though while we have a low temperature advisory in our area. It dipped to 37F/2.2C two nights ago and while that is balmy for some of you reading this, I can tell you it is COLD for here. The highest peaks of the Taygetos Mountains are finally iced with snow. We've had our oil furnace, fireplace and electric wall heaters going in tandem and separately for days. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2mN8LhhCiES0tPW08_hIpPEBnvxDV1fJ9x1B-UngJ6xTvWgKFTEd-2_Nj57ZCd9pPWk7P4W0PyOcYWkXkr5qjEUzfYQQJ0SwnQGj8fC1CQpYgjZsW4nT-e7Wku352TosWfW8upeAqvdeYd88bICk-e7CMQMq59gzq_8A0n-yQKDJWq7vv7LgeYAk0fr3/s2045/blogjan34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="2045" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2mN8LhhCiES0tPW08_hIpPEBnvxDV1fJ9x1B-UngJ6xTvWgKFTEd-2_Nj57ZCd9pPWk7P4W0PyOcYWkXkr5qjEUzfYQQJ0SwnQGj8fC1CQpYgjZsW4nT-e7Wku352TosWfW8upeAqvdeYd88bICk-e7CMQMq59gzq_8A0n-yQKDJWq7vv7LgeYAk0fr3/w485-h381/blogjan34.jpg" width="485" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A snowy peak of the Taygetos Mountain peeks out</td></tr></tbody></table><p>But the storms come and go relatively quickly here compared to our old Washington State weather and we should soon be back in the low 60F's/15C's. Yesterday we had sunshine and by today the rain is again pouring down.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg27tKxG84LEwIDoVahyphenhyphenQXrlHJnVjaK9tjEZSBklJPnIsLaBCh9wvJyOFCcPgN4ZP7sLYauCLYimK6qAr_361ZOmofnwixEtsLteWRdB-fikg1jeN4JJpx3lqFRX6S0bC987CpiPt4YBdwgGo2JyMH6zJtk3SrZHA5qUJyoXGo3DjYhOxAu8wVWag_8kTt/s2016/blogjan33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg27tKxG84LEwIDoVahyphenhyphenQXrlHJnVjaK9tjEZSBklJPnIsLaBCh9wvJyOFCcPgN4ZP7sLYauCLYimK6qAr_361ZOmofnwixEtsLteWRdB-fikg1jeN4JJpx3lqFRX6S0bC987CpiPt4YBdwgGo2JyMH6zJtk3SrZHA5qUJyoXGo3DjYhOxAu8wVWag_8kTt/w490-h331/blogjan33.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gray days in Greece<br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>We spend our winter days, snuggled up with our '<i>gatas</i>' (our cats), catching up on reading those books we've had stacked up, planning future travels, and for me, writing. We know many of you are having tough, cold winters right now, so we send our wishes for your safety - whether just going outside your door or traveling to some far distant place.<div><br /></div><div>Thanks for being with us on this blustery winter's day in Greece. Hope you'll be back for our next report and bring some friends with you! Anybody have a good book recommendation for us? Add it to the comments or send us an email - we are always on the lookout for new titles!</div></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-78653819040479201872024-01-02T07:21:00.000-08:002024-01-02T07:21:05.973-08:00A tap of the heart, a brush of a kiss<p>Walking into the village on a sunny winter's day is always pleasurable, but especially so on the first day of January. </p><p>A leisurely stroll into town is how we've marked the first day of the new year since moving to this rural slice of the Greek Peloponnese a few years ago. Actually, we walk into the village quite often, but what makes this particular stroll extra special is exchanging greetings with so many of our friends and acquaintances; all of whom are also out enjoying the holiday.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqiQXuceKYifPAg8Vrh6uJHYQicEaUJVke1y5ScBNEdDzeOlCfX2tMbZOVEKybBEgXAc-iC6ej4IAqmOGe_FPCI50CrBiWfRinIoEZIGX9K2DJt4JQtbUx3Bggg3dH9sCrkrG1uiHfLuXuVH16D0GYwfD4ri0CvFaynTQaEgw6g-zog6UT5TorZNebRew/s2016/blogjan1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqiQXuceKYifPAg8Vrh6uJHYQicEaUJVke1y5ScBNEdDzeOlCfX2tMbZOVEKybBEgXAc-iC6ej4IAqmOGe_FPCI50CrBiWfRinIoEZIGX9K2DJt4JQtbUx3Bggg3dH9sCrkrG1uiHfLuXuVH16D0GYwfD4ri0CvFaynTQaEgw6g-zog6UT5TorZNebRew/w460-h321/blogjan1.jpg" width="460" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kali Kronia reads the sign at the church door</td></tr></tbody></table><br />'Kali Chronia. . . Chronia Polla!' we call out in both greeting or in response to those who've called out to us. 'Good year. . .many years' is the rough translation of this multipurpose wish, also used at birthday sand other holidays. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4RjDaqUHYIxQaSt9-vnKbn0ycKmuCI_iebjX3xg_-Ytwc8aO77ICGFlatsy7tuR5tw7RE9_OKKrBrX_jypfJI6zOjWn4HQGNKBs574myHuZALKa4GIhhr4GYv9Nkt8xDML_YKoKF7UF98C4xaNIhbVbXvlq6iuSsp4QVl3W3uFEmuUWqn6y3uc-LANIq/s500/xronia%20polla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="406" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4RjDaqUHYIxQaSt9-vnKbn0ycKmuCI_iebjX3xg_-Ytwc8aO77ICGFlatsy7tuR5tw7RE9_OKKrBrX_jypfJI6zOjWn4HQGNKBs574myHuZALKa4GIhhr4GYv9Nkt8xDML_YKoKF7UF98C4xaNIhbVbXvlq6iuSsp4QVl3W3uFEmuUWqn6y3uc-LANIq/w334-h367/xronia%20polla.jpg" width="334" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chronia Polla in Greek</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><p></p><p>Often times it is accompanied by a tap to the heart with the right hand, and a slight nod of the head when offered by an acquaintance. Friends offer a brush of a kiss to each of us, first the right cheek, then the left. Shaking hands while greeting each other is frequent. Waiters often offer New Year's greetings and reach out to shake our hands as a prelude to taking our order. And between special friends, the greeting may be offered with a full-blown hug and kiss.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzBYhLRXDRVB4WbteyCGU3PLk_viRokl_7kj1vuFEyECp0ddn7TIgAYdL1meECEit1YEaO3WnP5bZut4UNfR0JDOcvbghuc14FPR8YUM5XjuycpQMynkRebybFYSe5acPn61DAvpw0xFB2zjuqkpAYpaaKVCENQebc2oi95fVY9jFyOkck1Dndr81NcxXA/s2016/blogfishingboats.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzBYhLRXDRVB4WbteyCGU3PLk_viRokl_7kj1vuFEyECp0ddn7TIgAYdL1meECEit1YEaO3WnP5bZut4UNfR0JDOcvbghuc14FPR8YUM5XjuycpQMynkRebybFYSe5acPn61DAvpw0xFB2zjuqkpAYpaaKVCENQebc2oi95fVY9jFyOkck1Dndr81NcxXA/w453-h326/blogfishingboats.jpg" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greeting the New Year in the village beside the harbor</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Once in town we found chairs in the village kafenios and tavernas were filled as friends and families gathered to indulge in a bit of <i>gly-KO</i>, as sweets are called here, and of course, a slowly sipped coffee. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6m74-pkRh5A2ve_9P6fIt2Q_NmCadVMQo7sykCdOBUzBLEU3YGzHm51e2a0d6dTfUOkBP93iwt7ZpBMNhwgXlATcXSxEFqbaoixA_7pdGMdFCVlB1UTMVEEJ11pjIHDzrV9bQBQ8C0VXZXjvhnIc0tcLh2Zf5K1FlZsz3-x3zonGAsa2efo80bVzAh3F/s3264/blogjan920240101_111103.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6m74-pkRh5A2ve_9P6fIt2Q_NmCadVMQo7sykCdOBUzBLEU3YGzHm51e2a0d6dTfUOkBP93iwt7ZpBMNhwgXlATcXSxEFqbaoixA_7pdGMdFCVlB1UTMVEEJ11pjIHDzrV9bQBQ8C0VXZXjvhnIc0tcLh2Zf5K1FlZsz3-x3zonGAsa2efo80bVzAh3F/w369-h450/blogjan920240101_111103.jpg" width="369" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Year's Day tradition: coffee and cake</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In between greeting friends who passed our table, we sipped cappuccinos and munched on slices of <i>vasilipitos</i>, the traditional New Year's cake, baked with a lucky coin inside. The person getting that coin in their piece is promised good luck in the coming year. Although we didn't get the piece with the coin, we still felt pretty lucky to be savoring the first few hours of the new year in this adopted home of ours on the Messinian Gulf.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2nHoIsRHFyXIEHM4awlBQnWOlkSCg-Y7ukM6ddWlrIM8Yslm_mPGHNzzzMRakjgxXXf279xZ8L8y-q-nOBJhX8xxA4SQKgD_enI0-K9hz_o9LYzeseYvdmEC8mw__jBxNMdx5ACgvE2yQ4WdfbHheg3wNfWKFIHkx_sFWvKE1cGuh454s8gV2Spr_4_xX" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="207" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2nHoIsRHFyXIEHM4awlBQnWOlkSCg-Y7ukM6ddWlrIM8Yslm_mPGHNzzzMRakjgxXXf279xZ8L8y-q-nOBJhX8xxA4SQKgD_enI0-K9hz_o9LYzeseYvdmEC8mw__jBxNMdx5ACgvE2yQ4WdfbHheg3wNfWKFIHkx_sFWvKE1cGuh454s8gV2Spr_4_xX=w471-h381" width="471" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saint Vasilis Day, January 1st</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The cake is named for St. Vasilis. While January 1st marks the start of a new year here, it is also Saint Vasilis Day. He is the one who brings gifts to the good little boys and girls, much like Santa does on Christmas in our other world. It is the Name Day for those named after him, and Name Days here are very special occasions.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6o8tp3qASFSL9HQY-1Szx0XV6XPkFY5hS_8uCrj4u9bpFjQP3te8ElYfCB_nx6sleEgwUPgIjCtzeTVDOzMbVJ5iQPmvqLM4gQWBtR-m31UOZbN0WeV69h-CiIoHBHfjH728vy0Qtk8tgYSu5cZyJg5PuZY73AqqbZMdIRFv5xMiqNR_Jr0kykVG1zR_W/s2016/blogjan2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6o8tp3qASFSL9HQY-1Szx0XV6XPkFY5hS_8uCrj4u9bpFjQP3te8ElYfCB_nx6sleEgwUPgIjCtzeTVDOzMbVJ5iQPmvqLM4gQWBtR-m31UOZbN0WeV69h-CiIoHBHfjH728vy0Qtk8tgYSu5cZyJg5PuZY73AqqbZMdIRFv5xMiqNR_Jr0kykVG1zR_W/w359-h426/blogjan2.jpg" width="359" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steps to the sea in Agios Nikolaos</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The sun, <i>Helios</i>, was shining brightly and brought mid-day temperatures to 67F, or 19,4C.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzrW2AeZUDQdR6MkbLl_mwj9VqL5zoqMx0bvEDi9kp3OWgEaDnSEYnsueg4e2sH6vD6jCZTPjbigaDZ-Cx8EItDD1JG8s5cw6nBFhs0y8kMSgjKI8eY_5hbid68tT-YSzC9QUbXZhv0jUydusgEVi9sts5LmcK41hRC82JZRvyESmhdxJU0wiJULazmXk/s4032/agios%20nikolaos%202020.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzrW2AeZUDQdR6MkbLl_mwj9VqL5zoqMx0bvEDi9kp3OWgEaDnSEYnsueg4e2sH6vD6jCZTPjbigaDZ-Cx8EItDD1JG8s5cw6nBFhs0y8kMSgjKI8eY_5hbid68tT-YSzC9QUbXZhv0jUydusgEVi9sts5LmcK41hRC82JZRvyESmhdxJU0wiJULazmXk/w470-h364/agios%20nikolaos%202020.jpg" width="470" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agios Nikolaos village, Peloponnese</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>New Years marks a time of reflection as well as anticipation for us. We are grateful to you who have continued to join us on our adventures as expats and travelers via this blog of ours. We welcome those of you who are new to the blog. We look forward to hearing of your future adventures and having you continue sharing in ours.</p><p> We send our good wishes to you all for a healthy and happy. . .</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNoncpXXiAAw_Q2miVPb_alrGmAgcKbLcN7SCHtUHBYC6Y4IP_rvZou9xlhhAkI7f_r-IHchSeuQorRtFRcyBcUXqywcrTjF-mOcvZ_zbnYZds16uVNJy5Hh3Va3pc0iLxNMo9-2NaNHQyovw_7gP5xVwFhN9doGTSDcIQp2f8zHOrxn9p3mLdmUnd4F50/s2016/blogjan3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNoncpXXiAAw_Q2miVPb_alrGmAgcKbLcN7SCHtUHBYC6Y4IP_rvZou9xlhhAkI7f_r-IHchSeuQorRtFRcyBcUXqywcrTjF-mOcvZ_zbnYZds16uVNJy5Hh3Va3pc0iLxNMo9-2NaNHQyovw_7gP5xVwFhN9doGTSDcIQp2f8zHOrxn9p3mLdmUnd4F50/w491-h326/blogjan3.jpg" width="491" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo: Kalamata city square)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>. . .as well as our wishes for continued safe travels to you and your families ~ our best to each of you!</p></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-84812201273817500022023-12-17T08:14:00.000-08:002023-12-17T08:14:02.622-08:00A Holiday Holibob<p> 'Tis the season in jolly ol' Greece. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVsGeRQRK9lqiPlgC-do2YyW9rpNkiA6rWLOAKQ7VpuYozzJYolmrzneUIR8TEsCLPa59vl2s1h6twRjp7-OO1k_HuItRzi4Q1bKVZUYDpcQFgN-5tU1cnxVGjG9cSsRMCNfH4mZ-JSvfqUmOB1P5vGfqHQ1il19g4aySRekN0HXxXZuU01GM6MW-rVOsX/s4000/P1130346.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVsGeRQRK9lqiPlgC-do2YyW9rpNkiA6rWLOAKQ7VpuYozzJYolmrzneUIR8TEsCLPa59vl2s1h6twRjp7-OO1k_HuItRzi4Q1bKVZUYDpcQFgN-5tU1cnxVGjG9cSsRMCNfH4mZ-JSvfqUmOB1P5vGfqHQ1il19g4aySRekN0HXxXZuU01GM6MW-rVOsX/w424-h265/P1130346.JPG" width="424" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Athens goes all out at Christmas.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Christmas is just a countdown away and Greece's larger cities are decked out in their holiday finest. Being a country where 81- 90% of the population identifies as being Greek Orthodox, Christmas, like Easter, is a major event.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguWUIC20TsIYTTJYupo5t6PG7H3SAHa_KDrFB95pZeHv-YnVZ_0YDJ5u9g7EtL8aUSIE19w29TBt5KULuFu41WjHbr4QjHMYvqIWuZqMw3mpgSTD694bgsQ82Uh0G0c7uxK0jDs5fDUay9ZZxh77Yg76y6OsaoByccuCb_iNaPjNy-12GoyVAdyvHisXWb" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguWUIC20TsIYTTJYupo5t6PG7H3SAHa_KDrFB95pZeHv-YnVZ_0YDJ5u9g7EtL8aUSIE19w29TBt5KULuFu41WjHbr4QjHMYvqIWuZqMw3mpgSTD694bgsQ82Uh0G0c7uxK0jDs5fDUay9ZZxh77Yg76y6OsaoByccuCb_iNaPjNy-12GoyVAdyvHisXWb=w396-h434" width="396" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A December storm churns the water in our harbor.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Christmas comes during winter in the southern Greek Peloponnese, the place we've made our expat home. While the seasons' characteristics are different here from those in the U.S. Pacific Northwest, we definitely have four distinct seasons. </p><p>Our Greek Christmas is being heralded in with a kaleidoscope of changing weather: rain and windstorms, sunny days and downright cold nights in the low 40F, or 4.4C. So, we humans are also decked out for the season: sweaters, neck scarves and coats. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6erE4SfhRc0nFNZqbaoICzO7yvFLyPp1b0O0StemBbHmXfkWfCkIj0GekvmIG1QhOXruv1MLa0gm676ntQCuNW0DhdzXGsqvayEvNgEH7jLLF9yWmX97PEIhKP90-HwSezsaZg9KmRVYbFw0xT1s_lNJaXujtledIlMIolRGnmpf1fhB8Y1r2k4Qwez98/s960/blogkalaxmas27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6erE4SfhRc0nFNZqbaoICzO7yvFLyPp1b0O0StemBbHmXfkWfCkIj0GekvmIG1QhOXruv1MLa0gm676ntQCuNW0DhdzXGsqvayEvNgEH7jLLF9yWmX97PEIhKP90-HwSezsaZg9KmRVYbFw0xT1s_lNJaXujtledIlMIolRGnmpf1fhB8Y1r2k4Qwez98/w273-h417/blogkalaxmas27.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minimal decorations that first year in Greece!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We celebrated our first Christmas in Greece in 2014, within days of purchasing our <i><b>Stone House on the Hill</b></i>. The village celebration was low-keyed. Decorations were minimal. And they were minimal in our rather empty house as well. </p><p>Since that first Christmas here we have watched the holiday celebration and merchandizing pick up momentum primarily in the larger cities. Some big city store displays went up in November and rival 'the over the top' gaudiness of those in the United States. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaCbqPo6AMWCy7ikT8nCS4S_PXsA68vfRtONnpeQ4uJRg7E7I0SFAI2f6sx1pfyC_nbv3UV4wIRsFw0Nap-KQ87QBY7k1QTwrHHftmtawlAtALXm71noQi_eUOr7jXSeNqqCDedp6Wj-vQN7Y8USVE-UwdrvB31oyCTFyXLpOPqMkMN9WT6-P6dhL0q1sk" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="261" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaCbqPo6AMWCy7ikT8nCS4S_PXsA68vfRtONnpeQ4uJRg7E7I0SFAI2f6sx1pfyC_nbv3UV4wIRsFw0Nap-KQ87QBY7k1QTwrHHftmtawlAtALXm71noQi_eUOr7jXSeNqqCDedp6Wj-vQN7Y8USVE-UwdrvB31oyCTFyXLpOPqMkMN9WT6-P6dhL0q1sk=w438-h320" width="438" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas Agios Nikolaos </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p>Still 'the reason for the season' remains at the forefront of the holiday and many Christmas traditions are alive and well. In many villages, like our Agios Nikolaos, the decorations remain minimal. The photo above of the star at harborside was pretty much the extent of our municipal decorations a couple years ago - this year, even the star is missing. </p><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlY8IZFUSW9tzlvuTwXHShnjJHnUc-aRR2u6C17P3As_iiLIEKZRF3wfTxLATIdW7wZtRQuA-Uv4y1DTO12uO6_itgJh43DdqDsXyyHy9NX3ShC6ysZG0t9miZHOz6y-Jh3NGrhqbAN8IixHJ36H_DbSYBVOMVHLiFdkaJGX2etvXPQESKhg5Et-xAarY/s2016/blogkalaxmas12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlY8IZFUSW9tzlvuTwXHShnjJHnUc-aRR2u6C17P3As_iiLIEKZRF3wfTxLATIdW7wZtRQuA-Uv4y1DTO12uO6_itgJh43DdqDsXyyHy9NX3ShC6ysZG0t9miZHOz6y-Jh3NGrhqbAN8IixHJ36H_DbSYBVOMVHLiFdkaJGX2etvXPQESKhg5Et-xAarY/w344-h418/blogkalaxmas12.jpg" width="344" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata our holibob destination</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>So, it was time, we decided last week, for a dose of big city Christmas and we set off for an overnight. . . </div><div><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red;"> Holiday Holibob</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvNUFV27sDUvJfRDhr2k5JgiFNV3REKe_PkFhHsTtFGipOwg4ej7tRFYuDCusCryfOHN0FWDvt5HZFjVVXhwuEV78I88hi6gKiiOtKIzByGrtlDjnL591WymQBtnM3PEMkWW53RHhASmBZp2pL6rYhfnxWRL9o1gKtTR35LEeqhT57-CTA47k-r_DI8X4B" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="376" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvNUFV27sDUvJfRDhr2k5JgiFNV3REKe_PkFhHsTtFGipOwg4ej7tRFYuDCusCryfOHN0FWDvt5HZFjVVXhwuEV78I88hi6gKiiOtKIzByGrtlDjnL591WymQBtnM3PEMkWW53RHhASmBZp2pL6rYhfnxWRL9o1gKtTR35LEeqhT57-CTA47k-r_DI8X4B=w423-h278" width="423" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata, the vibrant port city on Messinias Ba y</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>A holibob is a slang British term used to describe a short holiday or a getaway as we Americans would likely call it. It perfectly described our overnight away from home in Kalamata. </div><div><br /></div><div>Kalamata is the second biggest city in the Peloponnese and getting bigger every day. We go there often for shopping, appointments and repairs. . .but we seldom take time to enjoy all the things that make it a popular tourist destination.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNIFjH-Rg05NCy1nMshOdkSKr7qrM4b0hNJrZv98lqTSte8zvEx8ut2rT9xUvxJeAVuWLfsFozDU3gJiA2AW1g38eyZU1jWnxdSSZsTcF6OkQqC8BAIWPYLPiM0CQDFhGD02J2oJ2ERQas75Q2DVS01yT3GfVuP0g0K39DRGx7YO9MY5fc2HVagjcCsgr/s4000/P1140414.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNIFjH-Rg05NCy1nMshOdkSKr7qrM4b0hNJrZv98lqTSte8zvEx8ut2rT9xUvxJeAVuWLfsFozDU3gJiA2AW1g38eyZU1jWnxdSSZsTcF6OkQqC8BAIWPYLPiM0CQDFhGD02J2oJ2ERQas75Q2DVS01yT3GfVuP0g0K39DRGx7YO9MY5fc2HVagjcCsgr/w432-h298/P1140414.JPG" width="432" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata's working waterfront lined with accommodations and eateries</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Kalamata has recently been featured in numerous travel publications, blogs, vlogs, reels and writings since a conference of travel writers held last May drew 300 content creators to town and blew them away with its charms! Being a part of that gathering and seeing it through the eyes of visitors helped make it our holibob destination of choice. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6KainJ5fnynlHodvGd4e-baxG6VBnefH6O-5-LvZpXjnyagjMIm1bNxgYL9hCjRMEgvS6Kf2bUDM-XEZkDjgu5s78SwSyvuVjdL0g6H3cRr3EZ5KZMGauW599hAL25yhnvsT7o91Lcq7HnuSa-YD2vsDKY_22pVvOTWg16AX9ng5gEs9MMmTWwZEmtuM/s2016/blogkalaxmas11.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6KainJ5fnynlHodvGd4e-baxG6VBnefH6O-5-LvZpXjnyagjMIm1bNxgYL9hCjRMEgvS6Kf2bUDM-XEZkDjgu5s78SwSyvuVjdL0g6H3cRr3EZ5KZMGauW599hAL25yhnvsT7o91Lcq7HnuSa-YD2vsDKY_22pVvOTWg16AX9ng5gEs9MMmTWwZEmtuM/w350-h409/blogkalaxmas11.jpg" width="350" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfront gets decorated</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>One of the loveliest of Christmas decorating traditions in Greece is the lighted boat, the Christmas Boat, which pays tribute to the country's maritime heritage. Kalamata proudly has one of the largest lighted boats on its bustling waterfront.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqG_jJ4M9KEnJEExZNMequa4yA7b5TVd6eXrHKsaZ2gWjNxmt-ozBAxSoKpiO5sKSi7ZmLrD64NV5B89b5n8iEpJ5lQFa3-QMuMqElyvkJ19-GI-st8mUcm82m4iXA7Miy9TY6LpcB2pdlV9Nuf820bOF4Aul3hhndyjtIFfRWHXUgRzdwt6uqvpuphYv/s3962/blogkalaxmas4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3962" data-original-width="2972" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqG_jJ4M9KEnJEExZNMequa4yA7b5TVd6eXrHKsaZ2gWjNxmt-ozBAxSoKpiO5sKSi7ZmLrD64NV5B89b5n8iEpJ5lQFa3-QMuMqElyvkJ19-GI-st8mUcm82m4iXA7Miy9TY6LpcB2pdlV9Nuf820bOF4Aul3hhndyjtIFfRWHXUgRzdwt6uqvpuphYv/w352-h436/blogkalaxmas4.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata's jewel in her Christmas crown</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Just a few blocks inland, the towering Municipal Christmas tree is the centerpiece of the city's pedestrian-friendly shopping area. The lighting of the Christmas tree took place a few nights before we were in town and drew hundreds of spectators. The ceremony's climax was an enormous silent fireworks display - done silently in consideration of children and animals. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIZMlrnOnMsII9aHHfMUeEi1ls8xCoxwPjY8X_cqV6eCvSbT1SRmlTcMfqEduwu7wpfLHv-aeFmtjpjwsY-aa__ymeP4Z98dm3SEhhi_vJ1GId8Vd0q3ktNoJpoSRaW786qINLKuFNMl5GmkS8FixfBggPMIZyVmEUCaZEF4Y7EKxwJ7XWGwsLZwQ8LYj/s2016/blogkalaxmas5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIZMlrnOnMsII9aHHfMUeEi1ls8xCoxwPjY8X_cqV6eCvSbT1SRmlTcMfqEduwu7wpfLHv-aeFmtjpjwsY-aa__ymeP4Z98dm3SEhhi_vJ1GId8Vd0q3ktNoJpoSRaW786qINLKuFNMl5GmkS8FixfBggPMIZyVmEUCaZEF4Y7EKxwJ7XWGwsLZwQ8LYj/w461-h330/blogkalaxmas5.jpg" width="461" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Decorated storefronts lined the streets of town</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Storefronts still exist and line the streets of Kalamata. Retailers have turned the area into a winter wonderland. The pedestrian shopping area is lined with eateries and coffee shops, offering space heaters for sidewalk tables this time of year. Each place was so inviting that it was difficult to choose which one to visit.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDq_Fq8p2kLHPH4-6X9GHKsz57OoqpVznxjZBj1AuGKurUE2q3vu4tX1XJHt8uV2DjSNg50_G7yhf81yG0qnjhtk41mvPaCj4dueDLUXMVkDuJbR84oXPuy-PBfxNKU6cyFvt1OZndc5f5wLk9f1V-r2LiVR_GR1-kaMq56wtW6fuBm0jR7MUcezEyHe0/s2826/blogkalaxmas3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2119" data-original-width="2826" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDq_Fq8p2kLHPH4-6X9GHKsz57OoqpVznxjZBj1AuGKurUE2q3vu4tX1XJHt8uV2DjSNg50_G7yhf81yG0qnjhtk41mvPaCj4dueDLUXMVkDuJbR84oXPuy-PBfxNKU6cyFvt1OZndc5f5wLk9f1V-r2LiVR_GR1-kaMq56wtW6fuBm0jR7MUcezEyHe0/w461-h332/blogkalaxmas3.jpg" width="461" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A great spot for people-watching</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1NT9qPS-uOnt1jF5CCZDeZedj5VCFrvY_JTfv16gMV4W2yJ4EvMpiwcEH3GO3Kfm4bk3Y_gl-z70_etbLYdRwzbzIPxnbZYoXGv1jGngkuNxrKDwGwoJFL2wM2MW0RQ3bcYgT6r7lYldRbnKYsJ1aSk-bqdouCjuUPARz-RUxAqK1Npb2jIonqGGkt_j/s2016/blogkalaxmas24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1NT9qPS-uOnt1jF5CCZDeZedj5VCFrvY_JTfv16gMV4W2yJ4EvMpiwcEH3GO3Kfm4bk3Y_gl-z70_etbLYdRwzbzIPxnbZYoXGv1jGngkuNxrKDwGwoJFL2wM2MW0RQ3bcYgT6r7lYldRbnKYsJ1aSk-bqdouCjuUPARz-RUxAqK1Npb2jIonqGGkt_j/w475-h325/blogkalaxmas24.jpg" width="475" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heaters were in use in the patios.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>We ended up inside at one of our favorite lunch spots and found it transformed into a most vibrant cocktail bar in the evening. Luna Lounge is housed in one of Kalamata's heritage buildings that survived an earthquake (which destroyed much of the city) several decades ago. Local lore says it was once home to a popular Speakeasy. Alcoholic beverages are now legally sold there, and its popularity continues. The place was packed.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht64vY5X_BWPWmVSNyHGcM6WuY4AGpdSEC6lvPzqenu-ZNX_kkDVmcbj9PSKU97lBa-HZ9Ey-2dxxXC4mRI3Eio4Elk2Z-Ibl4ZPCEF6ghyphenhyphenujCWhACSYJRFtrV4PB7Hbbm96hEoJpfgBL8xdmkmQJVaQK7ld839s0a4TVlDeV-xczGDR3VyspgwyYQ8_VN/s2016/blogkalaxmas1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht64vY5X_BWPWmVSNyHGcM6WuY4AGpdSEC6lvPzqenu-ZNX_kkDVmcbj9PSKU97lBa-HZ9Ey-2dxxXC4mRI3Eio4Elk2Z-Ibl4ZPCEF6ghyphenhyphenujCWhACSYJRFtrV4PB7Hbbm96hEoJpfgBL8xdmkmQJVaQK7ld839s0a4TVlDeV-xczGDR3VyspgwyYQ8_VN/w468-h315/blogkalaxmas1.jpg" width="468" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luna Lounge, housed in a heritage building, once home to a Speakeasy.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Greek traditions don't have St. Nick, or Agios Nikolaos, being the giver of gifts. Agios Nikolaos is honored on December 6th - as the patron saint of sailors and seamen. Instead, it is Agios Vasilis, (St. Basil) who brings the gifts to good little boys and girls on New Year's Day. </div><div><br /></div><div>But we couldn't help but notice that a jolly fellow in a red suit had taken centerstage near the Christmas tree this year. He was inviting me into Santa's House, when I snapped this photo:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfDQhyFFqC_fhUhROq215_m6UPCvspFz34l5K6pBvPgcycYsdaDz9W8DrMnJfFjOboolA5lS0pF1271wAPMK2xBjWOPiwuWEBLk-imu__SjU4ZRQzreNyf4G8CFrB_GSuvq2u1AVTPnQX_ldvpo47QvQBK3O1lsGrRKIJZAQ-8pPsBfeIyaOChDwQCHGZ/s2016/blogkalaxmas25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="437" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfDQhyFFqC_fhUhROq215_m6UPCvspFz34l5K6pBvPgcycYsdaDz9W8DrMnJfFjOboolA5lS0pF1271wAPMK2xBjWOPiwuWEBLk-imu__SjU4ZRQzreNyf4G8CFrB_GSuvq2u1AVTPnQX_ldvpo47QvQBK3O1lsGrRKIJZAQ-8pPsBfeIyaOChDwQCHGZ/w365-h437/blogkalaxmas25.jpg" width="365" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa in his Kalamata Santa's House</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Fully satiated with Christmas spirit we headed back home less than 24 hours after we'd arrived. We'd feasted, toasted and immersed ourselves in a big city Christmas. It was great fun and a change of scenery, but as we sipped a cappuccino at harborside one morning after our return, we decided sometimes a holibob really serves to remind you just how spectacular home is - even without a lot of decorations. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyzA4fKfnOhdn59zqD-gMhLxKwwFiWL32_HnVP991Be_i_EUx0ztEdDGp9T0aPWZMyCN1ZF64xAxeT9l9uY1Z9s6KoGw6pUYTYOlXCywsDXYBdXQiy0SFtDZjZ0FOYUwjpA_cqESZzKXbCt4O7q6QCg9Wp41Jz54GYuSky4V4H8m0Va0JlmlrE_iUKm0ez/s3264/blogkalaxmas26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyzA4fKfnOhdn59zqD-gMhLxKwwFiWL32_HnVP991Be_i_EUx0ztEdDGp9T0aPWZMyCN1ZF64xAxeT9l9uY1Z9s6KoGw6pUYTYOlXCywsDXYBdXQiy0SFtDZjZ0FOYUwjpA_cqESZzKXbCt4O7q6QCg9Wp41Jz54GYuSky4V4H8m0Va0JlmlrE_iUKm0ez/w462-h300/blogkalaxmas26.jpg" width="462" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agios Nikolaos on a December morning.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We thank you for the time spent with us today and send sincere wishes for holiday happiness to you and yours. May you enjoy whatever holiday you are celebrating and if you aren't celebrating a holiday, then wishes for a happy day! Safe travels to you - hope you'll be back again and bring a friend or two with you!</div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-33217136788204426082023-12-08T06:32:00.000-08:002023-12-08T06:32:37.048-08:00 Too Old to be Expats?<p>At almost 101, she is probably the oldest expat in the area. </p><p>She is the expat I want to be 'when I grow up'.</p><p>I am not naming her because her name isn't as important to this tale as is her age. She is simply living proof that quality time lived as an expat need not be age defined. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RASE5WCcYeb0EjoHIeXHh18CsHoPG2dQL4tlq5_auEuoG_ai3tRQSDUgyMj8T2Ektl-P73TqX7xw2jMd93LhZUYZPKVZtCAK-Xmx5TXRTg_FslTcrE9iBI1-0dir5-JvB_oeli0sry8bL9WKGQxLJ7mqBjuniQy-bl0lv-q619yZIh7m9kG8kkAHrZBg/s2016/blogvillage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RASE5WCcYeb0EjoHIeXHh18CsHoPG2dQL4tlq5_auEuoG_ai3tRQSDUgyMj8T2Ektl-P73TqX7xw2jMd93LhZUYZPKVZtCAK-Xmx5TXRTg_FslTcrE9iBI1-0dir5-JvB_oeli0sry8bL9WKGQxLJ7mqBjuniQy-bl0lv-q619yZIh7m9kG8kkAHrZBg/w444-h330/blogvillage.jpg" width="444" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agios Nikolaos, our expat world</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Just last week I saw her studiously bent over her latest needle work, chatting away with her longtime friends at a weekly crafter gathering in the village. A couple years ago, while seated next to her at a fundraiser she kept me entertained with her stories, . . . well, until the band started playing and she headed to the dance floor! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguH-ShftC2oMiV7BqJNfSNg6Dv-AFU4-OqovngarXFk0xM_V8cPEuduuy7pnAa2hUTu3NBPwkJFlRXPMiOByIhToM9BjFGp0qXIiyBEDFB1xNUlq-9IUFJzvnku8Tl1eOclLrSEUEqKWOLeJ29ypIr1hGSB8JiSdWmIe6x0T_kHwZyjzDWPGrhASRibyE7/s3407/blog70thjk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3407" data-original-width="2907" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguH-ShftC2oMiV7BqJNfSNg6Dv-AFU4-OqovngarXFk0xM_V8cPEuduuy7pnAa2hUTu3NBPwkJFlRXPMiOByIhToM9BjFGp0qXIiyBEDFB1xNUlq-9IUFJzvnku8Tl1eOclLrSEUEqKWOLeJ29ypIr1hGSB8JiSdWmIe6x0T_kHwZyjzDWPGrhASRibyE7/w394-h428/blog70thjk.jpg" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three birthday cakes, a party and many friends as I hit 70!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Although not as spry as she once was, I think of her as the poster child for the 'aging expat'. And since becoming a septuagenarian last July, I now qualify as both 'aging' and 'expat'. </p><p>So, finding someone 30 years my senior is gratifying as I ponder the question: Can one be too old to be an expat?</p><p>'It's only a number,' chided my just-turned-50 expat friend, as my tongue swelled in July when I attempted to say my age. Saying '70' in Greek (<i>ev-do-MIN-ta</i>) and English (<i>s-s-seventy</i>) continues to be difficult. When I can't wrap my head around something, I usually can't wrap my tongue around it either.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Coming of Age in Greece</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jM56j38mQsJ2Kibv6lG2tXlJjyrlnZBq2J6vpNYCUYQ7nUqathT5gIpEjD_mtqZZZlrOlySIuCAZGm704_jtBR-yMNnwZgVHKFy0Bm6r_9-G82zgGDLtiX-3Wcl4xVL49mEHRkY4dDthV3JqM3kBCawYj2vCjjWehwGMgLv2SrQ6r8xYzi9g6BX3RvxJ/s2048/25311009_1479463522103538_3972687945254489915_o%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1528" data-original-width="2048" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jM56j38mQsJ2Kibv6lG2tXlJjyrlnZBq2J6vpNYCUYQ7nUqathT5gIpEjD_mtqZZZlrOlySIuCAZGm704_jtBR-yMNnwZgVHKFy0Bm6r_9-G82zgGDLtiX-3Wcl4xVL49mEHRkY4dDthV3JqM3kBCawYj2vCjjWehwGMgLv2SrQ6r8xYzi9g6BX3RvxJ/w449-h329/25311009_1479463522103538_3972687945254489915_o%5B1%5D.jpg" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating the purchase of our home with its former owners </td></tr></tbody></table><p>'Are we too old?' we asked ourselves as we debated the pros and cons of buying a home in Greece a decade ago.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-sAd-WWeJN-cQZLwPNkiSsUT20kP95kdjnWcBe68PzQyzFVblBmZyWl-iN44MiM3L0Dbb9StxWGzkPPcvZ7d-c9YFiVp_o6NFVBJ7RaI548X3VV3a3NWNnLMfw6CBZbAZlB2cwupsCmctC150X8F6oyfJ-LErwKL9CDcYADrgrJ-TklLVvMcRwfkkBrO/s742/IMG_1832-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="601" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-sAd-WWeJN-cQZLwPNkiSsUT20kP95kdjnWcBe68PzQyzFVblBmZyWl-iN44MiM3L0Dbb9StxWGzkPPcvZ7d-c9YFiVp_o6NFVBJ7RaI548X3VV3a3NWNnLMfw6CBZbAZlB2cwupsCmctC150X8F6oyfJ-LErwKL9CDcYADrgrJ-TklLVvMcRwfkkBrO/w311-h400/IMG_1832-1.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting those first residency cards!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>'Are we too old?' we asked ourselves again, a few years later, when we pondered becoming expats in Greece.</p><p>To think, that was back when we were mere 60-somethings!</p><p>When we decided to take the plunge, we reasoned that when we were 'too old' for the expat lifestyle, we would likely move back to the States. At the time we didn't think about how to define 'too old'. Instead, we set up 'age gauges'.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVj2B9_IE2F1imtFKisl0IEn4p7bBDCyi6x-bxwDNilo5bbfJsKlMcvWKWJkYPjSDX2PzJnLntFaKSZGFZ3CHfAyzuZ5QKo-_Hegm4Frx90wUIVGf0pd0cEuryZ1G4lCjWUkzyWNQ0TeSoWX2Pg0J1zXBnzHR1O7cQiUV1RcIviEWy6i327ftlYsIxtDM/s2016/blogourstairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVj2B9_IE2F1imtFKisl0IEn4p7bBDCyi6x-bxwDNilo5bbfJsKlMcvWKWJkYPjSDX2PzJnLntFaKSZGFZ3CHfAyzuZ5QKo-_Hegm4Frx90wUIVGf0pd0cEuryZ1G4lCjWUkzyWNQ0TeSoWX2Pg0J1zXBnzHR1O7cQiUV1RcIviEWy6i327ftlYsIxtDM/w326-h417/blogourstairs.jpg" width="326" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our stairs would be an 'age gauge' we reasoned.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>For instance, when we were no longer able to navigate the flight of 30-steps we climb between our <b><i>Stone House on the Hill</i></b> and our car, it would be time to pack up and move on. Thankfully, we still climb those stairs regularly, but now we talk about the logistics of a sloped sidewalk through the garden alternative when the 'time comes'.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHX6nAVX5K0N-dvmiJU6ri4KT3ec9gS6jiwhz0wi9oGJoX-bJQYFPMY4jHuXDXcYcuC6JSS9Ifw_ZCZzJWP_bZL4EPoCBfUnLdU-nwl4p6vGsYPTO9r5177xNEpscuoogcHeFtUMbYJ-rmJxvLIF8DgzBZEcMN92gZfOcOfl09fTk1sm8NdH_OUM1kRHP/s2016/blogharvestequipment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHX6nAVX5K0N-dvmiJU6ri4KT3ec9gS6jiwhz0wi9oGJoX-bJQYFPMY4jHuXDXcYcuC6JSS9Ifw_ZCZzJWP_bZL4EPoCBfUnLdU-nwl4p6vGsYPTO9r5177xNEpscuoogcHeFtUMbYJ-rmJxvLIF8DgzBZEcMN92gZfOcOfl09fTk1sm8NdH_OUM1kRHP/w339-h432/blogharvestequipment.jpg" width="339" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olive harvest equipment replaced us!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Olive harvest has been another 'age gauge'. When we couldn't actively participate any longer, we'd say, 'it just might be time to. . .,' never really completing the sentence. Well, thankfully our hired crew is so mechanized, that we no longer play much role in the hard part of harvest, so that gauge is out the window. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Hr5uP5MXqQbq8_bBgVzsub_rJDL_2kqVg-Ba1lvQlbOw_VQdEMy4hlFSF8rBorfcXHYg9GprcMwi6a-yYYJAgGfzRFjDpIq3edK0e2HJBazthrs5n1dQF-5fJGjvjLxi9TJfac-UtaIN8WrCHM4nEJENvS6ZY8zU34kk3y_DzRIF41YZL7ZArpHYsV4T/s2425/blogjkjoel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2425" data-original-width="2209" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Hr5uP5MXqQbq8_bBgVzsub_rJDL_2kqVg-Ba1lvQlbOw_VQdEMy4hlFSF8rBorfcXHYg9GprcMwi6a-yYYJAgGfzRFjDpIq3edK0e2HJBazthrs5n1dQF-5fJGjvjLxi9TJfac-UtaIN8WrCHM4nEJENvS6ZY8zU34kk3y_DzRIF41YZL7ZArpHYsV4T/w364-h400/blogjkjoel.jpg" width="364" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the blink of an eye, we are 70-somethings</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We know that the unconventional lifestyle of an expat doesn't ward off the pesky signs of aging. We are now 70-somethings and despite the claim that 70 is the new 50, our bodies often dispute that after a walk home up the hill on which we live, or a day spent working in the garden or grove! </p><p>We probably do sound like 'old people' when reminding friends who've been saying for a decade that they were coming to visit us in Greece -- that it might be time to schedule that trip. But seriously, time could be running out. Even living a Mediterranean lifestyle, the longevity factor in Greece is 80.2, roughly the same as that of the European Union. (And that is better than the US, where it is only 77.5 years).</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Elderly Expat</span></h3><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMC1A8UrYMJYyeo5wGtHmFzn2Hv_TkZ-xvCDFPtCmPQAh0APPI67QgbvCNdZdlv-V8RV0gSA8bTc-_q1EOi3VuoSbah2kxwkPUFAAzTo8lR8s0PgSrHfZ3fEsjOdyET7rxReO4aZxPUPW7H_PCqHhho_hOdvoP7BPaf5NarBR7m-BMReLuRP-5ju9VTJAN/s3264/boatrip4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMC1A8UrYMJYyeo5wGtHmFzn2Hv_TkZ-xvCDFPtCmPQAh0APPI67QgbvCNdZdlv-V8RV0gSA8bTc-_q1EOi3VuoSbah2kxwkPUFAAzTo8lR8s0PgSrHfZ3fEsjOdyET7rxReO4aZxPUPW7H_PCqHhho_hOdvoP7BPaf5NarBR7m-BMReLuRP-5ju9VTJAN/w400-h300/boatrip4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Expats of 'a certain age' set off on the sea</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The expat and Mediterranean lifestyle combine to keep us far more physically and mentally active in our Greek world than we are in the States. Expats of 'a certain age' here are pursuing any number of activities, among them: gardening, swimming, biking, hiking, trekking, traveling, socializing, and participating in volunteer activities. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKK9007RrF7hQxlqf3lTDt3tgWBwPVc3yZc5T1Qn6N_pcKOs_E2YHhho273PQPbqCuaTNezfHylAztUb5uymwx4Gedax_VIQT0ZrXleC-ZQp6c43c13zkook5JkLEXY0Ig9O4Lr4yP3nUXnLHbmBjIKsc6eEe4vjA95JUIXBAT9xIcdvNG6PNPmdWAP7h3/s1080/bloggirlfriendlunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKK9007RrF7hQxlqf3lTDt3tgWBwPVc3yZc5T1Qn6N_pcKOs_E2YHhho273PQPbqCuaTNezfHylAztUb5uymwx4Gedax_VIQT0ZrXleC-ZQp6c43c13zkook5JkLEXY0Ig9O4Lr4yP3nUXnLHbmBjIKsc6eEe4vjA95JUIXBAT9xIcdvNG6PNPmdWAP7h3/w400-h300/bloggirlfriendlunch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Expat friends of 'a certain age' at lunch in the village</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I like that phrase, 'a certain age', possibly inspired from a similar French phrase, that puts a person in a pleasant holding pattern of sorts, 'not still young but not yet old'. It, like Mae West's, 'You are never too old, to become younger', are far more agreeable to me than 'elderly'. The World Health Organization defines elderly persons as 60 or older. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRNqVEsFqMYQitfTP89HLQsldI7v8jdFmbhttrCz-lZ0ZLUptEEdjn2d50-zTDnJXmc_iWPVZDyOofmEYsgZYf1p8KSt6AqHb7Ak0JCcdkfgrJrLC4hJC_LOr6inFKexTvVsEd97CZY5DylDd3eFFfE9WVDW1xmF2_x13mCsleNNiI0DFbYPaeXLSckoM/s3788/blogcalderimiwalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3788" data-original-width="2612" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRNqVEsFqMYQitfTP89HLQsldI7v8jdFmbhttrCz-lZ0ZLUptEEdjn2d50-zTDnJXmc_iWPVZDyOofmEYsgZYf1p8KSt6AqHb7Ak0JCcdkfgrJrLC4hJC_LOr6inFKexTvVsEd97CZY5DylDd3eFFfE9WVDW1xmF2_x13mCsleNNiI0DFbYPaeXLSckoM/w336-h434/blogcalderimiwalk.jpg" width="336" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring hike on a kalderimi</td></tr></tbody></table><p>If that is the case, then there are a lot of elderly American expats scattered about the world. Of the approximate 10 million American expats, (U.S. State Department statistics) about18 percent, or 1.8 million, of us are 61 years of age or older. </p><p>The ability to live as an expat isn't defined by chronological age alone; we all know that health, mobility, and mental attitude have much to do with the quality and quantity of life regardless of where one lives.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Too Old or Not?</span></h3><p>In researching this post, I came across a hodge-podge of thoughts on age, three of which I felt worthy of repeating:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6vWdIXFCvENeGLQWQD03TR6xt5I_QObsThkV1IN0TOtxgNgpiQWQYG52uYR8gxtQJDyt5vbxoWsNZHFQqk1DzZg2dBdY5yEhhO0nLR3l35qCZAfVvTbrJstCJ8RE7dXkAvmTSHl1lqQ-DfQWHqLjLudHMRCeZsHnKDUPih5wrCnrQU5aqK0maHWgIVrW/s960/61122219_2138787962837754_2557848553154150400_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6vWdIXFCvENeGLQWQD03TR6xt5I_QObsThkV1IN0TOtxgNgpiQWQYG52uYR8gxtQJDyt5vbxoWsNZHFQqk1DzZg2dBdY5yEhhO0nLR3l35qCZAfVvTbrJstCJ8RE7dXkAvmTSHl1lqQ-DfQWHqLjLudHMRCeZsHnKDUPih5wrCnrQU5aqK0maHWgIVrW/w397-h375/61122219_2138787962837754_2557848553154150400_n.jpg" width="397" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How old is too old?</td></tr></tbody></table><p>First, according to a survey by TD Ameritrade 73% of women and 59% of men felt that 70 <i>IS</i> the new 50, based on the fact that we are living healthier and longer lives. (It didn't list the ages of those surveyed though.)</p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";">Second, American writer, Anne Lamott, in an opinion piece for the <i>Washington Post</i> titled, "Living on Borrowed Time,' made me laugh: 'Getting older is almost like changing species, from cute middle-aged white-tailed deer, to yak. We are both grass eaters, that that's about the only similarity.'</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFn2qo5AaQR8-064p5kLgWBaNumfgKUaTjHFHxinhPFlydiIAR0HhO6RP9tCFP2YUAH_Eam9gSQ2Mb4fIbxu-CYQh_qK4UlaAIdLNgbV_jg5TRR2iuN0S2qE-tXKdrChdpSs_ID3CTXdHeg-x_oHskfALuov29bIGJTktcIEie25JNXhdLIdirbZF3_iU6/s2576/20190524_133959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="2576" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFn2qo5AaQR8-064p5kLgWBaNumfgKUaTjHFHxinhPFlydiIAR0HhO6RP9tCFP2YUAH_Eam9gSQ2Mb4fIbxu-CYQh_qK4UlaAIdLNgbV_jg5TRR2iuN0S2qE-tXKdrChdpSs_ID3CTXdHeg-x_oHskfALuov29bIGJTktcIEie25JNXhdLIdirbZF3_iU6/w418-h336/20190524_133959.jpg" width="418" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Short, shorter. . .vanished?</td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";">But if was an article on aging by fellow septuagenarian Robert Reich, an American political economist and professor, that provided a new perspective on the question I've been pondering. He cited a study that said: after age 60 one loses a half-inch in height every five years. And that gave this once-five-foot-tall writer, a whole new perspective on being an aging expat. If I live long enough, I just might vanish. Then I won't need to figure out if I am too old to continue being an expat!</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";">That's it for this week from sunny, but chilly, Greece. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";">So how about you? Have you reached 'a certain age' that now influences travels or expat adventures? Share your thoughts via comments or email.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";">As always, thanks for the time you spent with us today - hope to see you back again. . .bring a friend with you!</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-18846013795442990692023-11-26T07:34:00.000-08:002023-11-26T07:34:06.867-08:00In Greece Where There's Smoke. . .<p>The old adage, 'where there there's smoke, there's fire' takes on a different meaning in Greece. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLsdR8Y8MMokIfKDh22Ml0dgph6fqoklp3NN228T0roWkjYHeR9HJDk-8BfdCJ1zDXZs1Xa4965uvuVYTwKwiKVGEOdbTXSNEaUqJalWB2rsAexcyUtpktADFlsRM3KyZIOQPu9KkidiWnrU0lAoovPE-V3xUy9SebkKBymdKs745rEqV6o8x_rhE7aoPm/s2016/blogfire.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLsdR8Y8MMokIfKDh22Ml0dgph6fqoklp3NN228T0roWkjYHeR9HJDk-8BfdCJ1zDXZs1Xa4965uvuVYTwKwiKVGEOdbTXSNEaUqJalWB2rsAexcyUtpktADFlsRM3KyZIOQPu9KkidiWnrU0lAoovPE-V3xUy9SebkKBymdKs745rEqV6o8x_rhE7aoPm/w323-h400/blogfire.jpg" width="323" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olive harvest and burn season in Greece.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Because in Greece where there is smoke, it is likely from a cigarette. </p><p>Our recent house guest was the one who called it to our attention as he viewed our world from the perspective of a first-time visitor to Greece. 'Don't they worry about lung cancer?' he asked, as we approached an eating establishment. Then reminding us of the impacts of secondhand smoke he directed us to areas where we might least be impacted by the neighboring table's smoke.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuX3xLC7J4O-4JIzeIbZbbfINlTysN1HV51fpcyG2PmWCjDuyG4LNY_ZC7POhl51tDSwONTD9OUZkqfZ3Hrk9lXic21lAGpNaT2xgCUR40oEpl-WmLNun59Mux8wgpbtOWThzOpY_gjpYY0x_5-Zuw0Ruj1hh8QztaWNpMcFsV9Reo8xr2STqeTzL13Qy/s4128/20190307_025449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="3096" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuX3xLC7J4O-4JIzeIbZbbfINlTysN1HV51fpcyG2PmWCjDuyG4LNY_ZC7POhl51tDSwONTD9OUZkqfZ3Hrk9lXic21lAGpNaT2xgCUR40oEpl-WmLNun59Mux8wgpbtOWThzOpY_gjpYY0x_5-Zuw0Ruj1hh8QztaWNpMcFsV9Reo8xr2STqeTzL13Qy/w317-h400/20190307_025449.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ubiquitous ashtray </td></tr></tbody></table><p>While smoking inside public facilities is illegal and punishable by fines, it is okay to smoke outside while seated in restaurant and bar patios, waiting areas at bus or train stations, and outside of airports. </p><p>What gobsmacked our guest was the numbers of people smoking. </p><p>What gobsmacked us was the realization that it didn't bother us anymore - in fact, we hadn't paid it any mind until it was pointed out to us. </p><p>Smoking is a tradition, a part of Greek everyday life. They smoke packaged cigarettes, they roll cigarettes, they vape. A survey a couple years ago showed that nearly 37% of the population regularly lights up. In fact, Greeks aren't the only ones. Many of our fellow expats and tourists who hail from countries on this side of the pond also smoke. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNX_b0qJnD6vF3NnRKUGet7PEiXPecF8IxOr0yWta8xBrwstkemK6cxorrmnplvZnTn9eoSjH4WYQV2CX68sEt1mTsBTOSTx2aZoFYe9Jkavkda7lkUTiS_RWTXyrrqcwEQeu_CSVhwX3oGIlZVXR5MBcZkzCrzi5KgDfOxb_9cq9vBT1Tw0NFdC4Tgw-P/s3070/blogsmokes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2604" data-original-width="3070" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNX_b0qJnD6vF3NnRKUGet7PEiXPecF8IxOr0yWta8xBrwstkemK6cxorrmnplvZnTn9eoSjH4WYQV2CX68sEt1mTsBTOSTx2aZoFYe9Jkavkda7lkUTiS_RWTXyrrqcwEQeu_CSVhwX3oGIlZVXR5MBcZkzCrzi5KgDfOxb_9cq9vBT1Tw0NFdC4Tgw-P/w432-h322/blogsmokes.jpg" width="432" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cigarettes and coffee cups a normal table next to us this morning</td></tr></tbody></table> <div>Each time our guest pointed out instances of smoking, we thought about how little attention we pay to it and behaviors that once could have caused us great concern and consternation. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1eiO4gIbM4-mQsnY1zj2IXBh7jT4wKb3uBR9OEVrQCIfT3h6t5_5XBYMRnsbh760Y2musUOR2EfULzgX7XN9lXx_YLjvKfLBTSkOdkx9p9MHES3_BvZiDze1T_T0swhMa4YkVxxvS6CO9m1XdsBfr7HP3QfZ0Zd_hRERzNBriOXu2Up5wZm1cCSxKTiH/s4000/P1120099.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1eiO4gIbM4-mQsnY1zj2IXBh7jT4wKb3uBR9OEVrQCIfT3h6t5_5XBYMRnsbh760Y2musUOR2EfULzgX7XN9lXx_YLjvKfLBTSkOdkx9p9MHES3_BvZiDze1T_T0swhMa4YkVxxvS6CO9m1XdsBfr7HP3QfZ0Zd_hRERzNBriOXu2Up5wZm1cCSxKTiH/w448-h317/P1120099.JPG" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and the kids </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Smoking is simply such a part of the fabric of Greek life that despite the implementation of a spate of laws and fines to curb it within the last decade, there appears to be little desire or peer pressure to kick the habit. </p><p>It got me to thinking about other behaviors we have come to accept as normal, but which are bona fide health hazards. Things like not wearing helmets on bikes or motorcycles, transporting multiple people onto a motorcycle or scooter at a time, or riding in the back of a pickup. We see them done all the time.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHb9gsAEw3Ia2S5gOu1HBuKQaqLfy1PkfEnojgw_lnzeJdLeVMIrt3ocNeCcOmAWBuZsXUs71ZGZ5GBKPYVv8WPdeyVkoTO8pEZduFs_vI6kOfyY4QVpRHtjqT1rZQHx16PnAuRao42Re-CnGu25qJ4FjWPRtn9-_y2EGeZohEEFfnnjea8YJFtxR3NAu6/s4000/P1120031.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHb9gsAEw3Ia2S5gOu1HBuKQaqLfy1PkfEnojgw_lnzeJdLeVMIrt3ocNeCcOmAWBuZsXUs71ZGZ5GBKPYVv8WPdeyVkoTO8pEZduFs_vI6kOfyY4QVpRHtjqT1rZQHx16PnAuRao42Re-CnGu25qJ4FjWPRtn9-_y2EGeZohEEFfnnjea8YJFtxR3NAu6/w400-h337/P1120031.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helmet-less in Greece and having a good time</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Don't get me wrong. There are laws and fines concerning smoking and they have - generally -succeeded in preventing smoking inside public venues. Greece has a helmet law, dictating a 350 euro fine for failure to wear them on motorized bikes of any power. (Once we laughed at an elderly man who zipped past bareheaded on his scooter, but he stopped and put on his helmet before pulling into his driveway. He was more fearful of his family's reaction than getting a ticket, we speculated.) </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxzMYNX7JmR_plNT08ifZ5Px4t95gXA6nl2IHnZnO1O0uXz7AJE0oqB0xOlOEU8zoo1Xz14qlMO3sBVEh7mcswrYiD_NQKrCEOLHNIEvGDlAg-qOv0b38cNGBkrRTprO3EjQoZIgBfHSkPoLHLfAn8j9ZbWyBAZ6jI1dijIVSI8EfJbZZMqbUNca3cXF2/s4000/P1140429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxzMYNX7JmR_plNT08ifZ5Px4t95gXA6nl2IHnZnO1O0uXz7AJE0oqB0xOlOEU8zoo1Xz14qlMO3sBVEh7mcswrYiD_NQKrCEOLHNIEvGDlAg-qOv0b38cNGBkrRTprO3EjQoZIgBfHSkPoLHLfAn8j9ZbWyBAZ6jI1dijIVSI8EfJbZZMqbUNca3cXF2/w449-h344/P1140429.JPG" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tourists travel the main highway to Kalamata with helmets</td></tr></tbody></table><p>You can tell a tourist on a rental bike by the helmets he or she wears. Helmets are recommended for bike riders but not required. Despite our narrow roadways and uneven surfaces, there is a slew of locals who ride bikes but don't wear helmets. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Co_2-S5CjAWwtmAYj5oHPXhc8iuMnm5Kv5GX9FJUgHKQa0w6OBF6rQVUkJx62d6cL_BOEYSkjNcekRlI4ZpdPT0K7EIEP3Rz65bTnSHay9CjE5llwVnS3Wi4TpRfLCCCgb4PAQg5MPMZXXw03RW4FSQlY5EcT8YDoG5UW7MqUHaFU1FS2X9sbnGL5Ptj/s4000/P1140206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Co_2-S5CjAWwtmAYj5oHPXhc8iuMnm5Kv5GX9FJUgHKQa0w6OBF6rQVUkJx62d6cL_BOEYSkjNcekRlI4ZpdPT0K7EIEP3Rz65bTnSHay9CjE5llwVnS3Wi4TpRfLCCCgb4PAQg5MPMZXXw03RW4FSQlY5EcT8YDoG5UW7MqUHaFU1FS2X9sbnGL5Ptj/w441-h321/P1140206.JPG" width="441" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harvest time vehicles at the olive processor</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>It isn't illegal to ride in the back of a pickup. From a practical standpoint in our area, that is the way many olive harvest crew members get to a grove and back. It is normal to see workers seated in the bed or a truck atop nets and holding onto equipment. Sometimes they ride atop the load in the small trailers pulled by tractors. <p></p><p>Making a right hand turn after stopping for a red light is illegal in Greece. Maybe it is for safety, maybe not. But it is done so routinely in the United States that we have to think twice when the light is red, and we stop then start to make a righthand turn before it turns green.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbswAmFhVm_YE8pYnKpoPT2bCtJQNbfkuBaq_6_v_nA2U4KcX2B4QupwYR6rUP9lHfcCpl9nb56xYx60vp-mEf6f_VnTGXPXSjWC8fdmJ-T6RNv8d3ruR4zvoOi3YiJA_6x7CeUvy5jgKIHsL0liysAOobEejCCrhnK-ZwOfLH1sdr5uO37W1AYkRBlmc/s2016/blogsmoking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbswAmFhVm_YE8pYnKpoPT2bCtJQNbfkuBaq_6_v_nA2U4KcX2B4QupwYR6rUP9lHfcCpl9nb56xYx60vp-mEf6f_VnTGXPXSjWC8fdmJ-T6RNv8d3ruR4zvoOi3YiJA_6x7CeUvy5jgKIHsL0liysAOobEejCCrhnK-ZwOfLH1sdr5uO37W1AYkRBlmc/w329-h380/blogsmoking.jpg" width="329" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annual equipment tests are mandatory.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Wearing a seat belt is compulsory inside a car but some of the vehicles driven here are so old I doubt they are even equipped with seatbelts. It is interesting, though, that all car owners are required to have an annual vehicle test; one year it is for emissions and the other year for brakes, lights, shocks and a number of other parts. We suspect few of the old beater cars actually are tested by their owners. </p><p>The law requires child restraint seats and the young parents we know adhere to without question by young parents.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #990000;">A new way of life</span></h3><p>In our area of the Peloponnese, we have two police officers and one patrol car. Sometimes we see them on break at a local taverna having a coffee and cigarette, other times patrolling the area. We suspect they don't spend a lot of time monitoring smoking in local establishments nor making stops for minor traffic offenses. If unhealthy behaviors are going to change, it will need to be from personal choices. </p><p>Frankly we like this somewhat contrarian approach to life. While we haven't taken up smoking or riding in the back of a pickup, we certainly don't find it objectionable. It is a part of the culture of the community in which we've chosen to make our home. Sometimes we find the lack of laws and government enforcement refreshing. Here you take responsibility for your own actions and can't blame someone for not warning you of hazards. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqjB4_N9aI2XUb4CRtps2JIFNl_X3S9e_UR4KMgEaNcBefxI6aJ0JgppqfOnlYR4Qp0Tmbz55BwtsGnXY0AfyX_9JJhZrZS10MFn6DFs_1CZP76lbq5ekCKiMMNnrTLdMDsh9BkR8vys1nXsUxp4m5f8Yj_lJeLZzaouSX5zhucJW6BuJfW7KpmwOSP0mJ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqjB4_N9aI2XUb4CRtps2JIFNl_X3S9e_UR4KMgEaNcBefxI6aJ0JgppqfOnlYR4Qp0Tmbz55BwtsGnXY0AfyX_9JJhZrZS10MFn6DFs_1CZP76lbq5ekCKiMMNnrTLdMDsh9BkR8vys1nXsUxp4m5f8Yj_lJeLZzaouSX5zhucJW6BuJfW7KpmwOSP0mJ=w400-h445" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild boar warning sign in the Mani</td></tr></tbody></table><br />A goal of our expat life was to experience a new culture, even adapt to it. And after nearly a decade of cultural emersion -- without even being consciously aware of it -- I think I can safely say we have adapted to much of the Greek lifestyle.</p><p>Yet, if this post has made you think we are living somewhat on the wild side of life here. . .let me assure you that we probably aren't. Because here they do warn us about the wild side of life. . .the wild boar warning sign pictured above is case in point.</p><p>How about your travels? Have you encountered any local behaviors or traditions you found objectionable? Or which you thought of as a health hazard, but the locals didn't? </p><p>We thank you for your time and send wishes for safe and happy travels to you and yours~ hope you'll join us next time when I ponder the question of being too old to be an expat. . .</p><p><br /></p></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-4471695844690704412023-11-05T08:02:00.000-08:002023-11-05T08:02:26.401-08:00In Greece: The Real Game of Chance<p>Greeks have spent 22.7 billion in the first eight months of this year . . .gambling.</p><p>The rather staggering figure comes from the Hellenic Gaming Commission which monitors our adopted country's gaming industry. It is an industry that includes land-based casinos, lotteries, horse racing and chance games organized by the Greek Organization of Football Prognostics (OPAP).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJ801jDX8lg4ajs61sYGfviiOVk8U1dz2wUhB2eU6fPjpJSKUj8PVZNscRX02-LfEW-UjPFhSbxjaZuAj_e_SfEVHGW-YPHP6jBWN_ObLjPIvqDS7GU8x9_pXguWj5iyyk_NM6I3JCgzaSaUnpIFdI75xseQMCCJRogx1f2EL-rE4gm2LRFnYkL72BlDk/s4000/P1050410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJ801jDX8lg4ajs61sYGfviiOVk8U1dz2wUhB2eU6fPjpJSKUj8PVZNscRX02-LfEW-UjPFhSbxjaZuAj_e_SfEVHGW-YPHP6jBWN_ObLjPIvqDS7GU8x9_pXguWj5iyyk_NM6I3JCgzaSaUnpIFdI75xseQMCCJRogx1f2EL-rE4gm2LRFnYkL72BlDk/w437-h332/P1050410.JPG" width="437" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stone House on the Hill olive oil</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Yet, those numbers don't include the biggest game of chance that Greece has to offer: growing olives for olive oil. </p><p>After the olive season we've just had at our <b><i>Stone House on the Hill</i></b>, I can tell you there is no bigger game of chance around than producing those little buttons of olive oil! It is nothing short of spinning a big ol' Roulette wheel in the early spring and waiting to see where the harvest ball will land come late October. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPQhVqHSsVoDcv2Jh38Oem5psEfVogZO9WBJjJkooT8LM4RjCoNnbCJehyphenhyphend_5sa7l5zXfVLYvjnfd9f3x-huJBKpsLX4GwP23iWIsiSRqGevbo9YAjFg0_RANPuZs7ibSXrkxn10k-u6gyq7hpAS7fYnQg1pbKLwJmMsIA92HXUSVCqN-EP7rSC3z5NTB/s1667/bloggamble3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1667" data-original-width="1488" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPQhVqHSsVoDcv2Jh38Oem5psEfVogZO9WBJjJkooT8LM4RjCoNnbCJehyphenhyphend_5sa7l5zXfVLYvjnfd9f3x-huJBKpsLX4GwP23iWIsiSRqGevbo9YAjFg0_RANPuZs7ibSXrkxn10k-u6gyq7hpAS7fYnQg1pbKLwJmMsIA92HXUSVCqN-EP7rSC3z5NTB/w403-h434/bloggamble3.jpg" width="403" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit wrinkled this year</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We harvested early this year, within a week of the oil processing plants opening. It was a race against time for us if we hoped to have anything to harvest. Our olives were shades of green, purple, and black - all looking withered and worn. They were beginning to drop - and that is something you don't want! </p><p>Lady Luck smiled on us and kept most of what there was of them on the trees long enough for us to get them harvested in late October. For many of the large producers whose groves stretch from sea level up into the hillsides of the Taygetos Mountains, it will be December or January before the harvest is complete. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bq5xQsIu95T0omniV7D_2GH5XL8Zr-KHJzy1nqZry0bh_PEwvnJY-dOwixf9DdMDALQsf4rRFQRmUf9fPXbetjk0Cz4hTz1THgWYAmdbEEf2O5yb_stfac2RDKB-rVNh4rH-zkCSDNcx3rnJWsVlZAdvRCcZl0dTGM919LiLcIqVQ5mgYADhJTemHwhj/s4896/P1020293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bq5xQsIu95T0omniV7D_2GH5XL8Zr-KHJzy1nqZry0bh_PEwvnJY-dOwixf9DdMDALQsf4rRFQRmUf9fPXbetjk0Cz4hTz1THgWYAmdbEEf2O5yb_stfac2RDKB-rVNh4rH-zkCSDNcx3rnJWsVlZAdvRCcZl0dTGM919LiLcIqVQ5mgYADhJTemHwhj/w448-h349/P1020293.JPG" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When city supplied water dries up, you buy water to use at home</td></tr></tbody></table><p>This year the odds were against all Mediterranean olive oil producers; our area was no exception. A combination of high temperatures in the summer and a continuing lack of water combined to turn what should have been plump little oil laden nuggets into raisins. The same problem existed in Spain and Italy as well, both, along with Greece are major producers of the world's olive oil.</p><p>I won't even venture into all the ways insects and disease can skew the odds against growers. Suffice to say if the pesky Dako, a fly the specializes in destroying the flesh of the olive and degrades the olive oil by making it acidic, doesn't get you, there's a new menacing bacterium out there destroying olive trees in Italy, Spain and parts of Greece. It clogs the tree's lifeline so it can't absorb water and it dies.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d;">A Toss of the Dice</span></h3><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBW2ieKF0VlbzA7gOlreJ_oR4BadC5Qhylus153ba3cinpZw68uPtTi8Af8V3474U3ujFRDiv9MqdW7vRo8GFQIYac-KmTcZN3oLkX6lBvFzIggyXuFbYvHZavNG-FGoo8dYOdrs5drwaS_kxSRu71Ubv9XB6BoMoNpUr7lJPnCfUldPsrSVwNlWBLVRVR/s2016/bloggamble2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBW2ieKF0VlbzA7gOlreJ_oR4BadC5Qhylus153ba3cinpZw68uPtTi8Af8V3474U3ujFRDiv9MqdW7vRo8GFQIYac-KmTcZN3oLkX6lBvFzIggyXuFbYvHZavNG-FGoo8dYOdrs5drwaS_kxSRu71Ubv9XB6BoMoNpUr7lJPnCfUldPsrSVwNlWBLVRVR/w356-h400/bloggamble2.jpg" width="356" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olives begin to form in the spring</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We had high hopes in the spring when the miniscule white flowers began developing into olives. Barely the size of a grape seed, we start monitoring their growth. There is little else to be done until harvest. We don't water and we don't spray.</p><p>Very few growers in our area - no matter the size of their groves - have formal watering systems. Of course, it wouldn't help if we did as we don't have enough municipal water to have a steady supply for use in the house, let alone watering a grove of trees. (And this year our municipally supplied water has been laden with salt, so it wouldn't have been good for the trees anyway.) </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVxKXcboXqei89ostu7nGUu5ncMvoO-G1Ezpnfi98JV1YiABABZxFKYxefvD8PPfH5iy_eyKV84kg4GNVNU92gU_P75hf2I19OuCnlXbJGBivaNxQRrUP9AGPmbZsL1SCCm31B8J3QHnhyphenhyphenKPLwwpBnSXrFRTX8uWa7F10nvv9z3DkmPe-gUtdYx74LddU/s2016/bloggamble1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVxKXcboXqei89ostu7nGUu5ncMvoO-G1Ezpnfi98JV1YiABABZxFKYxefvD8PPfH5iy_eyKV84kg4GNVNU92gU_P75hf2I19OuCnlXbJGBivaNxQRrUP9AGPmbZsL1SCCm31B8J3QHnhyphenhyphenKPLwwpBnSXrFRTX8uWa7F10nvv9z3DkmPe-gUtdYx74LddU/w365-h400/bloggamble1.jpg" width="365" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We spin the wheel of chance each spring</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We didn't spray our trees this year; not because of bio and environmental concerns, but because the guy who sprays is building himself a house and was not available. And they say when we do spray, it is bio spray. Who knows? Many told us it was so hot this summer that we didn't need to spray anyway. Basically, no self-respecting Dako wants to destroy raisins. They prefer the juicy kind of olives as we all do. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Greek Olive Oil Production</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4_rslFksyalMuc-zPAt50KafTL85sDhdy8Okq67vwjGBdb0TH4nY0qKf-COnN1RxkGHchgZTNsgb72x1RQW6eBG_luSeUZzKU_uInt6X81NYSjT_iXROXcfj8nbbKzk-BwzBT4OpL1R94eR-lH1ddRjnZ6OPvYlY6jF4Qjhmd09edHr8Xar-9r-FfX4N/s2016/bloggamble4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4_rslFksyalMuc-zPAt50KafTL85sDhdy8Okq67vwjGBdb0TH4nY0qKf-COnN1RxkGHchgZTNsgb72x1RQW6eBG_luSeUZzKU_uInt6X81NYSjT_iXROXcfj8nbbKzk-BwzBT4OpL1R94eR-lH1ddRjnZ6OPvYlY6jF4Qjhmd09edHr8Xar-9r-FfX4N/w381-h428/bloggamble4.jpg" width="381" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those are this year's olives going to press</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Greece comes in third in the world's olive oil production with 80% percent of its orchard land growing some 117 million olive trees. Fifteen million olive trees are planted here in our Messenian region. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaiQNM-eTie7tIMMdUO_46Fh9fwzkwDeXLE_JSk4YmCskiJ2tENbAj4LhQMjCyL3w8baSLFfeN1-zCe7JrKldkgNG8c22K_8e4IriOUJ7kV6lFv1BBBLy3naSkzL1MGV9FtHx7mioldoG5vs3mbdg1_ZS_3v5r7FKHLGHVIji5OPU3duV1luUsdqAeKk_q" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaiQNM-eTie7tIMMdUO_46Fh9fwzkwDeXLE_JSk4YmCskiJ2tENbAj4LhQMjCyL3w8baSLFfeN1-zCe7JrKldkgNG8c22K_8e4IriOUJ7kV6lFv1BBBLy3naSkzL1MGV9FtHx7mioldoG5vs3mbdg1_ZS_3v5r7FKHLGHVIji5OPU3duV1luUsdqAeKk_q=w398-h426" width="398" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These bags are filled with our olives - the Stone House on the Hill</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>We have just under 20 trees. Ours is a good-sized hobby grove - big enough to produce more oil than we use but not considered industrial sized. Our grove, as long-time readers know, carpets a terraced hillside making it a difficult one to harvest. We hire people who have the equipment and knowledge to conduct the harvest. On harvest day we do as we are instructed by them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEKLCFzlQDUdTLE9VAyL3c6etAXLRblZyhORt5sIWugG74qqocSlo23o9CsnrrfA3IAv0TT-cHVOUfLk0OvucKwb1JE5byylDGVLOXV1wmR7vZAng_rqm-enQE3o97iPL328SW9395ZOr9R7HYqZUXF486w-oPcMCivZW4jBFrdHa0nt-FCeT3WAuZACJ/s4000/P1010679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEKLCFzlQDUdTLE9VAyL3c6etAXLRblZyhORt5sIWugG74qqocSlo23o9CsnrrfA3IAv0TT-cHVOUfLk0OvucKwb1JE5byylDGVLOXV1wmR7vZAng_rqm-enQE3o97iPL328SW9395ZOr9R7HYqZUXF486w-oPcMCivZW4jBFrdHa0nt-FCeT3WAuZACJ/w455-h348/P1010679.JPG" width="455" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've been made redundant by mechanized harvest equipment</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In the past we've had a cadre of friends who've volunteered to help beat and rake the olives from the branches and crawl across plastic nets on hands and knees gathering the fallen fruit into gunny sacks. This year our grove was draped from top to bottom with enormous nets and a crew of three used motorized harvesters (think pitchfork with caffeine jitters) that shake the olives from the tree. The small crop and experienced crew made the workday for us easier, if still long.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Win, Lose or Draw</span></h3><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E2MyMp_Ob7z7g5MkLeN1ocBa6zg8MO6nUjNWaJe6JlRdOynXLoxk0XAJpryvG0lmpNVlfdepNE35-5hQEw2Iq9dPPs1BQTbsy7XRWR1gzTg4J0UcRVEqqBVmRPyKVPhFM9Ihm4oEMKs3tFS0qRL23LE_Cw3GCaT4QkBvHN_Sc2p7Sjo02t0cwPqgbCob/s4000/P1160532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E2MyMp_Ob7z7g5MkLeN1ocBa6zg8MO6nUjNWaJe6JlRdOynXLoxk0XAJpryvG0lmpNVlfdepNE35-5hQEw2Iq9dPPs1BQTbsy7XRWR1gzTg4J0UcRVEqqBVmRPyKVPhFM9Ihm4oEMKs3tFS0qRL23LE_Cw3GCaT4QkBvHN_Sc2p7Sjo02t0cwPqgbCob/w400-h357/P1160532.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Memory of previous harvest yields</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Our harvest was less than half of last years in terms of kilos harvested; 407 to 187. However, those scrawny, wrinkled looking olives had far more oil in them than we imagined possible. We had 33 liters of oil, down from the 59 of last year, but respectable. The good news is that olives are in short supply, so the price paid us for our excess oil was more than double the per liter price paid two years ago. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOsNkT3EbOoKaJ717b71dIz5hYGS_7-WFkvdznq_yP_99XlEL3ATtHs-_abO5pmmaeHWxC_VBswXEEcpie-4PQjzWPy4TkUQCy9Iy_IM1eYHhOpN3F-JHhIe9vNxBrGbS91uUJcgyvKw90LlZ-QsQqMNZhPxoAQ2tGvc1Mp6psR1wt8QSgfPyyfEi0i2z/s4000/P1010734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOsNkT3EbOoKaJ717b71dIz5hYGS_7-WFkvdznq_yP_99XlEL3ATtHs-_abO5pmmaeHWxC_VBswXEEcpie-4PQjzWPy4TkUQCy9Iy_IM1eYHhOpN3F-JHhIe9vNxBrGbS91uUJcgyvKw90LlZ-QsQqMNZhPxoAQ2tGvc1Mp6psR1wt8QSgfPyyfEi0i2z/w484-h368/P1010734.JPG" width="484" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olive oil production. . .what a game of chance. . .what a win!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We'd call this year's game of chance a win! However, the real win is that we get to participate each year in a ritual that has gone on for centuries in this adopted country of ours. I recall at the time we purchased our house trying to imagine what in the world we would do with the small olive grove that came with it. . .now I can't imagine life without it. </p><p>That's it for this week. Autumn has been glorious in our slice of Greece - so much so, we've had no desire to travel. I'm sure we'll be bitten by the bug again soon though. What about you? Where have your travels taken you or where will your travel plans take you?</p><p>Hope you are back with us soon. Safe travels to you and yours~</p><p><br /></p>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-44312052466485398142023-10-22T06:55:00.000-07:002023-10-22T06:55:53.021-07:00In Greece ~ The Curse is Lifted!<p> Last week we officially lifted the curse that had been cast upon us. </p><p>Back in ancient Greece curses were a real thing. And for a time, I'd started thinking they were a real thing in this 21st century Greece as well. It seemed as if we had been targeted by the famed and feared 'evil eye' and a curse or spell had been cast upon us.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZHwWHQ5JPzsOn9yjOoFw5rQ8MK5KP7UxrXZq3c0rpEkJQW3KZnnAlIpFNdQZkf0q4qYJyw6RefEJ5Y1r40cpDsT8WzU1iehWV0Hn850upwvcd0Quno-0Na-DqIDwUI8_xgv8MHW727IRVpdovsyP75GF2DrXhmNAUAFENp2e6eDSqbVC6xXHhMUHZbsbD" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="237" data-original-width="474" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZHwWHQ5JPzsOn9yjOoFw5rQ8MK5KP7UxrXZq3c0rpEkJQW3KZnnAlIpFNdQZkf0q4qYJyw6RefEJ5Y1r40cpDsT8WzU1iehWV0Hn850upwvcd0Quno-0Na-DqIDwUI8_xgv8MHW727IRVpdovsyP75GF2DrXhmNAUAFENp2e6eDSqbVC6xXHhMUHZbsbD=w449-h296" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mati's to ward off the 'evil eye'</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>Although our <i><b>Stone House on the Hill</b></i> sports any number of 'matis' the Greek icons that are believed to ward off the evil eye, we had fallen victim to our curse sometime during or in the aftermath of 'those Covid years'. </p><p>For that reason, I named it, the Covid Curse.</p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0-YIOQ63Hd_1Ahd1EEdkUgf46BQyk1jpBGjsl9YOmxlA3Msj-CIJUprR2mb_Nfw2FQyOZx4uwf656DjYEDij81zYah3L0kxKvYhUVbmfDvuc3Oi0Q2UTsF3fCmM8AI_Ypy2ywZKfZ4KYy36iU7zZsSxcWZbb7WkLOGVGsHFKQLuax6erQ_g8pb6xunzuF" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="474" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0-YIOQ63Hd_1Ahd1EEdkUgf46BQyk1jpBGjsl9YOmxlA3Msj-CIJUprR2mb_Nfw2FQyOZx4uwf656DjYEDij81zYah3L0kxKvYhUVbmfDvuc3Oi0Q2UTsF3fCmM8AI_Ypy2ywZKfZ4KYy36iU7zZsSxcWZbb7WkLOGVGsHFKQLuax6erQ_g8pb6xunzuF=w479-h306" width="479" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amathus archeological site in Cyprus</td></tr></tbody></table><br />In comparison to some Greek curses that have been cast over the centuries, ours was a mild one. It thankfully was nothing at all like the one unearthed in 2008 during excavations of Amathus, the ancient city state in Cyprus. Archeologists there in 2008 discovered a lead tablet, believed to date back for centuries, on which was written, 'may your penis hurt when you make love' and with it the image of a man holding in his hand something described as being the shape of an hourglass.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2MApkbdjE7aoKKpf4Sf8Di-XUuTWgn3XdeTd5859f_ykoiCuGKdGOsTYMD4H5sz45snis7vsn-ucEIthSg5zuBxQUl_armARjT7bt9j751n9llWBokpT-1_UmxBt2apvSnG6oOpwXTYAL7CM4UpZLrv2DKzXLz00XEcXihoc_KzlXrdCv__rzzI5RJDo/s4032/JKJEmasked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2MApkbdjE7aoKKpf4Sf8Di-XUuTWgn3XdeTd5859f_ykoiCuGKdGOsTYMD4H5sz45snis7vsn-ucEIthSg5zuBxQUl_armARjT7bt9j751n9llWBokpT-1_UmxBt2apvSnG6oOpwXTYAL7CM4UpZLrv2DKzXLz00XEcXihoc_KzlXrdCv__rzzI5RJDo/w439-h321/JKJEmasked.jpg" width="439" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Covid-cursed castaways?</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our curse was one that didn't inflict pain or hardship on us, just a bit of mental anguish and embarrassment. It seemed to have made us: castaways.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKX_60H-FHfRiyIoEuCPOvlKsp5LDl_qYEg4vDZK52M_9Q0JggNogi9TF2cDqUGjoT6PyFepPQSi3d63Ghz_aib9CG0Z5XOZGVs1Ek5F05m9ciMM2u5Rmg28QVFzTmmete_1Yy8t5VoBpCU5oIjjNjlVJz7CHW2JSij9BmQcHheNibPLZg24HqHkrWbnCL/s960/36002905_1664507713599117_6452564556894961664_n%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKX_60H-FHfRiyIoEuCPOvlKsp5LDl_qYEg4vDZK52M_9Q0JggNogi9TF2cDqUGjoT6PyFepPQSi3d63Ghz_aib9CG0Z5XOZGVs1Ek5F05m9ciMM2u5Rmg28QVFzTmmete_1Yy8t5VoBpCU5oIjjNjlVJz7CHW2JSij9BmQcHheNibPLZg24HqHkrWbnCL/w472-h337/36002905_1664507713599117_6452564556894961664_n%5B1%5D.jpg" width="472" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visitors return to the village in droves.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>While expat friends in the village began welcoming houseguests as soon as the Covid travel restrictions lifted, we waited . . . and waited . . .and waited. No one came to visit. No one even mentioned coming to visit. In the pre-Covid years we had guests both coming to the village and to our home to see us and our world at regular intervals.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiGVLH3W2JfyGy4kzrYkMzv3nIj6K7HWf_DVWaGxBNE-HS6ASn26nOK91c8abTJ7FpUkhtnTEkgohbrxyuGiBTp-uC7L3eboYIIBRWVBM87xGyeOFuTvZNucnEah_ESdQ7e-4dlFGf7zFMjlPKmIizqbKxg3zAGV9J6Tznxt5VwukyLwjZ73PZKHtjWfq/s2016/blogBAmap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiGVLH3W2JfyGy4kzrYkMzv3nIj6K7HWf_DVWaGxBNE-HS6ASn26nOK91c8abTJ7FpUkhtnTEkgohbrxyuGiBTp-uC7L3eboYIIBRWVBM87xGyeOFuTvZNucnEah_ESdQ7e-4dlFGf7zFMjlPKmIizqbKxg3zAGV9J6Tznxt5VwukyLwjZ73PZKHtjWfq/w436-h340/blogBAmap.jpg" width="436" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A long-haul flight between West Coast USA and Greece</td></tr></tbody></table><p>For a time, we reasoned that it was the lingering fears of Covid that kept them away, or perhaps, the distance they would need to travel. The majority of our guests - back when we had them - came from Washington State in the US Pacific Northwest. </p><p> But then our friend Chuck, who hails from the same Washington town and now lives just down the road, started using a calendar to keep track of his upcoming guests. Then our expat friends from California, now just down the road the other direction in the village, started using a calendar to keep track of their guests. Another couple from Portland, Oregon has also been hosting guests from back home regularly.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRtUkYp-h38LrKqu9gfAXVtgcYB0bI4jNs_HDPQvqoAViB0w8VPrqpMBHLc94Gja9dIXf22Wxe8yuFHrKskMtQ1fCcT8lyVZzflxPYlPhftbn-P8y7KE3y7P7jGQGVJf_LaW_uCO6Ab3q0YIbR2WrIxhvLVzQLIsBtJCZuo1s_pscDnjBUnR4JvkCLaUY/s1986/blogcovidcurse2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1986" data-original-width="1622" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRtUkYp-h38LrKqu9gfAXVtgcYB0bI4jNs_HDPQvqoAViB0w8VPrqpMBHLc94Gja9dIXf22Wxe8yuFHrKskMtQ1fCcT8lyVZzflxPYlPhftbn-P8y7KE3y7P7jGQGVJf_LaW_uCO6Ab3q0YIbR2WrIxhvLVzQLIsBtJCZuo1s_pscDnjBUnR4JvkCLaUY/w386-h414/blogcovidcurse2.jpg" width="386" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter dinner with expat friends and their guests</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Thankfully those expat friends who had guests let us share them - inviting us to join them for holiday celebrations, dinners, drinks or morning coffees. Friends quit asking if we had guests coming anytime soon.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Finally, The Curse is Lifted</span></h3><p>For a time, I actually thought that maybe what we needed was a 'curse expert', one who in ancient times, specialized in the writing of curses and spells, according to historian/archeologist and author Jessica Lamont. I figured if they could write a curse or spell, they could probably conjure up a removal incantation of some sort as well. </p><p>Lamont, by the way, is an expert on the subject and her most recent book published by Oxford Press is titled, 'In Blood and Ashes, Curse Tablets and Binding Spells in Ancient Greece'. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPoTmS9R_FyvqZFyUife0nFnRl8PxB8cXn8xnpD37eILLXfWCF-Wg_8XUxKbj7MTxjDeA2U4V4a9k9lURogUt8Q70piq8ikmu7FlL1WaJxmRITXaoSR0kv0HL47O4lme-6Ghf_0lGKNL8g94F11tXNF7kVmZ5GHJTH8BBoO-xtn2KTibSK4mrbgckp6YaX/s2016/blogcovidcurse1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPoTmS9R_FyvqZFyUife0nFnRl8PxB8cXn8xnpD37eILLXfWCF-Wg_8XUxKbj7MTxjDeA2U4V4a9k9lURogUt8Q70piq8ikmu7FlL1WaJxmRITXaoSR0kv0HL47O4lme-6Ghf_0lGKNL8g94F11tXNF7kVmZ5GHJTH8BBoO-xtn2KTibSK4mrbgckp6YaX/w458-h334/blogcovidcurse1.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curse was lifting. Dinner with two sets of visitors!!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Before we resorted to some sort of exorcism, we started seeing signs of the curse losing power. A blogger friend visited at the same time as friends returned to finish the visit, they'd cut short in 2020 when Greece closed down for Covid.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAoZJ2vXVxXzItPHn3llUCVPMA12y99ojyJuhqV-as88I0sNs16En2Xb3ilDLfbYKR-J4MH_YDpQI2gFr4xZqxqdxmsDIiZ6lBgqbaaR3zEHMZ5tT1XPcDgceN6ARjSLqOAzRe4DDtMlX5eJm77DPVr0-ulJYdsl0YgyCzXBIw3iz0AdH7ocUQLocLFhOD/s2048/blogcovidcurse5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAoZJ2vXVxXzItPHn3llUCVPMA12y99ojyJuhqV-as88I0sNs16En2Xb3ilDLfbYKR-J4MH_YDpQI2gFr4xZqxqdxmsDIiZ6lBgqbaaR3zEHMZ5tT1XPcDgceN6ARjSLqOAzRe4DDtMlX5eJm77DPVr0-ulJYdsl0YgyCzXBIw3iz0AdH7ocUQLocLFhOD/w434-h319/blogcovidcurse5.jpg" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">48 hours of guests. . .how great it was to see friends!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Then former neighbors of ours in Kirkland, WA, now of California, tacked on a side trip to the Mani to visit us as part of a whirlwind Greek trip. We had a fabulous 48 hours with them in June.</p><p>The curse was officially lifted last week with the arrival of our first houseguest since November 2019. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA_CCBW0IB60WdDLmlgDtfMmNHvvx_8ahFPzqjAxHbSz0MtC2WcaTg5kbUUSsO_az1xg-rTS87QKTfJC7Bv1aGIkwV2mqqBXTxu8rkmw93v_FCrcy4FJ5tsnpJuCHsTyfAmW67kB9t2X2xs_JwcHPvNgICDja9xwHAldJImwDdn_xCvVFk62FnA5hELkp/s2016/blogcovidcurse4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA_CCBW0IB60WdDLmlgDtfMmNHvvx_8ahFPzqjAxHbSz0MtC2WcaTg5kbUUSsO_az1xg-rTS87QKTfJC7Bv1aGIkwV2mqqBXTxu8rkmw93v_FCrcy4FJ5tsnpJuCHsTyfAmW67kB9t2X2xs_JwcHPvNgICDja9xwHAldJImwDdn_xCvVFk62FnA5hELkp/w448-h336/blogcovidcurse4.jpg" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curse was lifted: our first houseguest since Nov. 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>My friend and writing colleague, Brian Cantwell, (cub reporters together in our 20's and then he became my travel editor at the Seattle Times, during my freelance years) arrived for a long weekend stay as part of his 10-day tour of Greece. Brian lives on a remote San Juan Island, called Center Island, year-round population of 10 households. He adapted well to our rural Peloponnese expat world. He writes of life on his island at <a href="https://brianjcantwell.com/">Cantwell's Reef</a>. He also wrote about his time with us if you want his take on the visit!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QpgyW9bugma4Gm_O_4H0pXJHK2ybG-0euCQqqrMAXGhoRB34NA9Iv-V7Xl9JFaW6BKuA2qm4ybMLBCSgM6L_KJPxu8cRw8r7iqFD_iTj456hEZPnQJqEc8N5Dn17v9iMKudCWFAo3gdqpIaAFPDAvSMFLChr-L5XsSAxKxDIQtkInUym07SgSFtiuThc/s2016/blogcovidcurse3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QpgyW9bugma4Gm_O_4H0pXJHK2ybG-0euCQqqrMAXGhoRB34NA9Iv-V7Xl9JFaW6BKuA2qm4ybMLBCSgM6L_KJPxu8cRw8r7iqFD_iTj456hEZPnQJqEc8N5Dn17v9iMKudCWFAo3gdqpIaAFPDAvSMFLChr-L5XsSAxKxDIQtkInUym07SgSFtiuThc/w316-h400/blogcovidcurse3.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring our world with our guest</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>His arrival at the Kalamata bus station on a Friday kicked off a long weekend of eating, touring, drinking, touring, hiking and swimming that continued until his Tuesday departure. </p><p>The curse was lifted!</p><p>It was like the olden days of having guests! But just as he admitted being rusty at travel logistics (his first trip after Covid) we were a bit rusty at being hosts. It was good to get back into practice again.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">More to Come?</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2LHhBtweWgFnJxyDAJs-OXmzTNFySwUA8g7rMeAPZio6haB0a_a15bx8qya4Bp7OL94eSe2MmOaKVSHEphyiJ5vM-2IGt-mUSdEUThWHUHXIn3EvByYe_hugicZVsB2Vf20TYi87ZhSbj2GowPJai93eIm6o-GnUSElb8WNaobJT9PfcaMx27iVCk4zMw/s2016/blogcovidcurse6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2LHhBtweWgFnJxyDAJs-OXmzTNFySwUA8g7rMeAPZio6haB0a_a15bx8qya4Bp7OL94eSe2MmOaKVSHEphyiJ5vM-2IGt-mUSdEUThWHUHXIn3EvByYe_hugicZVsB2Vf20TYi87ZhSbj2GowPJai93eIm6o-GnUSElb8WNaobJT9PfcaMx27iVCk4zMw/w462-h313/blogcovidcurse6.jpg" width="462" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our slice of the Mani</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Between January and August 2023, some 18.76 million travelers to Greece transited the Athens Airport. That is 8% more than traveled through it in 2019, before Covid. We are so thankful for our guests who were among them and who made the effort to get to the Mani to see us. </div><div><br /></div><div>We expats agree that folks back home don't understand just how much it means to us all to have friends and family who want to come and experience our slice of Greece. We hope the trend continues.</div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Your travel tales:</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QMgFx4U1X-SzQlMYorlY4TSQdnhi-AXiMdYw5d25ULOU3wDo0Wn-PFntytr7oa7yy5sorbP46-3g57-V8NM4hzoiAomb8_YxSo9QPMXOlzkKu1yj7N_Fy2GyOVIQGmALsVXRW7QdiOVXDksl-qNvl20R4pDBloX1awoH-nBaBNuGXwYBEbwMRbTIge-V/s2016/blogplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QMgFx4U1X-SzQlMYorlY4TSQdnhi-AXiMdYw5d25ULOU3wDo0Wn-PFntytr7oa7yy5sorbP46-3g57-V8NM4hzoiAomb8_YxSo9QPMXOlzkKu1yj7N_Fy2GyOVIQGmALsVXRW7QdiOVXDksl-qNvl20R4pDBloX1awoH-nBaBNuGXwYBEbwMRbTIge-V/w351-h400/blogplane.jpg" width="351" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Travel isn't for sissies!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>And speaking of travel, we want to thank those of you who responded to our question last week about your unexpected travel detours and delays after you read of ours. Here's a sampling of your responses:</div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><i> Emily from California</i></b> told us: </div><div><br /></div><div> 'Our latest travel nightmare was due to a late arrival and missing our connection on a SFO to Istanbul flight. Although we were whisked all over CDG (Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris), up and down elevators to the tarmac and sent in a van careening around planes, other vans, baggage carts, and meal wagons, we ultimately missed our connection. We then had to wait in CDG for 12 hours for the next flight to Istanbul, arriving in the middle of the night. On the return, we missed our connection from LAX to MRY and sat for 7 hours waiting for our 45-minute flight. Flying these days isn’t for sissies.' </div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><i>Tom and Jackie from Washington</i></b> who traveled to Normandy echoed of her experiences with the Paris airport: </div><div><br /></div><div>'We have a history of dissatisfaction with CDG from past trips that was reaffirmed. We deplaned and walked the long hallways to Passport Control. The place was overwhelmed with travelers. We were sent to an Air Priority line to get faster service. Not so, other lines were moving while we stood not moving for over an hour and fifteen minutes. Fortunately, our driver waited, and we were able to get to Saint Lazare railway station in time for our noon departure to Rouen.' </div><div><br /></div><div> <b><span style="color: #cc0000;"> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>That's it for this week. Thanks for being with us! Olive harvest season is upon us in the Mani. We'll tell you more about autumn here in our next post. Until then safe travels to you and yours~</div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-56881128817189106602023-10-09T07:54:00.003-07:002023-10-09T07:54:55.601-07:00To Greece ~ The best laid plans. . .<p>Traveling between our US world and the Greek expat life we've chosen is a long haul no matter the route. We've come to see it as simply a condition of choosing to keep a toehold in two far distant points in the world. We make the trip back to the United States once a year. . .</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Fa_EFJGO6Ys7Tucyo-Rl2iQOzkCw1DPbnMbFzlCCNKDVoJTSHnm1tOQE6p-8gmOY8dsjGW4Or40ZYn_BIS7Oscb9aXMad1RnF-xizoFQO_1r7Vk7eZTp_37RMfkz9dYY9L1956Y4OYenpy6dOOHrssjFENslKSj5gwlJX5TGHnln4YqDdADHHg0c5ERx/s2016/blogBAmap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Fa_EFJGO6Ys7Tucyo-Rl2iQOzkCw1DPbnMbFzlCCNKDVoJTSHnm1tOQE6p-8gmOY8dsjGW4Or40ZYn_BIS7Oscb9aXMad1RnF-xizoFQO_1r7Vk7eZTp_37RMfkz9dYY9L1956Y4OYenpy6dOOHrssjFENslKSj5gwlJX5TGHnln4YqDdADHHg0c5ERx/w438-h290/blogBAmap.jpg" width="438" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A true long-haul flight between our worlds</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Every once in a while, <i>The Scout</i> manages to find a route that shaves a bit of time off the trip while saving us some money. He had done so this year. . .or so it seemed in the beginning. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY3D2R9GV4B8goN6FoUzhqpw6Yn6snXuXQ4G9-o74J5oX3iJnR4SokQFOmCxkYfStiHPMnRHps7_y6GtsegLg2iYwAgvdhG4XE0Uwr5yiE6OF_TX5N5r11aJkneX9Zz3Eop-nf2rLIFenSoeYZ6i06X6ZFX4mlO4JC0U04AE9-rdihJ-mN36ZmuMOEW9pc/s2016/blogBAgates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY3D2R9GV4B8goN6FoUzhqpw6Yn6snXuXQ4G9-o74J5oX3iJnR4SokQFOmCxkYfStiHPMnRHps7_y6GtsegLg2iYwAgvdhG4XE0Uwr5yiE6OF_TX5N5r11aJkneX9Zz3Eop-nf2rLIFenSoeYZ6i06X6ZFX4mlO4JC0U04AE9-rdihJ-mN36ZmuMOEW9pc/w469-h335/blogBAgates.jpg" width="469" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gates at Kalamata International Airport</td></tr></tbody></table><p>First, a bit of background for our tale: British Airways (BA) flies a couple of times a week into our small Kalamata International Airport, a rather third world looking place that has two side-by-side departure gates, Gate 1 and Gate 2. It is international because flights from other countries land here. </p><p>Its selling points are that it is easy to navigate, parking is 3 euros a day, it's close to our Greek home, and we can fly to Seattle from there, with a connection at London's Heathrow airport. </p><p>We were flying round-trip Kalamata -Seattle - Kalamata although the price savings required a small, but manageable travel blip on our return flight. We would fly from Seattle to nearby Portland, Oregon -- a 30-minute flight -- on BA's partner airline, Alaska Air, and catch the BA flight to London from there. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNIdUZBVF0l3WUQrOHeTNLcmJCBBj5cO13Tw9JLe20U9Ux_XdSJO9cKCl3uA0X5QLPbtRqMUov5bpyinbPhF8CvCDMmNYulTf6FoZgEfnAysufuCn6HynqSjtH81YLKmRIUF5bGH-CHsxQgRrOXKYvs43jCCFUYf78ves2yBZQlKGjEyWdz6E0LdKfLyp/s4000/P1090314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNIdUZBVF0l3WUQrOHeTNLcmJCBBj5cO13Tw9JLe20U9Ux_XdSJO9cKCl3uA0X5QLPbtRqMUov5bpyinbPhF8CvCDMmNYulTf6FoZgEfnAysufuCn6HynqSjtH81YLKmRIUF5bGH-CHsxQgRrOXKYvs43jCCFUYf78ves2yBZQlKGjEyWdz6E0LdKfLyp/w468-h365/P1090314.JPG" width="468" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First leg: Manson to Seattle over Washington Mountain passes</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Sounded simple enough at the time we made the reservation. We'd leave our Washington home at 9:30 a.m. Friday, Pacific Northwest time, make the four-hour drive to Seattle, have a few hours of time to spare at the airport, then some 20+ hours later arrive back at our Stone House on the Hill about 9 Saturday night, Greek time.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Plans began Unraveling.</span></h3><p>No matter how many times you confirm, recheck, and double-check travel plans these days, the travel gods still rule. And sometimes they need a few laughs. This was to be one of those times.</p><p>Our plans began unraveling when we found the British Airlines check-in counter at SeaTac closed. A sign on the counter said it would open 3.5 hours before the next flight, problem was, it didn't say when that would be. A quick internet check showed it departing at 8 p.m. which meant the counter would open too late for us to check in for that little connecting flight to Portland.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmByMkBSBnWXH4uI9fCHJF9sXYzeMlaKrE-QJNZuqJPK85b7cZKnp9fnKLARb6yk8QvraTKW7dg_ugdKes80TTt0V-Byfs-mBavAWh09mbEURhie8Ix70DAK_QZV8zBNGsZ134JR8DXVQW-x6BNQhf_luNY5_PivW4yLR-pypt2WmBNcA4Qsdrr6VZcW8/s2016/blogBAalaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmByMkBSBnWXH4uI9fCHJF9sXYzeMlaKrE-QJNZuqJPK85b7cZKnp9fnKLARb6yk8QvraTKW7dg_ugdKes80TTt0V-Byfs-mBavAWh09mbEURhie8Ix70DAK_QZV8zBNGsZ134JR8DXVQW-x6BNQhf_luNY5_PivW4yLR-pypt2WmBNcA4Qsdrr6VZcW8/w415-h323/blogBAalaska.jpg" width="415" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three heads are better than one </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Another woman traveler was in the same predicament. So, the three of us set off for the Alaska Air counters (at the opposite end of the airport). There, among the dozens of self-check-in kiosks, we finally spotted two humans staffing the Business Class counter. The woman traveler went to one human, and we went to the other. </p><p>Yes, we were assured, they could check us in! Problem was that they couldn't find our reservations nor the flight that British Air had booked us on to Portland. They called in reinforcements - three staff worked on our predicament and two worked on hers. Finally, the five figured it out, tickets to Portland were issued and our bags were loaded on the conveyor belt.</p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJP-y7xsCbzzPouFT3ZfJ405h5w9KYc6D4gzvfLLxYxPXRnNpoHkWhLKVYe9V0Azq16xcrQm_RLhfiNBfiKo5-3cI8-eJD18ojw3leprKPGh9pPDdqNBNJthORBCAD1p0KJLS8lQXbftT5LkO2Hf6S0QRWMQu7eWCO0_8iQq4pm0uFoGqt34ujuPvgsssD" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="320" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJP-y7xsCbzzPouFT3ZfJ405h5w9KYc6D4gzvfLLxYxPXRnNpoHkWhLKVYe9V0Azq16xcrQm_RLhfiNBfiKo5-3cI8-eJD18ojw3leprKPGh9pPDdqNBNJthORBCAD1p0KJLS8lQXbftT5LkO2Hf6S0QRWMQu7eWCO0_8iQq4pm0uFoGqt34ujuPvgsssD=w308-h369" width="308" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bags were heading back. . .were we?</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>While watching our bags depart, my mobile device pinged. An email from British Air had arrived saying our flight to London had been delayed by little over two hours, 'sorry for the inconvenience'. </p><p>Our new London arrival time would be 2:15 pm. Saturday - 15 minutes after our flight for Kalamata left.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Domino Effect</span></h3><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglcKuENyMU5urhFf6TX1PIiyd3f6r0xXHktY6kcAvIM2lAzhTGLD3Nm9xWzruYJr0-RorZbUOpm6KeGVTsbqMUO3cVzDlagrlqvabs-fx4hHTFaSTdig5D_zAGZ6-5PjrlPg5FsKzBuVPu0yiIs41KJjHrlNC_nQEHYHMfNj2Wh4tK8XB9_ieIJU_ZA732" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="233" data-original-width="350" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglcKuENyMU5urhFf6TX1PIiyd3f6r0xXHktY6kcAvIM2lAzhTGLD3Nm9xWzruYJr0-RorZbUOpm6KeGVTsbqMUO3cVzDlagrlqvabs-fx4hHTFaSTdig5D_zAGZ6-5PjrlPg5FsKzBuVPu0yiIs41KJjHrlNC_nQEHYHMfNj2Wh4tK8XB9_ieIJU_ZA732" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Ever notice that when things start going wrong it is like dominoes falling? Well, that was certainly the case with this trip: </p><p>We were hiking back to the other end of the terminal, where the fast security line was located; glad to be part of the US trusted traveler program which allows us to use the speedy service. With all the check-in confusion that relaxing cushion of time we'd allowed ourselves was gone. We needed to get to the gate for the Portland flight. Wouldn't you know? The speedy line was also being used by long-haul flight crews. We waited for some 80 crew members to be checked in before the 10 or so of us 'trusted travelers' were allowed through. </p><p>Planning to have snacks and beverages at the airport, we hadn't eaten lunch. But no time for that now, we'd be lucky to at least get a final cup of Starbucks coffee before our flight boarded.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi77HH65hAwtaRUnLO3i_q_rQ_2DJjtQrpaCrBxfrnbbsWv7KrZjvQJNx7QPNdlBxINtLgjJ8zNFOUH1PSFh2v9I_b9WW5vA7A4_OQnJN6B0UsIK3KfpyouIHe6wKAkEcifBQNoX5TC62iFzAecISP-DuGW2ws1r_9bXpT6DYhEkiMqjcPWP1klqt4vBsBw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="198" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi77HH65hAwtaRUnLO3i_q_rQ_2DJjtQrpaCrBxfrnbbsWv7KrZjvQJNx7QPNdlBxINtLgjJ8zNFOUH1PSFh2v9I_b9WW5vA7A4_OQnJN6B0UsIK3KfpyouIHe6wKAkEcifBQNoX5TC62iFzAecISP-DuGW2ws1r_9bXpT6DYhEkiMqjcPWP1klqt4vBsBw" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>At the Starbucks counter a young man with bright blue hair - a color that rivaled that of the saleswoman in the phone store in my last post - took my order for a double latte. As I handed him my stack of dollars (it cost just under $7) he looked at the currency as if it were something repulsive and said, 'Oh, I can't take <i><u>cash</u></i>. . .' </p><p>Okay. . .in retrospect, I could have dug out a credit card but that blank stare he gave me and my cash, simply broke the proverbial camel's back with the straw, 'Cancel the order!' I snarled as I stomped from the counter.</p><p> </p><p><i><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5XtzMVJg5T4SstGKxV9YWeped05AMPDzxQiNiJRJuhdaKize8BqPTA9mQFD_Q8QrG42OUkNoicHgpo-b1hni18owbwQAsF66lfSlcJpI1Ltjr4lBWkESdPIZ_trqJF1E_HfD8x0XWLonwb5a_IBAf4uUatn_InfBL1ekFS76JfakNcJ-RKMBwtR7FqbTI" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="736" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5XtzMVJg5T4SstGKxV9YWeped05AMPDzxQiNiJRJuhdaKize8BqPTA9mQFD_Q8QrG42OUkNoicHgpo-b1hni18owbwQAsF66lfSlcJpI1Ltjr4lBWkESdPIZ_trqJF1E_HfD8x0XWLonwb5a_IBAf4uUatn_InfBL1ekFS76JfakNcJ-RKMBwtR7FqbTI=w400-h354" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry, no coffee on today's flight. . .</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></i></p><p><i>The Scout</i> was disappointed at my failed mission. I assured him there was coffee on the plane. Our cheerful flight attendant promised it as soon as we were airborne. A few minutes into the flight, she picked up the microphone and, looking towards us, made a sad face, while announcing that our flight was going so fast there would be no beverage service. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">And we are finally off . . .late as promised</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5-7NyC_Ghyphenhyphen3RO4QN47IoIUo0I2c8VjyYuqS11ECXt5GhGy2FaIm14oCwsoLAQKT6XDqomMYlmfkVziK17T_1IzXpyivCoSHZQyizWkVmse91RF_e1isXqbF7yq6Y_2WQTvbhqlL7ixg1DXmgH13asGbJWWAqng1QA54PeAy2NAciC5W_geIfS-jrfko_/s2040/blogBAwelcome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2040" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5-7NyC_Ghyphenhyphen3RO4QN47IoIUo0I2c8VjyYuqS11ECXt5GhGy2FaIm14oCwsoLAQKT6XDqomMYlmfkVziK17T_1IzXpyivCoSHZQyizWkVmse91RF_e1isXqbF7yq6Y_2WQTvbhqlL7ixg1DXmgH13asGbJWWAqng1QA54PeAy2NAciC5W_geIfS-jrfko_/w437-h300/blogBAwelcome.jpg" width="437" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better late than never - we were off!<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>In Portland, the BA representative issued us tickets all the way to Kalamata while noting we would miss that flight for which she had given us tickets. Ground staff in London would figure it out for us, she said with a smile. </p><p>We actually learned what our new travel plans would be shortly before we arrived at Heathrow. Our flight attendant told us we'd be spending a night in London and flying to Kalamata the next day.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUdsjPPll9F-PEZmrKQ7lp_C7mBEP92K9cJY7iqUEl8GrvhXnjjeGZUh5Fp0fyQoUjD9rHFGPeaA1bVMZyVQTPZOOzyBwUrdP4CSAa-McN8oWqyaDRlbuqxuOAvgprO-TegL_c4WCWb2JWsgPTVmsKoTa6pN_MUIW8sRapjjUFFluCChM-Pinq7ifE4bu/s2016/blogBAflightconnections.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUdsjPPll9F-PEZmrKQ7lp_C7mBEP92K9cJY7iqUEl8GrvhXnjjeGZUh5Fp0fyQoUjD9rHFGPeaA1bVMZyVQTPZOOzyBwUrdP4CSAa-McN8oWqyaDRlbuqxuOAvgprO-TegL_c4WCWb2JWsgPTVmsKoTa6pN_MUIW8sRapjjUFFluCChM-Pinq7ifE4bu/w458-h327/blogBAflightconnections.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flight connections madhouse at Heathrow</td></tr></tbody></table><p>So many on our flight had missed connections that BA staff had set up a table outside the jetway and handed out dozens of new tickets from it. Hotel, food and transportation vouchers had to be obtained at the Flight Connections desk, a place I'd call a centralized complaint/hysteria counter a train ride away in the massive Terminal 5. At the counter we fell in line with the dozens of others seeking vouchers.</p><p>Nearly an hour later with vouchers in hand, we were off to the bus stop where we'd just missed the hotel bus we needed. Nearly another hour later we were arriving at the nearby Radisson Blue Edwardian Hotel. It was 5 p.m.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">At The Hotel - The Dominoes continued to fall</span></h3><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBG-wemM_WkFKx-cxez5m3_PPTGzc0CauiWZdSGZUpmstGn9SQrwESCRlenIIDFGOpzpHMOGNBRD-QNb8I71k2bYr5YQs5Kv3MnBdtilrC3chyyMJsQYyM-T77JH7v6RYVjGKZ5kClKj75hB-QLjXR3UL2U8SGgRO8DHhgeDvUvGqu4Lc-Hul7Ya2alkpb/s2016/blogBAhotellobby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBG-wemM_WkFKx-cxez5m3_PPTGzc0CauiWZdSGZUpmstGn9SQrwESCRlenIIDFGOpzpHMOGNBRD-QNb8I71k2bYr5YQs5Kv3MnBdtilrC3chyyMJsQYyM-T77JH7v6RYVjGKZ5kClKj75hB-QLjXR3UL2U8SGgRO8DHhgeDvUvGqu4Lc-Hul7Ya2alkpb/w468-h343/blogBAhotellobby.jpg" width="468" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lobby Radisson Blue Edwardian Hotel Heathrow</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The opulent wood-paneled lobby adorned with a massive crystal chandelier was pretty welcome to these now weary travelers. Maybe this layover wasn't such a bad thing, we thought, until. . . </p><p>'I am unable to give you a key to your room,' said the smiling desk clerk, explaining a system failure involving electrical and computer stuff had shut down the hotel's vital systems, like that of making room keys. Handing us a piece of plastic the size of a credit card, she said, 'This is the master key for the room. It is the only one that opens the door. If you lose it, you won't be able to get into the room and we won't be able to get you into the room.' </p><p>You'd better believe we treated it with respect.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJ4oDCp3nhFpQFVRduFRGhD-6QXlcTaIt08zzqFnHK7rMYNsgd0WnhD5FU80uQC1jBC9Bozi7XwUlvC5JmhhuYDc6XmAvInR3u01m39KYB7WisgurpeadpNTwsFs7QQ_-Z6fMUFI_AmrS9ptX2_042Jnlk2V8d2mlen2fqJRGvvffZYlvZH8C-CD8XgyB/s2016/blogBAvouchers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJ4oDCp3nhFpQFVRduFRGhD-6QXlcTaIt08zzqFnHK7rMYNsgd0WnhD5FU80uQC1jBC9Bozi7XwUlvC5JmhhuYDc6XmAvInR3u01m39KYB7WisgurpeadpNTwsFs7QQ_-Z6fMUFI_AmrS9ptX2_042Jnlk2V8d2mlen2fqJRGvvffZYlvZH8C-CD8XgyB/w354-h420/blogBAvouchers.jpg" width="354" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plenty of vouchers - too bad the hotel wouldn't take them</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The hotel's restaurant looked inviting. Called <i>Steak and Lobster</i>, it offered some nice menu choices and to our amazement the vouchers we each had were so generous that they covered even the most expensive menu item. While sipping a pre-dinner glass of wine,<i> The Scout</i> asked if reservations were required. The good news, we didn't need reservations. The bad news, they wouldn't take the vouchers -- in either of the hotel's two restaurants (and not because of the system failure). </p><p>It turned out that a 21-person tour group had also missed a flight and BA sent them to this hotel as well. The hotel had opened a conference room for us all, offering a buffet table meal of beef stew, mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli and cauliflower in exchange for the 23 pound ($28US) per person voucher. </p><p>That proverbial straw snapped again. . .We ate in the restaurant on our own dime. . .and had a fabulous meal while vowing never to return to this hotel no matter what the reason we might find ourselves overnighting at Heathrow. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Destination: Kalamata ~ Delayed</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgT9IfBqISxW7Qrp6rDXzG0dqae-gQgkTPVdGJVspoLoj6LzVd7boc8RKYYuPT-nzBlVG93cZbZ6KSnL8YTGFGNR9Xf1nSU5TXYv9j_HlDvMydgajNnUIc79PQQtD9r9lK1qzr7ehw04Nxei-WYqTv2Ci3ZohNxQ_pVdXAaiiXkXzvFZfsv09vKWhExGYQ/s2016/blogBAdelaysign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgT9IfBqISxW7Qrp6rDXzG0dqae-gQgkTPVdGJVspoLoj6LzVd7boc8RKYYuPT-nzBlVG93cZbZ6KSnL8YTGFGNR9Xf1nSU5TXYv9j_HlDvMydgajNnUIc79PQQtD9r9lK1qzr7ehw04Nxei-WYqTv2Ci3ZohNxQ_pVdXAaiiXkXzvFZfsv09vKWhExGYQ/w300-h400/blogBAdelaysign.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new day. . .a new delay</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Leaving the hotel in the early morning darkness on Sunday morning, we shouldn't have been surprised when we checked the departure board at the airport for our gate to find that the flight to Kalamata was 'delayed' - those travel gods were still laughing. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We rejoiced when it really was only less than a half hour delay. We'd be home by mid-afternoon!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZvYfoSbg5mgXPCG3DWLhybZGoJEOakT-T-X-9PXdFSyMQEB9NQ5udaNwf8srS25QCd6EowAxo5XdDe0ig2m6MRZiMahSn8Lnlgn9eNsx7mBRIWVxoWdj7oQdxuoBqc2W11z1RiIsP8ixU1j9f7k3XwsFXHWGOyIl17ydEtfYNYkoMZiyOC9djYipl2qf/s2016/blogBAkalamatarunway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZvYfoSbg5mgXPCG3DWLhybZGoJEOakT-T-X-9PXdFSyMQEB9NQ5udaNwf8srS25QCd6EowAxo5XdDe0ig2m6MRZiMahSn8Lnlgn9eNsx7mBRIWVxoWdj7oQdxuoBqc2W11z1RiIsP8ixU1j9f7k3XwsFXHWGOyIl17ydEtfYNYkoMZiyOC9djYipl2qf/w416-h323/blogBAkalamatarunway.jpg" width="416" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata's runway - finally!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Ready to leap out of my seat with joy when we touched down at Kalamata, my happiness was momentary . . .</p><p>With the small terminal some distance ahead, our plane stopped on the runway. 'Folks,' said the pilot, 'we've got too many planes in and have to wait for one to take off before I can enter the apron.' Within minutes an Austrian Airlines plane raced past us on the runway and was airborne. </p><p>But still, we didn't move. </p><p>We sat. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoE0Awl6txLH8unabdBviXwscNMLxH6zTm0K9SYrBvPh_5rIW3C6hV485QYrt3Y9swS6aQC4dGMdUuncmB1mKaet5nBcip_-l0yChQ4CabhWoSMFthBDI0iamTlfLDd2zQ9KYP4Koe0bxCiEnSlYXWQSFnKkxBuW__G4fNr953KnpUULggy_JWszTskI2/s2016/blogBAkalamataairport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoE0Awl6txLH8unabdBviXwscNMLxH6zTm0K9SYrBvPh_5rIW3C6hV485QYrt3Y9swS6aQC4dGMdUuncmB1mKaet5nBcip_-l0yChQ4CabhWoSMFthBDI0iamTlfLDd2zQ9KYP4Koe0bxCiEnSlYXWQSFnKkxBuW__G4fNr953KnpUULggy_JWszTskI2/w384-h410/blogBAkalamataairport.jpg" width="384" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So close. . .Kalamata airport terminal</td></tr></tbody></table><p>'Folks, again sorry for the delay,' began the pilot, 'but we've still got too many planes on the apron. It is going to be awhile. I am turning off the engine, feel free to come visit the cockpit, use the bathrooms, as it is going to be an hour.'</p><p>An hour! </p><p>We both later admitted to having thoughts of hijacking the parked plane, forcing open the door and escaping using the emergency evacuation slide. Luckily planes were shifted, and we were at the terminal 45 minutes later.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Moral of the Story: Travel Gods need their jollies so be prepared.</span></h3><p>It's been two weeks so we can tell this story and finally find some humor in it. And those of you who are looking for a reason, not to travel, you can't use this as a case in point, as it was an anomaly (we hope!). We've never had so many dominos of disruption falling on a trip.</p><p>We do tell it with a tag line of 'be prepared' when you travel these days. Prepare for delays, detours and other disruptions. </p><p>* Pack your carryon for an overnight stay. I always pack change of clothes and toiletries in our carryon bags, 'just in case' and 'never' need them. This time they came in handy.</p><p>*Don't assume there will be time to grab food and drink. Pack a snack with you.</p><p>* Have a 'disaster fund' for emergencies, like needing to pay for an unplanned meal or hotel room along the way. As we learned, even with vouchers, you may end up paying for items.</p><p>*And travel with some means of accessing the internet at wherever your destination might be. Airport staff and help desks are becoming scarce. There is an expectation that you will turn to the internet to check in, to find answers to questions, and to solve your own problems. I can't imagine traveling without a mobile device or laptop nowadays.</p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MklFxSz5Ix-PydjjPlV5hccq4WOMVpyGAiLShP-ZoOtG3YINu62xusYQFpoky1gOAhqaOcifjMQ3s9eI_siXJtqcEdnuzpcXiaaz9Ya6Gz_TCOF_YwSuYHwwnKXVJbFPynWZL8VxRvDV0fkZwwL_6Ipnxjou8EopA7cS50T3zLXNfZ4pAbp8pgqKKLqg/s2016/blogtshothvista.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MklFxSz5Ix-PydjjPlV5hccq4WOMVpyGAiLShP-ZoOtG3YINu62xusYQFpoky1gOAhqaOcifjMQ3s9eI_siXJtqcEdnuzpcXiaaz9Ya6Gz_TCOF_YwSuYHwwnKXVJbFPynWZL8VxRvDV0fkZwwL_6Ipnxjou8EopA7cS50T3zLXNfZ4pAbp8pgqKKLqg/w376-h316/blogtshothvista.jpg" width="376" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Stone House on the Hill</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />With those words of advice, I will end our travel tale. We are home on the hill in Greece and have no desire to see an airport anytime soon. <p></p><p>We wonder how many of you have had travel plans upended in your recent travels. Please share your stories in the comments below or shoot us an email. Let us know the problem and how it was resolved. If enough of you participate, I will use your tales in the next blog post! </p><p>Thanks for being with us today. Safe travels to you and yours!</p><p><br /></p>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-14495895792607904462023-09-21T08:32:00.002-07:002023-09-21T08:32:40.940-07:00You Can Go Home Again!<div class="separator">I disagree with Thomas Wolfe who penned the famous book, 'You Can't Go Home Again'. You most certainly can go home again! We have done it annually since beginning our expat life in the rural Greek Peloponnese six years ago. </div><div class="separator"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu2qtuR3u5NMT363qi6AEcljtO9g7o5fZB-mi04k5Rh4yajDVyt3MhtSbx7yXKW_Ts0_Lqw57utMFvLZ1Bv48kajVrlKEe5sWYYSGipgABPJ7EsH0Ynyo2jjZAvWv-QoaeQa7tfWaPXNd7-8gb-qMksuL98c3nMR8nFOP7xxdaW0j85KpDbBPWBbXl_cP/s1440/blogplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu2qtuR3u5NMT363qi6AEcljtO9g7o5fZB-mi04k5Rh4yajDVyt3MhtSbx7yXKW_Ts0_Lqw57utMFvLZ1Bv48kajVrlKEe5sWYYSGipgABPJ7EsH0Ynyo2jjZAvWv-QoaeQa7tfWaPXNd7-8gb-qMksuL98c3nMR8nFOP7xxdaW0j85KpDbBPWBbXl_cP/w400-h400/blogplane.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading home at 40,000 ft.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Wolfe's 1940's book, by the way, is about a fledgling author who makes unflattering references to his hometown in his writings and finds that when he goes home again, his family and friends aren't pleased with the way he depicted the place. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mvPeRaCxLphJ-DC3SzloNB8Mb152cmQZZbkAtjMX3jOzWQHo73n6p65war_r5oWUtqKE-EP5ec9JmVBcVj7neTGO2dKYEu_DFf2V-A7eAMIZ7dEsle35MjRMiFl-i3HXEOOnCJcoB6zkJpqgsGCg0Z-CSOj6hR1F2ysQSuQowzqIZab7kA8a4X9ht_r0/s2016/blogchelan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mvPeRaCxLphJ-DC3SzloNB8Mb152cmQZZbkAtjMX3jOzWQHo73n6p65war_r5oWUtqKE-EP5ec9JmVBcVj7neTGO2dKYEu_DFf2V-A7eAMIZ7dEsle35MjRMiFl-i3HXEOOnCJcoB6zkJpqgsGCg0Z-CSOj6hR1F2ysQSuQowzqIZab7kA8a4X9ht_r0/w424-h337/blogchelan.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American home is at Lake Chelan, Washington State</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The rest of us - who haven't penned such a piece - can certainly go home again. All we need is the time and energy to do it. This year it has felt like both were a bit in short supply for us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0OBFejcmNIVEFYtlLNUZA3Sb4VTkg_XCqXFPxpAFTVRNoG6BzENxPMvIhJvxpWdAo1ZSgw4EYqD1NKq3Tb9sE_xiP26xD0Xdo2TIayvMEuH75s9TD-ALX8Fl_tWQPcf84eYvnXiw_HjJsgR1hZLkRaR4-F328cjJXa5lW8v49w2ZjJUvDh9IB1f9aEf0/s3938/blogmansonhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3938" data-original-width="2953" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0OBFejcmNIVEFYtlLNUZA3Sb4VTkg_XCqXFPxpAFTVRNoG6BzENxPMvIhJvxpWdAo1ZSgw4EYqD1NKq3Tb9sE_xiP26xD0Xdo2TIayvMEuH75s9TD-ALX8Fl_tWQPcf84eYvnXiw_HjJsgR1hZLkRaR4-F328cjJXa5lW8v49w2ZjJUvDh9IB1f9aEf0/w300-h400/blogmansonhouse.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Home in Washington </td></tr></tbody></table><p>And the only flack we get from family and friends is that we haven't allowed enough time to see them all. I can tell you that when you are blessed to have lived 70 years and have a lifetime of accumulated friends, it just isn't possible to see them all during a month-long stay.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7BahmKG65U5reiOYl3cHCd0a6c2fnkDfxgGloKVoJKz8M9yb_j7J2mLt7afqcCfIfXLYJMrVSLZlPh_su8WqFHF8i_9cJzcQdj_4DVUpSkU1BzDI65RbdvkGVBsAtp4tmjKoco4I6jckSBAW7Gxg8I-30mCiLKct3K-MHO8cHbjynwJKmJIRn0Up2idC/s3264/blogairplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7BahmKG65U5reiOYl3cHCd0a6c2fnkDfxgGloKVoJKz8M9yb_j7J2mLt7afqcCfIfXLYJMrVSLZlPh_su8WqFHF8i_9cJzcQdj_4DVUpSkU1BzDI65RbdvkGVBsAtp4tmjKoco4I6jckSBAW7Gxg8I-30mCiLKct3K-MHO8cHbjynwJKmJIRn0Up2idC/w400-h300/blogairplane.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Butte in the distance - Chelan, Washington</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Of course, one might ask what is meant by 'going home' when you are an expat with roots in one country and strong ties to another.</p><p>I turned to one of my favorite writers, Frances Mayes, to see if she answered that question in her new book, '<i>A Place in the World, Finding the Meaning of Home</i>'. She doesn't provide any answers, but certainly provides food for thought. Even travelers can relate to some of her observations.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM992MiRjjI_rfybVxDbq_KLcvG5b2RlldAsJLhigvYe6ZnkzibSCLV7fFxqxjqhUlTh8PoGfy0JT_3AZHogt8_ASvLuxD0AGcXCL0R5-JjA0Mjk1dKs6pL-ioM3Q8FkiEKkfjA8XVFblXdfLaK7eT2Sibm-SM9MQtmKgNh6KNabhuos5lHr_2NRK-6f7M" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="330" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM992MiRjjI_rfybVxDbq_KLcvG5b2RlldAsJLhigvYe6ZnkzibSCLV7fFxqxjqhUlTh8PoGfy0JT_3AZHogt8_ASvLuxD0AGcXCL0R5-JjA0Mjk1dKs6pL-ioM3Q8FkiEKkfjA8XVFblXdfLaK7eT2Sibm-SM9MQtmKgNh6KNabhuos5lHr_2NRK-6f7M=w263-h400" width="263" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home is where. . .??</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It has been a perfect read during our stay in the Pacific Northwest. I've not had much reading time though as we've found ourselves with far more on our to do list than will ever be accomplished and far more people to spend time with than is humanly possible. </p><p>Whoosh. . .the month is gone. By the time many read this, we will be back in The Stone House on the Hill in the Peloponnese. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Rest of the Story</span></h3><p>Because I told you about tackling that 'to do' list in my last post, I wanted to wrap up those tales before we leave:</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklwWde01zuxLnkTmsIXNPzH7SEouDCn4gGA6GSLrwp627JX7EJ3-9yR0nHmHW2iv88raeQTGYDy-E-5P2bfuzB_tH9xdsZtCSJji4VbeD_RrIr1pJLv1tPsNsHW818ENmkAPQa03J0c1zsSyOoPgflgu1TpjKL3RTNQHCoyUSvZzzOsH8srqaosJPDarg/s2016/blog%20phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklwWde01zuxLnkTmsIXNPzH7SEouDCn4gGA6GSLrwp627JX7EJ3-9yR0nHmHW2iv88raeQTGYDy-E-5P2bfuzB_tH9xdsZtCSJji4VbeD_RrIr1pJLv1tPsNsHW818ENmkAPQa03J0c1zsSyOoPgflgu1TpjKL3RTNQHCoyUSvZzzOsH8srqaosJPDarg/w300-h400/blog%20phone.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My phone delivered to the door here - a treat!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The quest for a new mobile device (phone) for use in the U.S turned out to be a multi-week effort. I simply wanted to buy a newer phone from my service provider, Verizon. Told that I had a plan that didn't allow for the purchase, they sent me off to one of America's big box stores, Walmart, to buy the phone. When I returned to Verizon with the new phone so they could assist in the switch over, I found I had bought a 'locked' phone that only works with Consumer Cellular, another service provider. </p><p>This time a different clerk - without bright blue hair - suggested a new phone plan for me which. . .drum roll. . .actually gave me the phone I had wanted to buy for free, just by changing plans. Thirty minutes later the new phone was working, and I returned the ordered phone to Walmart.</p><p> I must note that in Greece phones are sold 'unlocked' meaning you can put any providers' SIM card in them, in fact two providers could exist in one phone. This 'locked' business seems to be a US glitch.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_vBjMoxmVqnpVJXboG-hH2Gw5Kj87PrB1Qbv4symxjnLtAEhsnNBfL-xYM5Ryp4n5JqbdzeFOZrJeWjjbYu8x-glTJy7FFaiGxxLiDaeQ-BW9yomQa0E3SsrO-9xSSax6Z8hBMlp4krv6vMEreXKq6i3w9-ocTm3ZdevlY5UF3kWhlovKzyzbohbT5iR/s2712/bloglakeducks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2712" data-original-width="2209" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_vBjMoxmVqnpVJXboG-hH2Gw5Kj87PrB1Qbv4symxjnLtAEhsnNBfL-xYM5Ryp4n5JqbdzeFOZrJeWjjbYu8x-glTJy7FFaiGxxLiDaeQ-BW9yomQa0E3SsrO-9xSSax6Z8hBMlp4krv6vMEreXKq6i3w9-ocTm3ZdevlY5UF3kWhlovKzyzbohbT5iR/w326-h400/bloglakeducks.jpg" width="326" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leading a duck's life at Lake Chelan in Manson</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our new bank account is up and running, after having passed all the identification and security checks initially required. However, the checks associated with it are lost in the mail. They were sent on Aug. 31st and should have been delivered a week ago (an automated voice told me that when I called the bank). </p><p> A trip to our local post office provided no answers as I had only a photo of the package sent by the bank, not a tracking number. A second call to the bank finally got me to a human who couldn't help because we had not 'paid extra' for a tracking number. Paid extra. . .really??</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXinJ8jqmDNueNXUJldepoMQaQygYaI9pjdP3yBj1I6LoIfA69imGCBEUrkY2G1wDcyWmOfUk5el7XSqDDmFSilBQwjC7l0xrND8C7qsEQzYV0WDJnMkuJJ8AYrfUQpp6tQoM2QRt7hJ82SetqXao8H5LJ0YoDwgtCdUmugQgAE9NuFHgdwzitWek3VSXZ/s2016/jkcovidshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXinJ8jqmDNueNXUJldepoMQaQygYaI9pjdP3yBj1I6LoIfA69imGCBEUrkY2G1wDcyWmOfUk5el7XSqDDmFSilBQwjC7l0xrND8C7qsEQzYV0WDJnMkuJJ8AYrfUQpp6tQoM2QRt7hJ82SetqXao8H5LJ0YoDwgtCdUmugQgAE9NuFHgdwzitWek3VSXZ/w400-h300/jkcovidshot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back in 2021 when it was a drive through affair</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We failed to get our Covid booster shot while here. The newest vaccine doesn't hit the shelves until the week after we leave. I was questionable for the shot as I came down with shingles in July and still have the rash. It turns out a side effect of the shot could be shingles, or reactivating shingles. Always something new to learn, isn't there?</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">On the Flip Side</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63bAQMHpl0qEbs6Vaxb5PdJeAW01MfEjrq2-7U9PPNOuDkNYH_ovj6pkCYXbxGgRWJEoizSWloS6Wpqf9wMJQlcPpOg0mqj9OZljnEmBbua8EamxyjnlCfMuG3LRdNjLmXccVY4RwJ40a5VVUMPIL7FH_K2zVAdCEBm0mWMauKwELAi5sn4wMjMd9otwd/s2016/blogSHOTH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63bAQMHpl0qEbs6Vaxb5PdJeAW01MfEjrq2-7U9PPNOuDkNYH_ovj6pkCYXbxGgRWJEoizSWloS6Wpqf9wMJQlcPpOg0mqj9OZljnEmBbua8EamxyjnlCfMuG3LRdNjLmXccVY4RwJ40a5VVUMPIL7FH_K2zVAdCEBm0mWMauKwELAi5sn4wMjMd9otwd/w400-h300/blogSHOTH.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Stone House on the Hill in the Greek Peloponnese</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Meanwhile back in Greece our neighbors report we've been without municipal water for several days on several occasions since we've been gone. Facebook pages from our area show mountains of garbage that have accumulated at municipal bins.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfObuPH9V4pwxU8N9S6kdoosg3Jzygxm9oT8fnRE6dTovVF1rAG5dswk0yeZv3zC86sGGEKD9rIgvIFlhn6Srtg46GnSaD7o12ti8drXEVQyiLE8jI2W39lC0-VEWiHlSLbB6NmHtfekg8L-ZEyghqYxeEgIqxWJQka1imvdF3KYXOqZ2E8HoPJ3obcy_/s1344/blogmeme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="1051" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfObuPH9V4pwxU8N9S6kdoosg3Jzygxm9oT8fnRE6dTovVF1rAG5dswk0yeZv3zC86sGGEKD9rIgvIFlhn6Srtg46GnSaD7o12ti8drXEVQyiLE8jI2W39lC0-VEWiHlSLbB6NmHtfekg8L-ZEyghqYxeEgIqxWJQka1imvdF3KYXOqZ2E8HoPJ3obcy_/w313-h400/blogmeme.jpg" width="313" /></a></div><br /><p>No place is perfect, we've concluded. But we still are happy to have two places in the world where we are surrounded by good friends and neighbors; places that we call home. We just may see them a bit differently than we did when we left them. And maybe that isn't such a bad thing. </p><p>Again, thanks for your time with us. Hope you'll join us again next time when we will be writing from our slice of Greece~</p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-8297513602363724432023-09-06T08:58:00.001-07:002023-09-06T08:58:14.800-07:00Back in the Village<p> We are back in the village. Not the Greek village, the American one.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikY7eCDtNsB9KzdSfygTaw6c7WbdmEuWDZ0EzLpXHt1hQ0nyJSIeBastm0WvF4xfVwx8rQ034uu5FXP2eeh1DbnBgYZoAdzHwv2r4vzAllVEdMjk_sIeLmwnVW7yup91y9FzkSelO94gl3ijrVR4YgLb-y82Dz9y5lggAN3MPHB8cZ7AwpF_lJLm-abjrt" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikY7eCDtNsB9KzdSfygTaw6c7WbdmEuWDZ0EzLpXHt1hQ0nyJSIeBastm0WvF4xfVwx8rQ034uu5FXP2eeh1DbnBgYZoAdzHwv2r4vzAllVEdMjk_sIeLmwnVW7yup91y9FzkSelO94gl3ijrVR4YgLb-y82Dz9y5lggAN3MPHB8cZ7AwpF_lJLm-abjrt=w443-h400" width="443" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main Street Manson, Washington</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Still shaking our heads at how rapidly the last year sped past, we are even more amazed that we are already at a midway point in our annual stay here. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVOEVxdorKCDv18EFswXW1l8omonHhkXiD5HZRnvJll-cCsDHmmm26fxZi37VkddCEvtWk-958nnUnmJwvWIcraFuQ7OkznnSTwQKmimFCOrXna3HJd40JQayeajuQUvWRjIETsTT8j52ykHOKScNDmHhu0C9E96J82jRQwQcjnyLeoV2k0xhyQrZFpE4/s2016/blogSHOTH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVOEVxdorKCDv18EFswXW1l8omonHhkXiD5HZRnvJll-cCsDHmmm26fxZi37VkddCEvtWk-958nnUnmJwvWIcraFuQ7OkznnSTwQKmimFCOrXna3HJd40JQayeajuQUvWRjIETsTT8j52ykHOKScNDmHhu0C9E96J82jRQwQcjnyLeoV2k0xhyQrZFpE4/w449-h322/blogSHOTH.jpg" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Stone House on the Hill in Greece</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our expat life is one that involves keeping a toehold back in our homeland. Thus, we have a house in Greece where we live the majority of the year and one in America that we use for a bit of time each year. This American home has diversified -- and benefited -- our portfolio and provided a perfect getaway spot while serving as the 'fallback plan', should our health or Greece's residency requirements ever dictate a return to the States. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgd0Dw94xU-QDQc1gd2_HE1nPuT5h_2gzSca7nkGlDTjtpVW5OFwXfPlUwchjX-KvS9ZQilR0oua4uX_PHIm0P5thH2ooW2o9WTo9uKbpp1nXU5bhFUzT9C-FSNhjCUI9xFnvbynmpg7BDsUUPU0NS02QH2gNpS3GT4onB3d5ANPnoOYZ109fbJpw3-mnZO" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgd0Dw94xU-QDQc1gd2_HE1nPuT5h_2gzSca7nkGlDTjtpVW5OFwXfPlUwchjX-KvS9ZQilR0oua4uX_PHIm0P5thH2ooW2o9WTo9uKbpp1nXU5bhFUzT9C-FSNhjCUI9xFnvbynmpg7BDsUUPU0NS02QH2gNpS3GT4onB3d5ANPnoOYZ109fbJpw3-mnZO=w400-h306" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A morning at home in Manson</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Frankly, we like both places and are grateful we can be a part of each. We like having options.</p><p>And I know many of you reading this are considering options for expat life. There really is no one way of living an expat life; some choose to pack up and leave a country for good while others keep a toehold as we have done. Some rent, some buy, some build. There is no one model that works. Your options are many and you need to choose what best fits you. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgb9Q0J5hsVS394RrhQZ3YJuCEkHJ3DgiPqvCAddeKR4aEWd4It-Xl2cxc-nLLa-ZMVeGDy-InLjqKyBkcjT8-vMqoEdIS1xWQ6h42aIcgmWZ6Xl-r0lC5_5yG9V9421DqrV_Vs5mCcZ2N_iFAFeO6m1NtCEXGyzCQUt-Kxvz5mw98A4a9oNDG9JUiJ2Duo" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgb9Q0J5hsVS394RrhQZ3YJuCEkHJ3DgiPqvCAddeKR4aEWd4It-Xl2cxc-nLLa-ZMVeGDy-InLjqKyBkcjT8-vMqoEdIS1xWQ6h42aIcgmWZ6Xl-r0lC5_5yG9V9421DqrV_Vs5mCcZ2N_iFAFeO6m1NtCEXGyzCQUt-Kxvz5mw98A4a9oNDG9JUiJ2Duo=w446-h400" width="446" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Commuting between our villages</td></tr></tbody></table><br />That said, we've learned over the last few years that a dual lifestyle, 8,000 miles and several time zones apart, isn't the easiest of lifestyles. It certainly never gets boring. It is far better than Sudoku at keeping our aging brains from going bad. </p><p>Speaking of distance, the commute between our villages is a long one, usually spanning two days with some 14 hours of that in the plane. The good news is that we are able to fly from Kalamata to Seattle, but with a stop overnight in London. It cuts some three hours off our car travel time by not flying out of Athens. Still the journey and time zone changes take a toll on the brain and the body which slows us a bit for a few days no matter which direction we fly.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlL55gKkQtNLM7rtN20HyuO1xtP1snZuVl_nH-yQxLNtQmQFY-IJP8XlrTH8xvFwyli-pQdHq9lVlVCop801FxYJVQLF36ew1PPNprcEAvwh8IKT8yeJMUO0PT-Lh6eaexxsGOMvRn-ZasC-vhq7yFHu7xy-cb5LBgJ-8TWmcgPF0FHQ8BkRu246QrkVqR" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlL55gKkQtNLM7rtN20HyuO1xtP1snZuVl_nH-yQxLNtQmQFY-IJP8XlrTH8xvFwyli-pQdHq9lVlVCop801FxYJVQLF36ew1PPNprcEAvwh8IKT8yeJMUO0PT-Lh6eaexxsGOMvRn-ZasC-vhq7yFHu7xy-cb5LBgJ-8TWmcgPF0FHQ8BkRu246QrkVqR=w407-h263" width="407" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mercer Island and Lake Washington approaching SeaTac</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Because our time in the States is limited to a few weeks, we pack a lot into those weeks. There are simply tasks that must be done during each visit. And countless friends we try to see while in the area. Our calendar for this trip was full before we left Greece. </p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCJO42J9KxfB5XPKtCxKS6dneDEAXBBGLVXsfi34SlSOjttWbmhzPkoBWA2Wv9XZOSQ5pn25BpwpbV493rwI0LbKwinfztDwShIuqkOR6p7cBFqfaAEzXrtR7cZJlvPPOAuE-qOG7xw2V2RF9tFVvJUMaBz6FduiCh4xIGRmgM4lkH0j_Vv7VIUSzY2Dx/s2016/blogcovidshotwindow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCJO42J9KxfB5XPKtCxKS6dneDEAXBBGLVXsfi34SlSOjttWbmhzPkoBWA2Wv9XZOSQ5pn25BpwpbV493rwI0LbKwinfztDwShIuqkOR6p7cBFqfaAEzXrtR7cZJlvPPOAuE-qOG7xw2V2RF9tFVvJUMaBz6FduiCh4xIGRmgM4lkH0j_Vv7VIUSzY2Dx/w347-h400/blogcovidshotwindow.jpg" width="347" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walk in vaccinations - easier than Greece</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>Long time readers may be surprised to learn that we still don't qualify for Covid booster shots in Greece (as we don't have their equivalent to a Social Security number, required for the shots) so that is high on our 'to do' list here. I block out a couple 'sick' days for them as I feel their impact. My trip to the dentist later this week promises another couple of days of reduced activity. Both shorten what is already a short window of opportunity.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkbF3jtFqbUA2cDEUVbvGqCyJ_3pyEXxfTAlIh8bTcbhi1c_xi0NPtGeyfPYCgh93NMy7j2h-VQSdR7-v_8lP0bqG_5_HQ-WFHfOnlzSrl0JSi9CB8U8arG1U_e6K4BqrSHS6wq7mitnfyB3inW5Fm0FgFP2BQDRqjPCymlLFhJggKYZthtXXPtX_OyNaf" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkbF3jtFqbUA2cDEUVbvGqCyJ_3pyEXxfTAlIh8bTcbhi1c_xi0NPtGeyfPYCgh93NMy7j2h-VQSdR7-v_8lP0bqG_5_HQ-WFHfOnlzSrl0JSi9CB8U8arG1U_e6K4BqrSHS6wq7mitnfyB3inW5Fm0FgFP2BQDRqjPCymlLFhJggKYZthtXXPtX_OyNaf=w434-h320" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Cub' newspaper reporters still friends 40 years later</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>A life of all work and no play wouldn't be fun, so we also will have attended two reunions, hosted house guests, wined and dined with friends and had numerous coffee klatches by the time we return to Greece.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">American Culture Shock</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnb1ZiMVCzy0HKhvlwGH9TwDXezwCqgYrA36GBbbNsL0d5ycp9FSEXibCJvT-1sUw8Ijj7QaYdn0GERIahPIZpUxu184m_tv5mPal2VUQuzTx0pvMuSTExm-bZIBP3cxm-LrNU4-zX2Rfq7q99OacZqlyKSUOj-jo_gLCGrLqzxt-S48cPWvwz9_fnkYUp/s2016/blogsafedepositbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnb1ZiMVCzy0HKhvlwGH9TwDXezwCqgYrA36GBbbNsL0d5ycp9FSEXibCJvT-1sUw8Ijj7QaYdn0GERIahPIZpUxu184m_tv5mPal2VUQuzTx0pvMuSTExm-bZIBP3cxm-LrNU4-zX2Rfq7q99OacZqlyKSUOj-jo_gLCGrLqzxt-S48cPWvwz9_fnkYUp/w260-h320/blogsafedepositbox.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our bank branch closed in our absence</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The most amazing thing about our return to America is the dose of culture shock we get with each visit. This year's tasks - to change banks and mobile devices - are almost tying Greece's red tape and bureaucracy. We're realizing once again that things '<i>ain't</i> what they used to be'. </p><p>A 'quick stop' at the new bank became a marathon session of showing identification and signing papers. "We don't like it any more than you do," said our young bank executive, "you can thank the Patriot Act for it." I honestly had to think a minute to remember what the Patriot Act is. . .hint, it was brought on by the events of 9-11. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQ-whkDPt9lluQmb2-KC340hHJaIQHw34RHvhUVc3R6SdZEd6yFY5erIsjZP7W-__XStF0REBtbTp4_utDDeyEscVZRhrB_FYBms3ThpBzPUDFpae2e0ThTArMtvwBktjaOFblYD_L34CslE5ZKY5jugCDLTtDNwhVG59_QU9l1wtXPCfeO6sO3H2yIcb/s3156/bloglakechelan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2367" data-original-width="3156" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQ-whkDPt9lluQmb2-KC340hHJaIQHw34RHvhUVc3R6SdZEd6yFY5erIsjZP7W-__XStF0REBtbTp4_utDDeyEscVZRhrB_FYBms3ThpBzPUDFpae2e0ThTArMtvwBktjaOFblYD_L34CslE5ZKY5jugCDLTtDNwhVG59_QU9l1wtXPCfeO6sO3H2yIcb/w427-h328/bloglakechelan.jpg" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Chelan in Manson</td></tr></tbody></table><p>An attempt to upgrade our five-year-old U.S. mobile device should have been a task completed in the hour or so I allotted to it on the afternoon of our arrival in Seattle. </p><p>Now, nearly two weeks into my quest, we are still without a new device. The biggest shock to me is that I can't call the phone company, . . .sorry, the term is now, 'service provider', and talk to a human. In Greece we walked in the phone store, bought a phone and picked it up two hours later after they had transferred my old device's contents to the new one. Done and dusted. Here I've texted, chatted and interacted with 800- numbers and mechanical voices. </p><p>Our visit this week to a Verizon (the service provider) retail store finally involved interaction with a real human; one with dyed Greek-blue hair, who was just about to order the phone we wanted. . .then she checked my phone number and said my service plan didn't allow her to order the phone. Do what?!?!?!</p><p>So, true confession: I've resorted to the only option left for an American consumer with limited time: I am ordering from Amazon. In a week I will have a new phone delivered to the doorstep. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Harvesting Americana</span></h3><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9MD2VaFx4Un5CJ5iFv-ORcmnHneJLgl3NaM8PvbBR2gZ3Wb4KymAWlkCvRWI8T54ez5yvOS39-HaAn1ba6CHa1MUbM10heWslKLsh6zqZT_sS0LG8zE1gPavzLQPHt3WbJXYoqjNE35Tgp7c5HqCzDHgjFvydJ_Ju-YWyXpOGmtgl50U6m31HkwmzrtG/s2016/blogfruit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9MD2VaFx4Un5CJ5iFv-ORcmnHneJLgl3NaM8PvbBR2gZ3Wb4KymAWlkCvRWI8T54ez5yvOS39-HaAn1ba6CHa1MUbM10heWslKLsh6zqZT_sS0LG8zE1gPavzLQPHt3WbJXYoqjNE35Tgp7c5HqCzDHgjFvydJ_Ju-YWyXpOGmtgl50U6m31HkwmzrtG/w439-h313/blogfruit.jpg" width="439" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harvest - a perfect time to be in agricultural areas</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Our two villages are located in areas similar in geography and topography. One blanketed with vineyards and orchards, the other with olive groves and vineyards. Harvest of apples and grapes is underway here and by the time we return, we will be heading into olive harvest in Greece. </p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgD9HH-rNJMk1qD6gK_zHn1fVxT5GujMnmBxnuBwUJwkExVpewzaN8F2Hg2bEWbKnwBdwaGC4ISxN5begpVOaf24cdXa7fMvOY16xVuqtjhoQnoqL71aZIUk-vz2JcKO2fpWvH3Fd45Avk7mrRr31NrXR2Lzn0U32wd1-5_L7iY4o1SCSeA69UHgWyA0DhW" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgD9HH-rNJMk1qD6gK_zHn1fVxT5GujMnmBxnuBwUJwkExVpewzaN8F2Hg2bEWbKnwBdwaGC4ISxN5begpVOaf24cdXa7fMvOY16xVuqtjhoQnoqL71aZIUk-vz2JcKO2fpWvH3Fd45Avk7mrRr31NrXR2Lzn0U32wd1-5_L7iY4o1SCSeA69UHgWyA0DhW=w384-h400" width="384" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite vendor, Fran, at the Manson Farmer's Market</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We've grown accustomed to - and love - the laid-back pace of our village worlds so I don't think living back in a metropolitan suburb as we once did in the States would ever again appeal. We like the concept of walking to the grocery store or to the coffee shop/<i>kafenion</i> in our village lifestyle along the sea in Greece and the shores of Lake Chelan here. </p><p>With that I will sign off as our first houseguest arrive today. I'll have more from this slice of American life in the next week or so. Thanks for being with us and wishes for safe travels to you and yours~</p><p><br /></p>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-87347181051920219742023-08-13T07:16:00.000-07:002023-08-13T07:16:37.748-07:00The Mail in the Telephone Booth<p> 'There is mail in the telephone booth at the Kafenion,' wrote a neighbor on Facebook last week. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9GC4L7L2GHtFwl-x7w4GJ8IxyqZic-hwPNPFRf7y995eePGjE6Vsh8W_mAJ7yUE91LVjvViLqUKN84GVauYAk6BVpFIElMsN_ykMYb_umAsttORYEvY2y3QkxQKONUzcNQbI18dNvu8IL4G4Z3-tia4FMYNoRy5wpyIR6aEYnxMHxpD6yd4apjk11JzZ/s2016/blogmailphonebooth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9GC4L7L2GHtFwl-x7w4GJ8IxyqZic-hwPNPFRf7y995eePGjE6Vsh8W_mAJ7yUE91LVjvViLqUKN84GVauYAk6BVpFIElMsN_ykMYb_umAsttORYEvY2y3QkxQKONUzcNQbI18dNvu8IL4G4Z3-tia4FMYNoRy5wpyIR6aEYnxMHxpD6yd4apjk11JzZ/w337-h452/blogmailphonebooth.jpg" width="337" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mail delivery in the Mani, Greece</td></tr></tbody></table><p>While that probably sounds odd to those of you reading this, it was good news! It meant mail was being delivered again! </p><p>Mail delivery, summer protests and road work are my topics this week. While vastly differing subjects, each provides a look at real life in Greece this summer of 2023. This one is for those of you who turn a critical eye to my reports and photos of beautiful sunsets, of the quaint village settings and those featuring the fun times we have with friends here, and ask, 'But, what's it <i>really</i> like?'</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7WPkfNYD3bhuBSKfIkpa7AGKNG4Yfz8dIGAv52bv8edwj5pvnQzyL_XRUhpCF7TouQX63vWxno3K_z9soAlotWAcuotRBCcCSEwa9tFSRE4-VG8acS535nHNgjDq2ucS0fofjU0Y9PC7HpNYdranDRISGxc1veoq7Df0j76B9iSHLRu0UALT_pzq1c2e/s2016/blogagiosdimitrios.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7WPkfNYD3bhuBSKfIkpa7AGKNG4Yfz8dIGAv52bv8edwj5pvnQzyL_XRUhpCF7TouQX63vWxno3K_z9soAlotWAcuotRBCcCSEwa9tFSRE4-VG8acS535nHNgjDq2ucS0fofjU0Y9PC7HpNYdranDRISGxc1veoq7Df0j76B9iSHLRu0UALT_pzq1c2e/w485-h343/blogagiosdimitrios.jpg" width="485" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agios Dimitrios village</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The dusty, abandoned booth in the small village of Agios Dimitrios, at the foot of the hill where we make our expat home in the Greek Peloponnese, seems to be one of the new 'substations' for mail collection. Other mail drops (almost literally) are said to be somewhere outside the small grocery store in nearby Agios Nikolaos village and at a taverna in Stoupa village, just down the road. </p><p>Of course, figuring out which of those places one might find one's mail. . .well, that it yet another story. Because our mail is addressed to a business (Mani Money) in Agios Nikolaos, it doesn't come to the phone booth near us. While they continue to deliver parcels to Mani Money, we are told, letter-sized mail isn't being delivered there. Those are going elsewhere. . .somewhere.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wpNZv_40NPT3QfnvPm4YpA__SNo_fT5OOPTDbX2vh5C7abDxIC91cRCrhhPB5_rPgsNR5UiLOh_pY43m_UGWN4rTVkVZxL5JOiDaHa1PGS57g-Az-_UMq6d2HvmiBGrjUVcvIAW37eYm7p_QBObzyJbMdyF8jbrp3KLnWigdNjaGHCKlSOHdpLlohkLN/s2016/blogphonebooth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="423" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wpNZv_40NPT3QfnvPm4YpA__SNo_fT5OOPTDbX2vh5C7abDxIC91cRCrhhPB5_rPgsNR5UiLOh_pY43m_UGWN4rTVkVZxL5JOiDaHa1PGS57g-Az-_UMq6d2HvmiBGrjUVcvIAW37eYm7p_QBObzyJbMdyF8jbrp3KLnWigdNjaGHCKlSOHdpLlohkLN/w337-h423/blogphonebooth.jpg" width="337" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You've Got Mail. . .maybe, or maybe not!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />You can't make this stuff up. It happens in Greece. And we expats find ourselves becoming so inured to it that we discuss the logistics of finding our mail as matter-of-factly as we do the weather. <div><br /></div><div>Now some techno-enthusiasts are probably wondering why 'snail mail' is even important these days. It is here because many still receive phone, electric and water bills via snail mail. Believe it or not, a number of banking, government, and other official transactions often require us to present such a bill as part of our identification and authorization process. That paper copy has come in handy more times than you can imagine.</div><div><br /></div><div>Delivery is also key to successful mail order, as on-line shopping is a means of commerce used by many of us living in this rural area. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsq0Ve26iR7ISbTdad4yCmrxgp7BBCkuGk0wf_gIyB4TJEiTfQouOChFCsBslCF_3rW3BOZRPW_nPutGSMuNIfuDcCYQB8-MIRhK6jEs6nMlejhyY1R3wW67GuCPEOUI8Q6QZwTQiBIywCx7y3eHudoG3dG7CbXLKMbZblx1hemr9VrUXGwkmx-e5NiRjF" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="565" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsq0Ve26iR7ISbTdad4yCmrxgp7BBCkuGk0wf_gIyB4TJEiTfQouOChFCsBslCF_3rW3BOZRPW_nPutGSMuNIfuDcCYQB8-MIRhK6jEs6nMlejhyY1R3wW67GuCPEOUI8Q6QZwTQiBIywCx7y3eHudoG3dG7CbXLKMbZblx1hemr9VrUXGwkmx-e5NiRjF=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mail at Gregg's - in the good old days</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Many of you longtime readers, recall 'that back in the good old days' our mail was delivered regularly to Gregg's Cafe in Agios Nikolaos. In fact, it served for several years as our mailing address. We'd go have coffee and sort through the mail, picking up our own on an on-your-honor system. The cafe owners kept a watchful eye out for us. They knew it - and us -so well that once my friend Marti received an envelope from Washington State addressed simply to 'Grandma' at Gregg's. </div><div>That system crumbled when the village closed for Covid.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPan_4z7kTx_jCyqlIzh4IQPWg51QG5WWy6BX0edcgT1b4F9bfvMxOH-aPQ8jKFskvT9vA27_dmzw9lsFF_YJF1ceLLqdKpzYXoRDEbvZqXBzypKdd2ZZz3hkXtDNtFFxEMnpLggX0tCsNQ-1D-NMK3N3k5MdR38VkglHB_IG0EIQ3xxOJu6HGyvh2Zeu/s4000/P1130641.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPan_4z7kTx_jCyqlIzh4IQPWg51QG5WWy6BX0edcgT1b4F9bfvMxOH-aPQ8jKFskvT9vA27_dmzw9lsFF_YJF1ceLLqdKpzYXoRDEbvZqXBzypKdd2ZZz3hkXtDNtFFxEMnpLggX0tCsNQ-1D-NMK3N3k5MdR38VkglHB_IG0EIQ3xxOJu6HGyvh2Zeu/w449-h316/P1130641.JPG" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Covid shut down the village and mail delivery Gregg's pictured on left.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Our new delivery model operates as a self-serve, on-your-honor system. Of course, if you see mail addressed to a friend now, you are likely to collect and deliver it as they may otherwise never find it again. With the new self-service system, old mail is picked up and new mail replaces it. There isn't yet a timetable for when the new arrives and the old goes away.</div><div><div><br /></div><div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj0OqBYAaX8M6r0tfs1-VfZbGDYQi5vKMhiJ_C0DoRusUZBeHS-VGywqBy5s5sfzAz-ksUW2DgrUGNSR_t15wmqeiAWeMN7C_FOZpPj3SBJ3BhxaaHRMXTnKIbUXft8Tt_QfuzjAsXC5OtLUNAjJandgSQXvbmWcqjxufmfHMLd4nXQdY8hv9VnKeppQH/s2500/JKandmail.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2500" data-original-width="2086" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj0OqBYAaX8M6r0tfs1-VfZbGDYQi5vKMhiJ_C0DoRusUZBeHS-VGywqBy5s5sfzAz-ksUW2DgrUGNSR_t15wmqeiAWeMN7C_FOZpPj3SBJ3BhxaaHRMXTnKIbUXft8Tt_QfuzjAsXC5OtLUNAjJandgSQXvbmWcqjxufmfHMLd4nXQdY8hv9VnKeppQH/w349-h424/JKandmail.jpg" width="349" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in Covid days at the Stoupa post office</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><p></p><p>The new haphazard system was instituted after the real brick and mortar substation in Stoupa was closed this spring and its two employees let go. The original explanation had been that the operational contract had expired and a new one not yet awarded. Later media reports told a different story: several post offices were closed throughout Greece as a result of cost cutting measures. There was no indication they would be reopened. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXcb1RGuJMSv-TUtSrdFlOT7kC61LfRXCvy92kgHfKeOGsf6HrdBPc4T4blkXa_p6Lhdt2LF3-GR2R6vV_54EO5tgfL4RisBf-2oklJh9ht5x2oGuJGFTLTqPfI2M56cyv9dFypihJ5qbNadlCFa12GGOe_Ai6KhrZ80lYCFXu7Z08gMlGI1-5dbARj7NO" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="200" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXcb1RGuJMSv-TUtSrdFlOT7kC61LfRXCvy92kgHfKeOGsf6HrdBPc4T4blkXa_p6Lhdt2LF3-GR2R6vV_54EO5tgfL4RisBf-2oklJh9ht5x2oGuJGFTLTqPfI2M56cyv9dFypihJ5qbNadlCFa12GGOe_Ai6KhrZ80lYCFXu7Z08gMlGI1-5dbARj7NO=w328-h422" width="328" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mani and our villages</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>For the time being, we are somewhat 'mail-less in the Mani'. But there are bigger things unfolding in Greece this summer, like. . .</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Towel Movement </span> </h3><div>The Towel Movement, while you may not have read about it elsewhere in the world, is a headline- making topic in Greece. It is the name given to a growing protest against what one might call, 'privatization' of Greek beaches. The movement's epicenter is two Cycladic islands, Naxos and Paros, where citizens have issued the call to take back beaches. Technically Greek citizens have the right to access and use beaches when they please. In reality access has been limited on many popular beaches.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8JFiB9a14cR6tz8zjtyyVcYpxxSj4b3CqKXjtRPMpEjC6GLSr3o-LLUE60pxjiHRA1ej_UTp73NLDGDP7YqbymtST3qo1dxa1RujNVqy8FV0sREHH8A71bqmSS3n9lZc2BXc9dN7gf0IuClQarCEd4Vig8Oj04XrgWJMGycp8JDyMY7xxiWb7DQC0QOu/s2560/20180822_110447.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2560" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8JFiB9a14cR6tz8zjtyyVcYpxxSj4b3CqKXjtRPMpEjC6GLSr3o-LLUE60pxjiHRA1ej_UTp73NLDGDP7YqbymtST3qo1dxa1RujNVqy8FV0sREHH8A71bqmSS3n9lZc2BXc9dN7gf0IuClQarCEd4Vig8Oj04XrgWJMGycp8JDyMY7xxiWb7DQC0QOu/w492-h290/20180822_110447.jpg" width="492" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stoupa's beach fills with sunbeds in the summer - all for rent</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Over the years, beach-front hotels, tavernas, bars, and eateries have taking over beach areas in front of their establishments. They place sunbeds there which are rented out by the hour or day. The businesses are required to pay for a license to operate a certain number of them.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Many here recall when for the price of a drink and some food one could use a sunbed. Now you pay rent and the cost of the food. So, this summer it seems some beachgoers in some areas of Greece have had enough. They want their beaches open -and their cry is being heard by media and government officials. Their movement has been labeled The Towel Movement.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>On the flip-side (of 'the towel') others observe that the beds are popular and being used, so what is the fuss? Most are removed in the fall and beaches return to their natural states.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmD3kwN5hJHRpWPiD5xR8SkmEl6-1M3vn1sZVKwoI-CR5V7DWpFFuLusXeVPWJPY7tTxw4ZVY1hodjZ8RkusxmMpHUZf2AGTVCS_GATeEJ6-XiGn7RPesdbWcPvcN0nBWAHh-E9kEepB6XBkNlBISjFMOwirtZXRmLS6TiR6ebv5s3FaUWbKnHBxv1BzrH/s2016/blogpantazisummer.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmD3kwN5hJHRpWPiD5xR8SkmEl6-1M3vn1sZVKwoI-CR5V7DWpFFuLusXeVPWJPY7tTxw4ZVY1hodjZ8RkusxmMpHUZf2AGTVCS_GATeEJ6-XiGn7RPesdbWcPvcN0nBWAHh-E9kEepB6XBkNlBISjFMOwirtZXRmLS6TiR6ebv5s3FaUWbKnHBxv1BzrH/w515-h331/blogpantazisummer.jpg" width="515" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pantazi Beach just below us - in August 2023</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>In our area, Stoupa's main beach and its nearby cove beach, Kalogria, historically have served up the most options for sunbeds. But this summer Pantazi Beach, the beach just below us in Agios Nikolaos, welcomed Cube, a new beach bar and eatery. It offers sunbeds for rent as does the long-time Pantazi Beach Bar, operating at the opposite end of the beach. And between the two, a beach vendor set up shop at water's edge offering kayak and SUP board rentals. </div><div><br /></div><div>All seem to be popular as the beds are often filled, and the beach is alive with the sounds and laughter of sun and sea seekers.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipF9SSZzC2wte-wKfIQHTCKW_Zx_lgi-_EL3X2s9vHN911PSKCsxSdWNDlrEybkppaaZdumf0ZYDVdgKpE94MQrWPF7v0XVpNAhl8Y6XI5pxnSbmmFYAyd3XK1q-b_OzXBqKTqkJw0thPmqQfi3901kgC-ZtKdKBOX1ZofrT7sSvYzFZV7g82IvvWy-tbl/s4896/P1020576.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipF9SSZzC2wte-wKfIQHTCKW_Zx_lgi-_EL3X2s9vHN911PSKCsxSdWNDlrEybkppaaZdumf0ZYDVdgKpE94MQrWPF7v0XVpNAhl8Y6XI5pxnSbmmFYAyd3XK1q-b_OzXBqKTqkJw0thPmqQfi3901kgC-ZtKdKBOX1ZofrT7sSvYzFZV7g82IvvWy-tbl/w471-h330/P1020576.JPG" width="471" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pantazi Beach 2020</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>For the record, we aren't beachgoers, other than to sip coffee or krasi (wine) at a table at one of the two Pantazi beach bars - it is from there we will see how The Towel Movement shakes out. </div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">On the Road Again</span></h3></div></div><div>The mail delivery might be topsy-turvy and the Towel Movement soaking up the public's attention, but our immediate focus is on being back on the road again. Crews moved into town weeks ago determined to fix a section of the road along the sea that floods every time we have a major storm. Over the years, the street surface has warped, and underground pipes have surfaced and broken. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-vcWSUtfrJyFNotePCmf3yvnmp3OFso27k4_Ko_f7U1XX6ypeuC6wuOdRY6YJv1wVGNtaNzkulfwjuyvE5s39pKheG0DYWcn7uatd00iFQxmBxWBss6W99XOuf8vmwQTvC1xKAiCh0cEEjB6bDzFuzPulrNcaRcJLB3R0BU-M7nZpfDkz7rDZwzZOcfY/s1755/blogroadclosed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1755" data-original-width="1604" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-vcWSUtfrJyFNotePCmf3yvnmp3OFso27k4_Ko_f7U1XX6ypeuC6wuOdRY6YJv1wVGNtaNzkulfwjuyvE5s39pKheG0DYWcn7uatd00iFQxmBxWBss6W99XOuf8vmwQTvC1xKAiCh0cEEjB6bDzFuzPulrNcaRcJLB3R0BU-M7nZpfDkz7rDZwzZOcfY/w453-h424/blogroadclosed.jpg" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road closed, take a right here. . .</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The repairs though required closing the road that serves as the main north-south access road between Agios Nikolaos and Agios Dimitrios villages. A smaller track road can't accommodate large delivery trucks and municipal garbage trucks. </div><div><br /></div><div>Someone was thinking outside the box when they came up with a brilliant, if slightly different, detour route. And I doubt if any environmental or shoreline protection agency was consulted before using: The Beach. A rocky sort of area at the south end of the municipal parking lot.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmTLQbx_7QW6gEl_qYd5iZ7oLguceoRb8W41qopUcXBPJy71c4qI2yKTe5Lnl2D1Fiedk5SnqXUtd1HL4iQOAS-cXLVNP3Yy_MrcT3yAVY6zwdXCGeDhTdf03OQNrBthvnLUnOdnMdpjM0cHH0Tc8ANOM1GWanVyzm7t6Rc6Uyvfee2ml2-jENLhEznBp/s3264/blogroaddetour.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmTLQbx_7QW6gEl_qYd5iZ7oLguceoRb8W41qopUcXBPJy71c4qI2yKTe5Lnl2D1Fiedk5SnqXUtd1HL4iQOAS-cXLVNP3Yy_MrcT3yAVY6zwdXCGeDhTdf03OQNrBthvnLUnOdnMdpjM0cHH0Tc8ANOM1GWanVyzm7t6Rc6Uyvfee2ml2-jENLhEznBp/w484-h324/blogroaddetour.jpg" width="484" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach - a two-lane detour route; road to the left, sea to the right<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Amazingly, the two-lane sand and rock road has worked well. Drivers have been courteous and cautious as they make their way past each other on a surface that could easily break a shock absorber if not traveled gently. The repair work continues,<i> siga, siga, </i>slowly, slowly, just like we drive on the detour!<div><br /></div><div>And that's enough 'behind-the-scenes' look at expat life in Greece for this time around. We will be back with more travel tales and reports from Greece and hope you will join us again and bring a friend or two with you! Until then, wishes for safe travels to you and yours~<br /><div><br /></div></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-81182534183924344092023-08-03T07:31:00.002-07:002023-08-03T07:31:43.084-07:00Having A Heat Wave ~ A Novel Escape<p>You can count on July and August in our slice of the Greek Peloponnese to be sizzlers. But this year, the heat has had an intensity that takes one's breath away. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisZe5B7uqO821mtqtKItzXcGSMXgyOAfDGNCYkE2D0FKeFrd8ex8NUV4-e4ooi0M5YTx1GUWbwfsJT7gTwAVl2W9O2o5j2jDlCobQk4D01rvD7wTBNZwkIjQjtCUduzri9XNnBM3qCqMOzTaAOjcIErB54e5ZH2o8HgWHNVZpKkXq3oRFH7JlXDFGRDhv0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisZe5B7uqO821mtqtKItzXcGSMXgyOAfDGNCYkE2D0FKeFrd8ex8NUV4-e4ooi0M5YTx1GUWbwfsJT7gTwAVl2W9O2o5j2jDlCobQk4D01rvD7wTBNZwkIjQjtCUduzri9XNnBM3qCqMOzTaAOjcIErB54e5ZH2o8HgWHNVZpKkXq3oRFH7JlXDFGRDhv0=w443-h340" width="443" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading to Pantazi beach to beat the heat</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Our wet, chilly spring hung on so long that we wondered if we would have a summer. But by mid-July there was no doubt about it: summer had arrived. Two weeks ago, temperatures hit 109F/42.7C at our house, and just an hour's drive to our east, soared to 115F, slightly over 46C.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcuwLoc--fX6m_yoXkRfVgcKJFRHmy-35FSdMpKnEcNL1OX7tghabaPczhikJiLlIieMnDuc2fvyeVL8d7jOKFWnTITMSwG0_1MtucvQxAGpsnHne0-3t0QAEckPva1Zdpfs_WFO2AP86xkTuQZSQLnRnfnU9EXJyfBE4faO3y1Y1JGBlA1VFDwBFk4Kyf" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcuwLoc--fX6m_yoXkRfVgcKJFRHmy-35FSdMpKnEcNL1OX7tghabaPczhikJiLlIieMnDuc2fvyeVL8d7jOKFWnTITMSwG0_1MtucvQxAGpsnHne0-3t0QAEckPva1Zdpfs_WFO2AP86xkTuQZSQLnRnfnU9EXJyfBE4faO3y1Y1JGBlA1VFDwBFk4Kyf=w417-h338" width="417" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kalamata beach fun and sun - a tourist favorite</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Plants in our gardens have withered - blooms and leaves are brown. Hillsides and olive groves are virtual tinderboxes. Tourists are flocking to the beaches to cool off while residents, like us, are hunkered inside behind shuttered windows (to block sun rays) with our fans and air conditioners getting their seasonal workout.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7s1N9dTv3M74gOFtv7Pt2ValFjYLHCUwRjyA5WisJt9VP52kmvaRgVI_sqSBfeKLUO50e8fXfh7UxYdzWm-XnFb331bgys6iItm6sAriDrsJqj3D2wyMbbWYBoHmONsENiFX-hT42A7D7Mq99h9Fz5ZFoGn8d38OzUusWzct_vgrSi6SftzAqW30AQAI/s4896/P1020315.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7s1N9dTv3M74gOFtv7Pt2ValFjYLHCUwRjyA5WisJt9VP52kmvaRgVI_sqSBfeKLUO50e8fXfh7UxYdzWm-XnFb331bgys6iItm6sAriDrsJqj3D2wyMbbWYBoHmONsENiFX-hT42A7D7Mq99h9Fz5ZFoGn8d38OzUusWzct_vgrSi6SftzAqW30AQAI/w463-h336/P1020315.JPG" width="463" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hillside tinderboxes </td></tr></tbody></table><p>The heat has occasionally shut down popular tourist attractions like the Acropolis in Athens during the day. Jobs requiring hard physical labor throughout the country were suspended several times during the mid-day as heat reached record highs. Wildfires are still being fought out on several Greek islands and near Athens. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiRa6n0zf1h8n3w9KJkRwoULOLoFYNM-D7aUXj2DcSvBcK-McxBxNNGkU8ai-s_vEXpLjUkdSW0HCGgruMdevvTNTRqe9NZ7byfnWcfFGkzuwEfWwfIgJCtNwhN1_EdtXjMw8Q7tTyVNBnVjhgAdtFuv6onNEjcYzy9frhpTPu9DXwZR6yO9J7SQ1ZCr_7/s4896/P1020435.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiRa6n0zf1h8n3w9KJkRwoULOLoFYNM-D7aUXj2DcSvBcK-McxBxNNGkU8ai-s_vEXpLjUkdSW0HCGgruMdevvTNTRqe9NZ7byfnWcfFGkzuwEfWwfIgJCtNwhN1_EdtXjMw8Q7tTyVNBnVjhgAdtFuv6onNEjcYzy9frhpTPu9DXwZR6yO9J7SQ1ZCr_7/w434-h329/P1020435.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water bucket is an ominous sign of summer here</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The sound of helicopters this time of year means firefighting is underway. We search the surrounding sky for smoke when we hear the beat of the copter's blades. Luckily, fires have been a distance from us and have been contained quickly.</p><p>With no energy or desire to leave our home's cool interior, we have turned to novel getaways for our summer fun; the kind of get-away best undertaken from an easy chair or couch.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Our Novel Escapes</span></h2><p>Our favorite souvenir is a book purchased at some wonderful bookstore we've happened upon in our travels. The book, besides providing a great armchair escape once we are home, brings back the memories of shopping for it as well. Sometimes the search for a bookstore is almost as memorable. Surprisingly, one of our favorite 'reads' of the summer came from failing to find a bookstore:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqHT9Q5OC0Kd-1aSDLDcYHhn5wwCiwHg5ydfEz5sM-2gUT8W1jTFCIwsiB8mWogtFAnJhI5UUCudcKEU-bx3UlBMTt_d8qoL-hYMPMWAZMuHi3v-aTSq9re_RcNxDxRGjqH1KXcDO4sb3c-mQ80kq-lf5IzhkepNPhdbi4CHNAit2iBFB0EbW7piM_nE4n/s2016/blogcelebrityship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqHT9Q5OC0Kd-1aSDLDcYHhn5wwCiwHg5ydfEz5sM-2gUT8W1jTFCIwsiB8mWogtFAnJhI5UUCudcKEU-bx3UlBMTt_d8qoL-hYMPMWAZMuHi3v-aTSq9re_RcNxDxRGjqH1KXcDO4sb3c-mQ80kq-lf5IzhkepNPhdbi4CHNAit2iBFB0EbW7piM_nE4n/w483-h333/blogcelebrityship.jpg" width="483" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrity Edge has a pool but no library.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We'd taken a week-long Celebrity cruise from Rome to Barcelona in late May. Planning to find a bookstore at one or more of our ports of call, or turning to the ship's library if we couldn't find a store, neither of us took any reading material. A mistake, to be sure! </p><p>We couldn't find a bookstore in Ajaccio, Corsica, nor in Portofino, Italy or Cannes, France. And our Celebrity Edge ship, built in 2018, was constructed without a library (one of the few negatives about the ship, to my way of thinking). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2IQ0dFzVPB_5Fetj3ayYjD5_93fHdioh-CbdQoUKHfwEhoUuxcrK5tZyXtkesUWmuw9VjVlsNboER95D7P_k9T0gH_L-bIhTNV3x4PnZ4H2fOpGcv1UJNQHbX3SWPkRstOK9Oobyt8mcZkLriToNTSnPk1fvYZQqiNxnivszLS-0e9nGXg8a58M1e_gt/s2016/blogcelebrityship2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2IQ0dFzVPB_5Fetj3ayYjD5_93fHdioh-CbdQoUKHfwEhoUuxcrK5tZyXtkesUWmuw9VjVlsNboER95D7P_k9T0gH_L-bIhTNV3x4PnZ4H2fOpGcv1UJNQHbX3SWPkRstOK9Oobyt8mcZkLriToNTSnPk1fvYZQqiNxnivszLS-0e9nGXg8a58M1e_gt/w449-h355/blogcelebrityship2.jpg" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our cabin's indoor deck was a perfect spot for reading.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I finally managed to find a handful of books (in a cupboard behind the reception desk) that had been left behind by former cruisers. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Italy</span></h3><p>Among them was a beat-up book, <i><b>The House at the Edge of Night</b></i>, by Katherine Banner. Published in 2017 by Random House, it was that year named one of the Best Books of the Year by NPR, the Los Angeles Public Library and Kirkus Reviews. Set on a fictitious Italian island, the novel spans four generations, and features a main character who collects stories of island life. The author was inspired by three real-life chroniclers of Sicilian and Italian folk stories: Giuseppe Pitre, Laura Gonzenbach, and Italo Calvino.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67ymyrZBH7No_BAmpkHaPWgg5VaaWW2uQZhh442ekCzr2Z_6XR1ZY5V7alCF7Z6Xz5ckz8aKO1J1nVMAsLpdOTjadtvCaURPOtIfxNdggXPtwYr0UD_EXlLcHUEws7xF12IX9rED2DpuWxkykBqW9hGtO6JUWXr6_FQ_PgBLefoPvwQqdfaX7U6XQL79a/s1838/blogbook6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1838" data-original-width="1307" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67ymyrZBH7No_BAmpkHaPWgg5VaaWW2uQZhh442ekCzr2Z_6XR1ZY5V7alCF7Z6Xz5ckz8aKO1J1nVMAsLpdOTjadtvCaURPOtIfxNdggXPtwYr0UD_EXlLcHUEws7xF12IX9rED2DpuWxkykBqW9hGtO6JUWXr6_FQ_PgBLefoPvwQqdfaX7U6XQL79a/w368-h433/blogbook6.jpg" width="368" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A perfect summer read</td></tr></tbody></table><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Malaysia</span></h3><p>My favorite novel getaway so far this year came from a chance purchase at <a href="https://www.eslite.com.my">Eslite Bookstore</a> in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - a sprawling place that encompasses most of the second floor of a downtown shopping mall. It required at least three trips to visit all its sections. We seek local authors whose work has been translated to English and hit a goldmine when we discovered. . .</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0N16QNZynAdc0cOJD-6tWmZoPhy3NMS132R4fNx3BQcbaulDHX-Qj087RrkIKstScH4AvajL1bAtbiVUfJHb5pG5gUeKhwBvK1piZbUqFLJeJBz1yhdFaQLD9h16FoVd6syftn_Es4UsqZomeqldzB1-WBSBI7ZKg_hbae6-e1WKapsgJdYh_koysYmJD/s2016/blogklbookstoresigns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0N16QNZynAdc0cOJD-6tWmZoPhy3NMS132R4fNx3BQcbaulDHX-Qj087RrkIKstScH4AvajL1bAtbiVUfJHb5pG5gUeKhwBvK1piZbUqFLJeJBz1yhdFaQLD9h16FoVd6syftn_Es4UsqZomeqldzB1-WBSBI7ZKg_hbae6-e1WKapsgJdYh_koysYmJD/w509-h319/blogklbookstoresigns.jpg" width="509" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Display at Eslite Bookstore Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><i><b>. . .The Gift of </b></i><b><i>Rain, the</i></b> debut novel of Malaysian writer, Tan Twan Eng. The book set in Penang, Malaysia, opens in 1939 and spans a time before, during and after the Japanese invasion of that country as part of World War II. The book is so rich in historical, religious and cultural layers, that I plan to read it more than once to absorb all that it has to offer. The author is a gifted wordsmith whose first line had me captured: </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3tVQEAJCIIE2bgLayrup2lE0oMnXiIHBo2_ozQ7DzNvrgdKMgpzvVfyyQ12MSaihYViKrKjam-f9prwEBMNy-FCEnP_wzonWYHhDA9j-wqFANUUQ23VIfA5VH4ttZlF-4srk8cvjdwVa732N6k2DQcABxZjrUw4g50C7y_BFuQpvw3kw5Usd27CuhVLx/s1895/blogbook5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1895" data-original-width="1305" height="453" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3tVQEAJCIIE2bgLayrup2lE0oMnXiIHBo2_ozQ7DzNvrgdKMgpzvVfyyQ12MSaihYViKrKjam-f9prwEBMNy-FCEnP_wzonWYHhDA9j-wqFANUUQ23VIfA5VH4ttZlF-4srk8cvjdwVa732N6k2DQcABxZjrUw4g50C7y_BFuQpvw3kw5Usd27CuhVLx/w382-h453/blogbook5.jpg" width="382" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Debut novel long listed for the Booker Award</td></tr></tbody></table><p> 'I was born with the gift of rain, an ancient soothsayer in an even more ancient temple told me.' </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Viet Nam</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzbvg7QEvahPGGaubcnDV27tBHQ8TvKnf6fAKwlC9v0H8jW-XujUhYCqHeSC7vlWlaJz6nicVUobV_Vfz_URk64SlTHgnvRmQWZmEaJ_0UT9t7MLaoE8UKFaPK2ncTCQZnTApbk0vJDaRIm_tQakXhbC19j2pAFFb46NV9DK4cnlqob4JZQ1PHV9ZNTM8/s4000/P1180575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzbvg7QEvahPGGaubcnDV27tBHQ8TvKnf6fAKwlC9v0H8jW-XujUhYCqHeSC7vlWlaJz6nicVUobV_Vfz_URk64SlTHgnvRmQWZmEaJ_0UT9t7MLaoE8UKFaPK2ncTCQZnTApbk0vJDaRIm_tQakXhbC19j2pAFFb46NV9DK4cnlqob4JZQ1PHV9ZNTM8/w442-h336/P1180575.JPG" width="442" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ho Chi Minh City Opera House</td></tr></tbody></table><p> I wanted to read more books set in the countries we'd visited on that February trip, specifically Cambodia and Viet Nam. While taken with the beauty we found in Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon) I wanted to be reminded of the country's recent history as well. I had been too young during the war to grasp the magnitude of its horrors. </p><p>I got a taste of them though in, <i><b>The World Played Chess</b></i> by Seattle author Robert Dugoni.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvQ2r7GpPGe-dwb03RYWv07gla4m-cxHO6DQUtCBL7yBRKvL80LefQrtcG5H3Rof4aTdP7GppphN1eyoUgjyTjwVjfPM5DLZ0PvXGhLvN_acWfHdZOHF8oP22gJFmFImOYl1saNxrddIEVmZCD5WzKeruq9fjjUOpowJqRrAj4HmWs9MY9lWYqN9JLpGF/s2016/blogbook1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvQ2r7GpPGe-dwb03RYWv07gla4m-cxHO6DQUtCBL7yBRKvL80LefQrtcG5H3Rof4aTdP7GppphN1eyoUgjyTjwVjfPM5DLZ0PvXGhLvN_acWfHdZOHF8oP22gJFmFImOYl1saNxrddIEVmZCD5WzKeruq9fjjUOpowJqRrAj4HmWs9MY9lWYqN9JLpGF/w345-h441/blogbook1.jpg" width="345" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A coming of age novel</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>His book is a coming-of-age tale that centers around three young men: one an 18-year-old fighting in the Viet Nam war. It is a captivating read, with story passages that can make you laugh and cry. Spoiler alert: His research on Viet Nam combat was thorough, there are some tough passages in this one. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">History</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKmecvN4kcsWLcNINHD3LVmP3b4vYSOxRBtoKQt80PTuGzbW5u1p0Hde6artRc_uUGGHCm5yVGqmkNNp9e-ofjkRtZfMJG0m7vgzgRp3fb_DHUCsAKbrB8MsFyf4FHgmA8G4P6RUwPTatbcZM_xtI7ScI95vVZf-tKiuB9jTIe9EmwJDTkmuSiJ96t1B6/s4000/P1190104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKmecvN4kcsWLcNINHD3LVmP3b4vYSOxRBtoKQt80PTuGzbW5u1p0Hde6artRc_uUGGHCm5yVGqmkNNp9e-ofjkRtZfMJG0m7vgzgRp3fb_DHUCsAKbrB8MsFyf4FHgmA8G4P6RUwPTatbcZM_xtI7ScI95vVZf-tKiuB9jTIe9EmwJDTkmuSiJ96t1B6/w452-h335/P1190104.JPG" width="452" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boboli Gardens and Pitti Palace - Florence</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I am the first to admit that I find textbook-style history to be too dry to comprehend. But when I happen upon a well-written historical novel - or in this case, a saga of novels - that keep me entertained while teaching me something, I am unable to put them down. </p><p>Italian writer Matteo Strukul, has caught both of us up in his three-book trilogy about the Medici's: <i><b>Medici Ascendancy</b></i> is set in 1429, <i><b>Medici Supremacy </b></i>in 1469 and <i><b>Medici Legacy</b></i>, 1536. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qYBLSx6XfK_D7ZLr4sMi25Svx8pM5t6BRTc_mEWsxC11MP1Vd3SMtr356cid4I90h6u5SIWxf0G5_cz7bAamrUbXMCJNMsYTGplGyD12f9yrip7oo3Mw_ZeefUa5Ytq60mwUf2tnqigjhLvFlIO2iPI32nJChYl4MqwskxSiw7ZurMKoHz_U9b-J8n2Q/s4000/P1190103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qYBLSx6XfK_D7ZLr4sMi25Svx8pM5t6BRTc_mEWsxC11MP1Vd3SMtr356cid4I90h6u5SIWxf0G5_cz7bAamrUbXMCJNMsYTGplGyD12f9yrip7oo3Mw_ZeefUa5Ytq60mwUf2tnqigjhLvFlIO2iPI32nJChYl4MqwskxSiw7ZurMKoHz_U9b-J8n2Q/w452-h325/P1190103.JPG" width="452" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Florence from the Boboli Gardens</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The Medici's were a rich and powerful family that ruled Florence and later Tuscany from 1434 until 1737, with the exception of a couple of periods of time. It is difficult to visit Florence and not be impressed with the impact of the Medici's on Italy. These books are an entertaining- if somewhat imaginative - look into the history and legacy of that powerful family</p><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0MMF-HvPJIzGsi9Qzm5PZ3YRblvzf8CbDbklyVFNp5fspIjY48gDxmOtZ-P-CVj-Sf_BKVu7-pt6pnDVdvjy8ysmSSQY8Pf95gBTLAJiLO5uH1RWJipb2f42pa1Zp2X0TZ7Zndv2mfsG_wRrM1ZFj_s5J2TGORFoltPzfJdWRePOiR9zgAOvJ3giqRva-/s1625/blogbook3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1625" data-original-width="1349" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0MMF-HvPJIzGsi9Qzm5PZ3YRblvzf8CbDbklyVFNp5fspIjY48gDxmOtZ-P-CVj-Sf_BKVu7-pt6pnDVdvjy8ysmSSQY8Pf95gBTLAJiLO5uH1RWJipb2f42pa1Zp2X0TZ7Zndv2mfsG_wRrM1ZFj_s5J2TGORFoltPzfJdWRePOiR9zgAOvJ3giqRva-/s320/blogbook3.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: #cc0000;">Who Dunnit?</span></h3><div><br />I love getaways, that involve figuring out who committed the crime in some favorite destination. While on the topic of Italy, Florence in particular, we must give a shout-out to our favorite crime writers in that city, Michele Giutarri. He certainly has done plenty of first-hand research and probably has more story ideas than he'll live long enough to write. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-4ppC7cYNJVvxn5RdhXFAMs0CyF53QxuPMSROyIAdVkaSZAmlNd3JHOQ58szCXLGd356aNx2wdfqcyeAHi7SNLDh528mzRS5KWHq1pp-KnOq-thRmUbY98iDNm0SgtYnpQx6W4wcyEv5FewS95lGxx3mXnzlMEYSvHef1y8FMJQumtdkKirDAHEvcSqA0/s4000/P1180199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-4ppC7cYNJVvxn5RdhXFAMs0CyF53QxuPMSROyIAdVkaSZAmlNd3JHOQ58szCXLGd356aNx2wdfqcyeAHi7SNLDh528mzRS5KWHq1pp-KnOq-thRmUbY98iDNm0SgtYnpQx6W4wcyEv5FewS95lGxx3mXnzlMEYSvHef1y8FMJQumtdkKirDAHEvcSqA0/w412-h400/P1180199.JPG" width="412" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Florence at night</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>Giuttari is the former head of the Florence Police Force, serving from 1995 until 2003. He has turned his talents to writing crime fiction. . .or is it fiction? Whatever the case, the books are page turners, and you get a travelogue of the city with each case he solves.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiJC4r6sJC1l6VP5scagPqhtzfsgaR0Vjbn_BGLegjXLr_NoZvlr5w8Fe5OlvgkXJPRPVPJCXLSKm3m7hB6LEjmVPyyZDpd5gDtSFicOJPY77KfKztyB7mDlTO3PoSWoo4DfsVo9P32e0EcCuq4MMVGouCsCmV7dTx0ykVZnh9npp5juVjAjQ6puxHtod/s1615/blogbook2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1615" data-original-width="1306" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiJC4r6sJC1l6VP5scagPqhtzfsgaR0Vjbn_BGLegjXLr_NoZvlr5w8Fe5OlvgkXJPRPVPJCXLSKm3m7hB6LEjmVPyyZDpd5gDtSFicOJPY77KfKztyB7mDlTO3PoSWoo4DfsVo9P32e0EcCuq4MMVGouCsCmV7dTx0ykVZnh9npp5juVjAjQ6puxHtod/w392-h458/blogbook2.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A who-dunnit set in Florence<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br />And then came Pinocchio</span></h3><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiemVJsPF-sDXlEATlIiFFSIMZRDhzZ5Z88-UyH4x7Gk1Yf7IBqLuqmBh6BKPJagmBLpIWekIYYhgQoaQhSgtH__qCILlmniZ9PO_CtYznBLkKZBpryIkcFvu2160wGYAk56tghCZMGE0WC4IFpGmnsUO9c3VEJ4Er--KUzlIHIMCDgVfbYE3YPuguD3EPB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="191" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiemVJsPF-sDXlEATlIiFFSIMZRDhzZ5Z88-UyH4x7Gk1Yf7IBqLuqmBh6BKPJagmBLpIWekIYYhgQoaQhSgtH__qCILlmniZ9PO_CtYznBLkKZBpryIkcFvu2160wGYAk56tghCZMGE0WC4IFpGmnsUO9c3VEJ4Er--KUzlIHIMCDgVfbYE3YPuguD3EPB" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>'How can I be an English major and traveler and yet had never read Pinocchio?' I asked myself during our visit to Florence last month. And I remedied that, during that same visit with a purchase of the Penguin Classic version of this book written by Carlo Collodi in 1880. </div><div><br /></div><div>Carlo Collodi is the pen name of Carlo Lorenzini, 1826 - 1890, a writer, novelist, journalist and political satirist who was born in Florence. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlxZ_29Rf3_Ies79RGXgcUTdVh9itvOyZzkIPfgiXhiC8lVBw6KWs3OA5eibDWDSFI6qWrqrJFY2W905lWRTz0bowUrbEpWbYmhsR-TgZ6a2B8DNuWqCMgZKdEMw4AA_3mFHnRjkfXQInkKpzicl7phXV9acH0MHc0i-FB1DwuTDiMk84nYtj0yVfVgn2/s1838/blogbook4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1838" data-original-width="1392" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlxZ_29Rf3_Ies79RGXgcUTdVh9itvOyZzkIPfgiXhiC8lVBw6KWs3OA5eibDWDSFI6qWrqrJFY2W905lWRTz0bowUrbEpWbYmhsR-TgZ6a2B8DNuWqCMgZKdEMw4AA_3mFHnRjkfXQInkKpzicl7phXV9acH0MHc0i-FB1DwuTDiMk84nYtj0yVfVgn2/w345-h433/blogbook4.jpg" width="345" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You are never too old to read Pinocchio!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was expecting a quick read of a simple children's story - with a storyline similar to the mid-century Walt Disney movie I had seen as a child. Was I ever in for a surprise! Thanks to this annotated edition I discovered this little children's story is actually a sophisticated satire that reflected the author's concern for the social inequities of his time. The annotations were as interesting as the plot! Who knew? It was a delightful read and I highly recommend it!</div><div><br /></div><div>Enough about our novel getaways. Where have books taken you this season? Leave us a note in the comments or shoot us an email -- we are always looking for a recommendation for a novel getaway! Until next time, wishes for safe travels to you and yours and thanks for the time you spent with us today!</div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-9904842054657251882023-07-19T07:01:00.002-07:002023-07-19T08:49:17.600-07:00Who would go to Italy in summer?<p>We knew better. But we did it anyway. We went to Italy the end of June.</p><p>It is hot in Italy in the summer. And it's crowded with tourists. Hotel prices are at all-time highs. Who would want to go to Italy in the summer, we've asked ourselves time and time again over the years.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0w1njeFW0ELgkxqF4tOqyn9R-5HwN5oC9xvesbTdEPBGYuEmuptPz3iObHmWzyMrUPiHwlb6_b04cC3tQx1zDzmdq5Ddg2bgqqQic2kddVb5Ui-Oe5f5FMUIF5FauJlXOZmmh4pNJjaOgYdXeMm1a4BqAY94hQ1jp4tNn6nto9gYpb6AoXeEqPNqKRYhL/s2016/blogflorencecrowds2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0w1njeFW0ELgkxqF4tOqyn9R-5HwN5oC9xvesbTdEPBGYuEmuptPz3iObHmWzyMrUPiHwlb6_b04cC3tQx1zDzmdq5Ddg2bgqqQic2kddVb5Ui-Oe5f5FMUIF5FauJlXOZmmh4pNJjaOgYdXeMm1a4BqAY94hQ1jp4tNn6nto9gYpb6AoXeEqPNqKRYhL/w466-h316/blogflorencecrowds2.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tourists in Florence Italy - early morning</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>And then two weeks ago we took off to see first-hand if Italy was as hot and crowded as we believed it to be in the summer!</p><p>Actually, Italy wasn't our first destination of choice. We'd booked a trip to Jordan's Wadi Rum. It was to be my 'birthday trip' (a bit early) and a celebration of our late June anniversary. Luxury camping in the desert - what a trip, it would be! </p><p>But then we came to our senses: staying in a tent in the desert the end of June probably wasn't going to be the wisest nor most pleasant of travel experiences. We started having visions of headlines about an elderly (aka 'crazy old coots') American couple dying of heat strokes. Then we cancelled the trip.</p><p><i><br /></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKW8Mu7Z-bKvsm_xqacYJ7pfw-cBuiWRtSvMb-l6Gw8HXWOJscC3SqA1XdZEeN7Lyz3obC1174ynqoa0TAGm0x9qR09Ql3-4cVEy_IqnvFLRqBk3QYJ-VyKV9za3WxSu1af0tWkkYo-rsJUgWosOHDDtB1brIy-_i4YsiXokpUoCQ6jSH5HtaO1fy1fOk/s4000/P1190175.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKW8Mu7Z-bKvsm_xqacYJ7pfw-cBuiWRtSvMb-l6Gw8HXWOJscC3SqA1XdZEeN7Lyz3obC1174ynqoa0TAGm0x9qR09Ql3-4cVEy_IqnvFLRqBk3QYJ-VyKV9za3WxSu1af0tWkkYo-rsJUgWosOHDDtB1brIy-_i4YsiXokpUoCQ6jSH5HtaO1fy1fOk/w486-h339/P1190175.JPG" width="486" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Italian vineyard as seen from a train</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><i>The Scout </i>went to work and mapped out a more reasonable week-long getaway than the Jordanian desert: </p><p>We'd fly from Kalamata to Bergamo, in northern Italy. Then take a bus to Milan, catch a train to Florence, spend a few days there, then another train to the southern port city of Bari. From it, we'd sail a Greek ferry back to Patras, a port city in the north of the Peloponnese and then take a bus to Kalamata where we'd left our car at the airport. Leave Monday, returning the following Monday.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Sometimes it works. . .</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfCewbuPZg44VMOMLjhuOdEjLUWLzRsDg2nyypjXoNOPoOclCwyt629hEvVa5oh94fwClFk6YRrcuNZlqANEN3GMioDbgA82vhuAXKMA4D6DqvqVL5xB3wxKWBd1Zup2t2bFbcbrQHw4H8N7BzVqvZokAZoxsQ3P1Qw33DoPqM0wZyv4jEfpNkMloyJ_A/s3264/blogryanair1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfCewbuPZg44VMOMLjhuOdEjLUWLzRsDg2nyypjXoNOPoOclCwyt629hEvVa5oh94fwClFk6YRrcuNZlqANEN3GMioDbgA82vhuAXKMA4D6DqvqVL5xB3wxKWBd1Zup2t2bFbcbrQHw4H8N7BzVqvZokAZoxsQ3P1Qw33DoPqM0wZyv4jEfpNkMloyJ_A/w325-h345/blogryanair1.jpg" width="325" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Row one Ryan Air - leg room aplenty!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It is a snap flying out of Kalamata's small, well-worn airport, located just over an hour's drive away from our home in the rural Mani. With reservations at the parking lot next to the airport (and a daily rate of three euros), the trip began without a hitch.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKeCW9DRbf1I4YZsB45GPAT5vYx15xwBXcphF1ltzaSZvCMfsApmfIzwdTnjrAxWGUMq-JFULXGfCF2nKqV072YRmIetwZDSakiXTdh-X1AzhFXBoDD6LcasaKSmzNRLGvJtHyY6gkCRe10qQ4BzH1KNqWewAr16jrW3TGhEPrO9c-d6TCWKp_1aYA1iB/s2016/blogbergamobus.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKeCW9DRbf1I4YZsB45GPAT5vYx15xwBXcphF1ltzaSZvCMfsApmfIzwdTnjrAxWGUMq-JFULXGfCF2nKqV072YRmIetwZDSakiXTdh-X1AzhFXBoDD6LcasaKSmzNRLGvJtHyY6gkCRe10qQ4BzH1KNqWewAr16jrW3TGhEPrO9c-d6TCWKp_1aYA1iB/w466-h323/blogbergamobus.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loading the bus to Milan at Bergano - tourists aplenty!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Ryan Air, one of Europe's low-cost airlines, got us to Bergamo for a ridiculously low 125 euros a ticket (which included an additional fee for an upgraded seat with extra leg room and a checked bag). Bergamo's airport was modern and easy to navigate. Collecting our bags and buying bus tickets to Milan - all a snap. The bus stopped at the Milan train station, what could be easier?</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Those best laid plans. . .</span></h3><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7pDG7AsJLvCxu-7Xy7mQN3gIT_hp3PmHPzheEYtchdmJCGuykkRW7uUAoj4EU4CwS0Ob5oioxfwcf9qZsu-u52WZdsn9jsdGtl6RNYN3bWRSNUn5CDPfHg2Hz6OhgQLPjMwqEM63WKEdCg5rt8Yco6Ya_zM88OuGsGUkJVESB1xF3N-OrV8PE2oGjcui/s4000/P1190075.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7pDG7AsJLvCxu-7Xy7mQN3gIT_hp3PmHPzheEYtchdmJCGuykkRW7uUAoj4EU4CwS0Ob5oioxfwcf9qZsu-u52WZdsn9jsdGtl6RNYN3bWRSNUn5CDPfHg2Hz6OhgQLPjMwqEM63WKEdCg5rt8Yco6Ya_zM88OuGsGUkJVESB1xF3N-OrV8PE2oGjcui/w501-h338/P1190075.JPG" width="501" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Italian high speed trains - usually on time</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We'd had an unfortunate experience with buying Italian train tickets in advance on an earlier trip there this year. Our flight had been delayed, we missed the window for changing tickets, and didn't make the train either. We ended up paying a high price for a taxi to get us to our intended destination. This time we wouldn't risk a late plane. . .we planned to book the train tickets while on that bus heading to the train station. There are many trains a day, plenty of choices. . .or so we thought.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9S4sj1lB3YrsbMxWKKQVj5RKVK_03gO9MXjgq1fKkXVaaIaNw5XnPQWmB6_DA6KETlBul8Z6GvPqyDhEHGfnCXWq7-d3xCkGHdsSCvLCZvsbvFORMp8v4zBvVDPzm-4bdZY679mT9u2a6YEZCplyPyePzgqsmWUp_4tvTkB--n_5lXL0f3UWcVQ8uRTh7/s4000/P1190174.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9S4sj1lB3YrsbMxWKKQVj5RKVK_03gO9MXjgq1fKkXVaaIaNw5XnPQWmB6_DA6KETlBul8Z6GvPqyDhEHGfnCXWq7-d3xCkGHdsSCvLCZvsbvFORMp8v4zBvVDPzm-4bdZY679mT9u2a6YEZCplyPyePzgqsmWUp_4tvTkB--n_5lXL0f3UWcVQ8uRTh7/w395-h278/P1190174.JPG" width="395" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Scout watches the estimated time of arrival screen </td></tr></tbody></table><p>It was a good plan until all the fast trains showed, 'sold out'. . .for all seats all but the 400-euro Executive Class. Yes, Italy was apparently full of tourists just like we had suspected, and they'd filled the trains. We finally booked a cheaper 'bucket run' option that had us stopping in Bologna, and changing trains at the first Florence station to board a different train that would take us the remaining five minutes to the city's main station. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZnR4yoM60iq_r59xqeIHZiqN4YaVxIDfVQp-gQ6eF7AZGzdjlWygdupSes4crNW0_bR_QOqdjWA4KyNp6o68UXbeYwC23GJWR--NXmLoOUxararvXFX7BWsJHweab59yMtvmMyCIKePwXRnFR8p8YPQURDNY8YuRMvwz_UJrCqMnZPP-SudBDtlNaWkz/s4000/P1190163.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZnR4yoM60iq_r59xqeIHZiqN4YaVxIDfVQp-gQ6eF7AZGzdjlWygdupSes4crNW0_bR_QOqdjWA4KyNp6o68UXbeYwC23GJWR--NXmLoOUxararvXFX7BWsJHweab59yMtvmMyCIKePwXRnFR8p8YPQURDNY8YuRMvwz_UJrCqMnZPP-SudBDtlNaWkz/w475-h331/P1190163.JPG" width="475" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Italian countryside from our train</td></tr></tbody></table><p>But our train out of Milan was delayed by a few minutes. . .just enough minutes to require us to grab our bags and run through that first Florence station, up a flight of stairs and fling ourselves unceremoniously into the second train with about a minute to spare before the doors shut. Panting and sweaty, but we were aboard the train that would take us the last five minutes of the multi-hour journey. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">You want to go where?</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6SQMdXRvZZdcNej4UpqsAFeAVC6OOLE6eV1zWj43iXwCPMGXYYFSPlJcZJRqIX1kB4i5Z05qsnVh1pZI4kifI4hawpF-CrbuyXqU1LMaYID5wrpU8DDF_iX6G-tRqsdA28-D9Q18TMGPXRy2EYlx0acndMy4RZWI8ZaTy8N2YSV8vJZkyc96uubdFLcnG/s4000/P1180063.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6SQMdXRvZZdcNej4UpqsAFeAVC6OOLE6eV1zWj43iXwCPMGXYYFSPlJcZJRqIX1kB4i5Z05qsnVh1pZI4kifI4hawpF-CrbuyXqU1LMaYID5wrpU8DDF_iX6G-tRqsdA28-D9Q18TMGPXRy2EYlx0acndMy4RZWI8ZaTy8N2YSV8vJZkyc96uubdFLcnG/w355-h432/P1180063.JPG" width="355" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Streets are narrow in Oltrarno </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Finally, far later than we originally had planned, we loaded ourselves and bags into one of taxicabs at the main train station, breathing a sigh of relief at finally being in Florence. I handed the cab driver the slip of paper with the hotel name and address. </p><p>"I don't know this place," he snapped, adding, "And I don't know this street."</p><p>Luckily our Greek phone works throughout the European Union so I placed a call to the hotel. He got us there after chatting with the hotel, but I couldn't help feeling that he was as tired of tourists as we were of traveling!</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Fabulous but Frantic Florence</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeVdgxodMJFgcA56WrI60a9GjLDYUUAKtCcFjhcTLj4xEIAEe4QRFQKlKV9qJtKPGYpq3RbNZ-f9P2byYv7oeP6AukBoMfuKiMkwvIEZTLvfGb2aS8m8LC02GmR1MBMyWv25i5eEIO_wjPYCbf-FjqemVvnjhSAiu3uHcpmgeQhd_G_iX7SITuzek1vOC/s3264/blogoltrarnonight.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeVdgxodMJFgcA56WrI60a9GjLDYUUAKtCcFjhcTLj4xEIAEe4QRFQKlKV9qJtKPGYpq3RbNZ-f9P2byYv7oeP6AukBoMfuKiMkwvIEZTLvfGb2aS8m8LC02GmR1MBMyWv25i5eEIO_wjPYCbf-FjqemVvnjhSAiu3uHcpmgeQhd_G_iX7SITuzek1vOC/w374-h430/blogoltrarnonight.jpg" width="374" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oltrarno late at night was free of tourists</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Florence may well be our favorite city in Italy. We had again chosen to stay in the city's Oltrarno, a place busy by day but delightfully not busy at night. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PiVNXyWnpHtTF2HWJyZdktTspjusDFDf8LKJ7F326illM4WptJv-oy0mR_xa5hxb-xsrbYF0mH1T2ehC91VyGXgiOcXLwCHonUm0NCdkg8yHh-xeUKSPPa_x4ubHXNPYN1TGnBvRaawF3av5UuR9q-LKSn0U_qktg3Ds7tdlLguJ78rph5PjLiQGOd7Q/s1800/blogflorencehotel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PiVNXyWnpHtTF2HWJyZdktTspjusDFDf8LKJ7F326illM4WptJv-oy0mR_xa5hxb-xsrbYF0mH1T2ehC91VyGXgiOcXLwCHonUm0NCdkg8yHh-xeUKSPPa_x4ubHXNPYN1TGnBvRaawF3av5UuR9q-LKSn0U_qktg3Ds7tdlLguJ78rph5PjLiQGOd7Q/w382-h419/blogflorencehotel.jpg" width="382" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The centuries-old mural in our room</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We ultimately arrived at the hotel, the San Pier Novello in Oltrarno, a small B and B hotel tucked away on an upper floor of a historic building in Florence's Left Bank. The location was a good one, we were footsteps from the entry of the magnificent Boboli Gardens. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WLUs0h17EEWgFUnYC0Pv7VkqDv854UIWGFixuk7-8jDTznIIHb6TmW7QBtG-a7ITLEFiTRUENH1tdKjP51qJvynhGL21Bf4TkM8ABbxgtrG6sYnWdYERwPQVVZz04DLtE8dqC_pqApIa76JJe2YHo1ksJ_QFmdeI1ZMfk7phJyXzX1PitC4DsqKNGe1l/s4000/P1190107.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WLUs0h17EEWgFUnYC0Pv7VkqDv854UIWGFixuk7-8jDTznIIHb6TmW7QBtG-a7ITLEFiTRUENH1tdKjP51qJvynhGL21Bf4TkM8ABbxgtrG6sYnWdYERwPQVVZz04DLtE8dqC_pqApIa76JJe2YHo1ksJ_QFmdeI1ZMfk7phJyXzX1PitC4DsqKNGe1l/w474-h344/P1190107.JPG" width="474" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of space for tourists at Boboli Gardens </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>The gardens -visited early in the day to avoid the heat -- were the only tourist site we tackled during our stay. It is so large you seldom saw others. However, the lines at museums and other sites were as long as we had suspected they might be. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaf3lWORkX06-_0vHkBY0UrL7at4vWiQfRmhVVFDomVkDU7OcgpXf5o3lbao-5g20ophu0RlOtFlbekFXCuEcp5zGg4JoQFJSOCJJc4s_-iiy0paI6NPXAVF-ov8pm6ScaXkbqo3K5NiwFSQ3aFDiWsu_HluINK4Tn_pw_xuPJI9ChfoMI63hY__5riWL/s2016/bloganniversarydinner.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaf3lWORkX06-_0vHkBY0UrL7at4vWiQfRmhVVFDomVkDU7OcgpXf5o3lbao-5g20ophu0RlOtFlbekFXCuEcp5zGg4JoQFJSOCJJc4s_-iiy0paI6NPXAVF-ov8pm6ScaXkbqo3K5NiwFSQ3aFDiWsu_HluINK4Tn_pw_xuPJI9ChfoMI63hY__5riWL/w394-h476/bloganniversarydinner.jpg" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Molto buono', the finger-to-the-cheek gesture</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We celebrated our anniversary at our favorite Oltrarno restaurant, Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco (the white boar) but only because we were willing to arrive at 6:30 - they couldn't otherwise guarantee a table. The waiter (pictured above) suggested a Super Tuscan wine that he described through his gesture as being, 'molto buono' (very good!). It was!</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">All Aboard for Bari</span></h3><p>There is no direct train connecting Florence to Bari. Our trip required a change of trains in Rome. We had a 15-minute connection time, which is quite manageable because the trains seem to <i>always</i> run on time. Well, <i>always</i>, up until this trip. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAu96C3HU0FLEGelANmH5cFhSlDcgbb9-RFGfoCi7NZq2enqNSBSZegSM9UhwlHl2Li5HAA60RWu9yT7-R0GBgXQ9nEozGRTYZnT6h4PenVYkhSM1iwXtNpnOXGUSyx-yOz4DduwrKNaC6FOz9pWf7JAzPEOul20QzzfHBLmUXS6ZYXX9Tye6We8n6KcQ/s2016/blogarrivalboard.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAu96C3HU0FLEGelANmH5cFhSlDcgbb9-RFGfoCi7NZq2enqNSBSZegSM9UhwlHl2Li5HAA60RWu9yT7-R0GBgXQ9nEozGRTYZnT6h4PenVYkhSM1iwXtNpnOXGUSyx-yOz4DduwrKNaC6FOz9pWf7JAzPEOul20QzzfHBLmUXS6ZYXX9Tye6We8n6KcQ/w367-h443/blogarrivalboard.jpg" width="367" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delays appear in the upper right hand corner of the screen</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p>We'd missed our connection in Rome before we left the Florence train station - our train was 18 minutes late departing. We'd not gone far before they announced the train's arrival would be 45 minutes late. We'd never make the connection. But luckily, it was not our fault, so we stood in a ticket line for nearly an hour in Rome and got ourselves another train leaving two hours later. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN0GmC4VImSmkH9PmiW2galptmoohlEUguTcm7nFobCpe2x1hE0h6ON-Rplk7NqKfEIl_LXjj7JvIQsiRRZ2ZgJ3U4iqssoVe-kGxmGLdjYffksctmn87HXYjQId81XsWtepXaKgCDdtMXRGNifYYNKX_XilKZGLe5VFzdIZtzzLpZEO-H4MQvLGJs_kda/s4000/P1160711.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN0GmC4VImSmkH9PmiW2galptmoohlEUguTcm7nFobCpe2x1hE0h6ON-Rplk7NqKfEIl_LXjj7JvIQsiRRZ2ZgJ3U4iqssoVe-kGxmGLdjYffksctmn87HXYjQId81XsWtepXaKgCDdtMXRGNifYYNKX_XilKZGLe5VFzdIZtzzLpZEO-H4MQvLGJs_kda/w400-h300/P1160711.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trenitalia still has a ticket office staffed with real humans <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>But then. . .you know what's coming, don't you? That later train got delayed and we arrived in Bari an hour and 15 minutes later than the already later arrival had us getting there. It was dusk, moving into dark by the time we arrived.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOD8O9afcWxDbZtpZUgnNC4uUODk3tHBtIp8wq_zSe9EbejVbCm_PqN1uSbFH7rpaZkr5pN7blDU202_uM1gRpc3x8fbet0Nj1FwwSAGuvMrGqmwM1zfxwVmUszMdV2MJAnoEB7FJnURUqE2sUl6HUWZsc2BtxzjzAqGNNllY6NroJLZbKANDWgBXW21pS/s2016/barinight23.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOD8O9afcWxDbZtpZUgnNC4uUODk3tHBtIp8wq_zSe9EbejVbCm_PqN1uSbFH7rpaZkr5pN7blDU202_uM1gRpc3x8fbet0Nj1FwwSAGuvMrGqmwM1zfxwVmUszMdV2MJAnoEB7FJnURUqE2sUl6HUWZsc2BtxzjzAqGNNllY6NroJLZbKANDWgBXW21pS/w369-h434/barinight23.jpg" width="369" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Bari's commercial buildings at night</td></tr></tbody></table><p>And then there were no taxis to be had at the train station. (We learned later you must call for them). We had no idea where the place was that we had rented. It was a highly rated place, Four Rooms, but with no on-site staff other than a maid we bumped into one morning. You let yourself in the building, to the accommodation and finally your room. They communicated by SMS. There was no one to call. </p><p>Finally, we managed to have a taxi driver stop long enough to tell us, 'I could take you. But it is so close you can walk it.' We did and it was only a matter of a few blocks away. I am not so sure that had I been traveling as a single I would have taken that option in a totally new place that time of night.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnG0RnfoVWyRh4UkGLtcS_uXoH9a9XgNXNETcnsVCAAU7AASscM1GRR2Cko0SR71aCX14hQwzt6Cq3gWdubDD_Rob8xGhqO0I1vSiG_7x0XOaNQm_YYl9SJE_7ASoopk2YFIdmtYg7ZvQVf32nCy8VXD2oaG2kU7DJh2LuQz_tFqqrH_9Z1w8cbmmfy6JH/s2016/barioldtown23.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnG0RnfoVWyRh4UkGLtcS_uXoH9a9XgNXNETcnsVCAAU7AASscM1GRR2Cko0SR71aCX14hQwzt6Cq3gWdubDD_Rob8xGhqO0I1vSiG_7x0XOaNQm_YYl9SJE_7ASoopk2YFIdmtYg7ZvQVf32nCy8VXD2oaG2kU7DJh2LuQz_tFqqrH_9Z1w8cbmmfy6JH/w364-h425/barioldtown23.jpg" width="364" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old town Bari was enchanting</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We had only one full day in Bari, but we had a good overview of its new pedestrian-friendly commercial area, its old town and its port and seaside. We have vowed to go back to that delightful city. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJi5aEvmAw9ksoq571iRW96nlZS-9ebBeeJfNZDUuDFxOg1NEIlfmV-H3Q6JPR9UAxSh9hggey0ZrUJTbb6DixmmJIdivERo9LFavf_5_1kRoFXNGrUkvBRzG7qfv9QlCSUPywAOXF3S0UqJDQU-WbCxSJ8hLea2HjE6Nw--DuoQz6ThiiqgzSW1_4cqr/s2016/bariferry23.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJi5aEvmAw9ksoq571iRW96nlZS-9ebBeeJfNZDUuDFxOg1NEIlfmV-H3Q6JPR9UAxSh9hggey0ZrUJTbb6DixmmJIdivERo9LFavf_5_1kRoFXNGrUkvBRzG7qfv9QlCSUPywAOXF3S0UqJDQU-WbCxSJ8hLea2HjE6Nw--DuoQz6ThiiqgzSW1_4cqr/w362-h424/bariferry23.jpg" width="362" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferry from Bari arrives Patras, Greece 7 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Next time, however, it won't be in summer. And we won't travel by train if it is anywhere near summer.</p><p> We will travel by ferry to and from Greece, which was one of the high point experiences of this trip. The ferry left Bari at 1 p.m. and arrived the next morning in Patras, Greece, a port city in the Peloponnese about four hours from Kalamata. Within an hour and a half of disembarking the ferry, we were on a bus back to Kalamata - that trip, also a great ending to our whirlwind adventure.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrX_-e8apRHd53p0P8RL39Qu6OhEBtMu4terG8b-hj1iFMwCePakfzv82W7WUEAG6X0DApBiI9Q4h8c_ItZOc9OcM9rV6kQ6is3FYj9yDJArfr5XSPbRrXDV8ptOZAVaVt44EYbbaRTM7ypdDk4zoR1t11ekMDxSPAfJBihjVoxT0zmpJscs0QNc-0FDh/s2016/patrasbus23.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrX_-e8apRHd53p0P8RL39Qu6OhEBtMu4terG8b-hj1iFMwCePakfzv82W7WUEAG6X0DApBiI9Q4h8c_ItZOc9OcM9rV6kQ6is3FYj9yDJArfr5XSPbRrXDV8ptOZAVaVt44EYbbaRTM7ypdDk4zoR1t11ekMDxSPAfJBihjVoxT0zmpJscs0QNc-0FDh/w369-h466/patrasbus23.jpg" width="369" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patras to Kalamata - a great ending</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Lessons learned. . .we now at least know who doesn't want to go to Italy again in the summer: us! </p><p> That is it for this time. We hope your travels are going well. Having any similar 'best-laid-plans' stories for us? Leave a comment or send us an email if you do! Until next time, thanks for the time you spent here today! Wishes for continued safe travels ~</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-85215696556112979002023-06-24T07:00:00.000-07:002023-06-24T07:00:03.012-07:00Greek Expat: To Be or Not to Be<p>To be or not to be an expat in Greece? </p><p>From the correspondence and conversations, we've had with quite a number of you in recent weeks, that seems to be the question <i>du jour</i>. </p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB0bROu-6GLvCZ3vTTLamUEJC5AI904f67Nj5UyXkxc5cNq-VUo0NAnmr6nGnYSKYFi8EQX46SpMbZHbsMxzbW6KV16GzBIeRM4H8kQuk-3lNRSB8imwBcvdrYMKrGMPz2NcJ8RDFw9ANLOHPyRsVPVtpo-yu8CHbiJDZlzja90i9iZ3kiEdEQcVMO2xc0/s2016/blogtownatnight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB0bROu-6GLvCZ3vTTLamUEJC5AI904f67Nj5UyXkxc5cNq-VUo0NAnmr6nGnYSKYFi8EQX46SpMbZHbsMxzbW6KV16GzBIeRM4H8kQuk-3lNRSB8imwBcvdrYMKrGMPz2NcJ8RDFw9ANLOHPyRsVPVtpo-yu8CHbiJDZlzja90i9iZ3kiEdEQcVMO2xc0/w453-h341/blogtownatnight.jpg" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saturday night out on the town in our Greek village</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>A number of folks we've chatted with are hitting the just-retired-and-ready-for-a-lifestyle-change phase of life. Other are simply thinking it is time to stretch themselves a bit and try something new. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho53J6S00b_Wgpx5ptw8wvN9ZIbK3pO_HzcUg9rtghIoRxhPMzeZwwGNezYWESOOWmobTgj_vz9kRViHN-SERuyf1yWsLXub0eU_mrQ1brLx0WpAxHFmyxgy7hL4LIgb-cNNrCoRRbQJralRoxoadEZ8Gfdwo-X68cNbn96BLEIVqm8L3Zab3-OopsXGbp/s3137/blogseaside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2353" data-original-width="3137" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho53J6S00b_Wgpx5ptw8wvN9ZIbK3pO_HzcUg9rtghIoRxhPMzeZwwGNezYWESOOWmobTgj_vz9kRViHN-SERuyf1yWsLXub0eU_mrQ1brLx0WpAxHFmyxgy7hL4LIgb-cNNrCoRRbQJralRoxoadEZ8Gfdwo-X68cNbn96BLEIVqm8L3Zab3-OopsXGbp/w424-h326/blogseaside.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Life isn't always a beach for an expat</td></tr></tbody></table><p>And from what they've told us, it seems like I have managed to make expat life in Greece sound pretty inviting, invigorating, and downright enticing in my writing about life here. </p><p>And it is. . .<i><u>IF</u></i> you are serious about making lifestyle changes and experiencing a new way of living. </p><p>We chose expat life because we wanted to live differently; to turn off the auto pilot button of our retired lives in suburbia U.S.A. and plunge ourselves into a new world where nothing is done like it was 'back home'. Now, six years later, I can assure you that we got what we came for!</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">That is crazy!</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9MfLYtPWahl4b41q9Q7oJ4yCwSoeKEFed9UIKdD__KyEN4XzOu0enZcLqox-i10gyIiopCy84k7ea87s7ImISsFhqG4eZmdKoH2AfyM5__lD-qK6uE7xyqZi0xtKIfeqnJqFrFwpc-EpDGMlDcMqN9mdTlYVT6-5bToiJ63DWLphFeNwL1-UWG8prbjQ/s2016/blognermal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9MfLYtPWahl4b41q9Q7oJ4yCwSoeKEFed9UIKdD__KyEN4XzOu0enZcLqox-i10gyIiopCy84k7ea87s7ImISsFhqG4eZmdKoH2AfyM5__lD-qK6uE7xyqZi0xtKIfeqnJqFrFwpc-EpDGMlDcMqN9mdTlYVT6-5bToiJ63DWLphFeNwL1-UWG8prbjQ/w361-h414/blognermal.jpg" width="361" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you face constant change and new ways of living?</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I was telling an American friend who is considering expat life a few of the nitty-gritty details of daily life here and at least a half dozen times he responded, 'That is crazy!' </p><p>Well, not crazy, I would caution, simply different. And if you can't deal with different, you may want to refocus those expat dreams.</p><p>While on the topic of crazy, a Canadian couple told us, 'Our friends think we are crazy to pursue this dream. . .'.'</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmChgORtjwkKd9WQsBWYS112wMrUBiuRf58BB6mkhyD4w7x6j6aSKcO5jnNn0vbEC1H62x1dpFsNxrVY4oYk9gz561Lknu4-sMmlUOR-Evs8VEN5GSlK4c3aCewV19BBe8FX3cwX7Qe3MuGA31lVCGE1g5sBKJz16eyn6OPsa3TeFCSqsnSkxGy1EDPPTg/s960/JKJETSHOTH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmChgORtjwkKd9WQsBWYS112wMrUBiuRf58BB6mkhyD4w7x6j6aSKcO5jnNn0vbEC1H62x1dpFsNxrVY4oYk9gz561Lknu4-sMmlUOR-Evs8VEN5GSlK4c3aCewV19BBe8FX3cwX7Qe3MuGA31lVCGE1g5sBKJz16eyn6OPsa3TeFCSqsnSkxGy1EDPPTg/w452-h339/JKJETSHOTH.jpg" width="452" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Six years later glad we listened to the heart and head</td></tr></tbody></table><p>How well we remember <i>those </i>looks from friends when we said we were going to move to Greece. They didn't need to ask, "Are you crazy?" their rolling eyeballs pretty much asked -- and answered -- that one for them. Some of those folks are still waiting for us 'to come to our senses' and return to the old lifestyle.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Living Differently</span></h3><p>We do live differently here than we did in the States. And, as with all things 'different', that can be both good and bad.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_S_QM1uWCh4APoyph7zcCysiN5xSwIYWTYKjsBwltXlCqKjDdxSBorpQ54MZNFwrmEbBxIhWEYenaH55XKyJsjU1IveIOsgecvEqxhovGm4EenNRoZ3jXoXi9yJaTgDv_JM3ON_nwJvawnTNm2aoIyR479GCdcYjcge-MYAnZm3yn5ItR4hMqDkaF9aJZ/s2016/bloghortahunting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_S_QM1uWCh4APoyph7zcCysiN5xSwIYWTYKjsBwltXlCqKjDdxSBorpQ54MZNFwrmEbBxIhWEYenaH55XKyJsjU1IveIOsgecvEqxhovGm4EenNRoZ3jXoXi9yJaTgDv_JM3ON_nwJvawnTNm2aoIyR479GCdcYjcge-MYAnZm3yn5ItR4hMqDkaF9aJZ/w378-h450/bloghortahunting.jpg" width="378" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A horta (wild greens) hunting and harvesting we went</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>A new country definitely means a new lifestyle. And a new way to function day-to-day. Shopping when all items from food to fashion labeled in Greek can be a challenge. New flavors and foods (which are a novelty on a vacation but can become a tad bit repetitive when an expat). New medical care systems, doctors, dentists. New language. New customs. New ways of measuring distances, weights, and temperatures (if you are an American). New everything can be both exhilarating and exhausting.</p><p>Learning is often times priceless. The photo above shows us <i>horta</i> (wild greens) <i>hunting</i> with our Greek friend, Maria. We'd have never learned the art of harvesting wild greens back in the suburbs of Seattle. The skills we've developed, the joys of participating in centuries-old traditions - all decidedly different - add a richness to the expat experience.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5x5KkHed9DP7dbXwQQBNboFo2ep6q22mtYlDkgdAOLiGv_tMjkkYioebMaqtIviIKEGA01W6vv6F1yJ81IKK3dHDu99_d2UiqgcAN3sdV0g7xJBZ9hEIgr9DTNd6TELDsDqSOiSsBo_AlR2LDF72QtdXbWD69H8n6GJ6MDiwp3oeV3TYZUTsyLxNWOZ9J" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="1000" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5x5KkHed9DP7dbXwQQBNboFo2ep6q22mtYlDkgdAOLiGv_tMjkkYioebMaqtIviIKEGA01W6vv6F1yJ81IKK3dHDu99_d2UiqgcAN3sdV0g7xJBZ9hEIgr9DTNd6TELDsDqSOiSsBo_AlR2LDF72QtdXbWD69H8n6GJ6MDiwp3oeV3TYZUTsyLxNWOZ9J=w365-h433" width="365" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conversion charts like these become everyday guides</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>We caution those we've talked to that no matter how green the grass looks to be in Greece, it will require mental adjustments to live here beyond getting used to the daily routine changes. Every country has its issues and those seeking the greener grass of this other side may find themselves in for a great disappointment when they realize that: </p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBxw-m14vke0a0IviJrTlbP7iAHTc1Mx7NQonu7ZbWJ-RAiz-jO-fiOC7NUUEeiyvdvL7l-ciWZ2xbaqLBBNtsJa5fka_a-FnFXuvs_UDuZuLG3_siffRPIK2qdBTDMcJKzIzPzKyqeKtGsYf717XLlLQkfAEuytevF1KBJ1PHr_Tqpt8_bkqtx0wFk4x/s2016/blogsunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBxw-m14vke0a0IviJrTlbP7iAHTc1Mx7NQonu7ZbWJ-RAiz-jO-fiOC7NUUEeiyvdvL7l-ciWZ2xbaqLBBNtsJa5fka_a-FnFXuvs_UDuZuLG3_siffRPIK2qdBTDMcJKzIzPzKyqeKtGsYf717XLlLQkfAEuytevF1KBJ1PHr_Tqpt8_bkqtx0wFk4x/w337-h426/blogsunset.jpg" width="337" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunsets from our Greek home, an added bonus</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>As North American expats, 'third country expats' as we are known, you can't vote, so you have no say in the big picture, politics and politicians. It is a curiously refreshing circumstance from my point of view, but it has been frustrating for others. </p><p>A point to clarify is that I am speaking of a residency-permit-holding expats of which most of us are. We are residents of Greece and not citizens of Greece. Those of Greek descent who move back here are able to obtain citizenship which does allow them to vote. </p><p>However, resident expats do pay taxes, just like citizens. If you buy a home, you will pay annual property taxes. Car owners pay annual road taxes. You will pay 24% tax on most goods and services, including gas for the car, 13% on others.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxviNDukRAxLxsb8gFHmWCgc2oBrw7YgBdvVwtV0lTJDF8arho9hr60oHCI3aCA9-3CPJJgh05k_gDsFEK2C3Di-q3ZYBhV5TZiQnRTPqXBDPzpp6zv1Pom_bpCQYtejM-6rjkBHXyiQ2tspKDUnn8FwRJqvv3I3C1OMWcxNt4PpI6rixp48UJXNSfzdPl" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="342" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxviNDukRAxLxsb8gFHmWCgc2oBrw7YgBdvVwtV0lTJDF8arho9hr60oHCI3aCA9-3CPJJgh05k_gDsFEK2C3Di-q3ZYBhV5TZiQnRTPqXBDPzpp6zv1Pom_bpCQYtejM-6rjkBHXyiQ2tspKDUnn8FwRJqvv3I3C1OMWcxNt4PpI6rixp48UJXNSfzdPl=w351-h409" width="351" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More residents mean more garbage and less water</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>The country's leaders talk about addressing issues of sustainability, conservation and the like, while our local officials struggle to strike a balance between an influx of expats and the infrastructure that was built to support a small fishing village of a few hundred residents. If water shortages, power outages, infrequent loss of wi-fi and overflowing garbage cans cause you stress -- all of which are realities here, -- you might rethink being an expat in Greece.</p><p>Several years ago, I wrote about the municipal water supply drying up in our slice of the rural Peloponnese in August when tourism peaks here. In has shown improvement, but we still have periods during which time no municipal water is coming to the house. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY8H1AwdB9QcLLyrbVLQ8B95hjmDu7rQzSZ8shEvGX_16oYd4s04aO3TCXk1Gqz3ZM0hk-4lDSSxrgMOhZ3uzDeGCABRhuWzErv7ETTbbR1uy8fux8NkSkPccbEl63ak8pUa3YVb2HYRTHIs9LKiXaz6O5VIijeVlVso5x03nWV07yxVsNALECYriG29tb" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY8H1AwdB9QcLLyrbVLQ8B95hjmDu7rQzSZ8shEvGX_16oYd4s04aO3TCXk1Gqz3ZM0hk-4lDSSxrgMOhZ3uzDeGCABRhuWzErv7ETTbbR1uy8fux8NkSkPccbEl63ak8pUa3YVb2HYRTHIs9LKiXaz6O5VIijeVlVso5x03nWV07yxVsNALECYriG29tb=w329-h342" width="329" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A village homeless cat</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Actually, garbage collection, water supply and animal rescue have all vastly improved overall since we moved to the village but are far from what they could be and are certainly nothing like the systems we had 'back home'. Of course, we pay nowhere near the taxes we did back there, so you might say we get what we pay for.</p><p>We do recommend coming and living in an area of Greece for a few months to experience these day-to- day realities before packing up and relocating here. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">It's Greek to Me!</span></h3><p>Are you able to function in a country where many people speak English but where there will be situations in which you resort to pantomime, translation tools on the mobile device and having others translate for you to communicate your needs and desires? </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0Xl2pwVG1sqD_tWAa-D3vQO9dJ-moWmq0hsK7fiIKv6bieL1LrfDI1tgM--mODq2A4okuNLXNK1AEwxxHuDAq_fMBmOTGmjOVFoSYIAhtrL4PsJjqDpOIxCkc8qfc1Egwv6IZ_LmGfE0RpwIj7wQ-yFW5Ylr2n6UYLy4O_NbNGZSB1lW25XHBr89CbhdY" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="320" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0Xl2pwVG1sqD_tWAa-D3vQO9dJ-moWmq0hsK7fiIKv6bieL1LrfDI1tgM--mODq2A4okuNLXNK1AEwxxHuDAq_fMBmOTGmjOVFoSYIAhtrL4PsJjqDpOIxCkc8qfc1Egwv6IZ_LmGfE0RpwIj7wQ-yFW5Ylr2n6UYLy4O_NbNGZSB1lW25XHBr89CbhdY=w454-h383" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It is Greek to me!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We are making strides in 'speaking Greek' but are still light years away from<i> really </i>'speaking Greek'. But we have a cadre of Greek friends now who will correct us and cheer us on as we haltingly place an order or try a sentence or two of greeting.</p><p>It is frustrating when you buy an over-the-counter medication and then can't read the directions for use and laughable when trying to follow packaged mix directions using Google Translate or Google Lens. Functioning in a land where you don't speak the language is a fact of expat life that needs to be considered.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Expats not Missionaries.</span></h3><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBCMmOiAWr0X9LQ4Z_mt6ZGqLUsNwO5Y9f_AhdmLRKudZAykG3apZZEUm2ul_8qxqZ7Z5rDqWkoWZAkszgUOxKzC0kztT0t65x7jwG43GOjIGkbPMzIhayuUUUdElD3q96KMe3Wjlewe_Gs8UamCvERAe5P6u975zKKwjP2rrzJT4JPat1HguTpbL20DQ0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBCMmOiAWr0X9LQ4Z_mt6ZGqLUsNwO5Y9f_AhdmLRKudZAykG3apZZEUm2ul_8qxqZ7Z5rDqWkoWZAkszgUOxKzC0kztT0t65x7jwG43GOjIGkbPMzIhayuUUUdElD3q96KMe3Wjlewe_Gs8UamCvERAe5P6u975zKKwjP2rrzJT4JPat1HguTpbL20DQ0=w376-h434" width="376" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road construction warning sign at the construction site</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>You will be baffled by customs and practices, but you will remind yourself that you came to live differently, not to bring your way of life to a new region. </p><p>The road construction stop sign in the photo above, is a good example of 'different'. We are used to construction detour signs for miles in advance of the work. Here the sign is placed at the point of construction and in this project, it was up to you to figure out that you needed to drive through a parking lot to get around it. </p><p>We walk a fine line here in wanting to help better the area by suggesting other ways of doing things, like in this case, maybe more advance warning signs. We realize it isn't our role to impose imported behaviors on a Greek community that has gotten along just fine for centuries without us. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">When it doesn't work out</span></h3><p>Most of our expat friends have flourished in this new Greek world we've all chosen. A few haven't. They recognized that either it wasn't what they had anticipated, or the desire to be 'back home' overpowered their desire to live differently. They've moved back to their home countries.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9ps-8DadEb2aF8BIMVq7lIUiP_kMJBzTw5D6dqPedGEyFuetfoPYJw4R3hZB9m5bBfk74wZOPTN-dmsthrzz1Vf6aHydTmV9Dr4vZgvam75KlQ6r26xTIZ7L6lCHEU_xee7yK9z_Pl39GPoGL3_vK1PxOGhMdhjI8n-4SqUmiE-GkkZQ-EwyuovoCuZO/s3264/blogshoth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9ps-8DadEb2aF8BIMVq7lIUiP_kMJBzTw5D6dqPedGEyFuetfoPYJw4R3hZB9m5bBfk74wZOPTN-dmsthrzz1Vf6aHydTmV9Dr4vZgvam75KlQ6r26xTIZ7L6lCHEU_xee7yK9z_Pl39GPoGL3_vK1PxOGhMdhjI8n-4SqUmiE-GkkZQ-EwyuovoCuZO/w461-h338/blogshoth.jpg" width="461" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Stone House on the Hill tucked behind bougainvillea</td></tr></tbody></table><p>And that is the nice thing about being an expat - it doesn't have to be a lifetime commitment to living differently. We tell expat wannabes about the escape clause we gave ourselves when we caught our daydream: we would give 'it' five years. If our Stone House on the Hill. If it wasn't what we wanted to continue, the 'for-sale' sign would go up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjByp-oZOxgrl5UkLhL-dvq_huHgUDVmMx5nb7tHZrKiIvS5XI2DrkJklMSEwbpyvqDplg5pp_lZfQdfdyoBR83Q_BG4NCVwBNbgn238zviAD4vSkwQoUqM_E0mwWcnwD1vwJahfvDBoVkZobN4g3u4cH1bUEA3V5MHL_2WZdq7-WqyCHBrWwFQN3dpZUz4/s2016/TSHOTH%20windows2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjByp-oZOxgrl5UkLhL-dvq_huHgUDVmMx5nb7tHZrKiIvS5XI2DrkJklMSEwbpyvqDplg5pp_lZfQdfdyoBR83Q_BG4NCVwBNbgn238zviAD4vSkwQoUqM_E0mwWcnwD1vwJahfvDBoVkZobN4g3u4cH1bUEA3V5MHL_2WZdq7-WqyCHBrWwFQN3dpZUz4/w430-h349/TSHOTH%20windows2.jpg" width="430" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Stone House on the Hill - a place called home</td></tr></tbody></table><p>And then we add with a wink, that next year marks a decade of home ownership here and we've no plans to change that anytime soon. </p><p>For those who'd like to talk more about expat life, please don't hesitate to contact us! And to all of you, thanks for being a part of our adventure. Until the next time, wishes for safe travels to you and yours ~</p><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h3><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-4095184832370052962023-05-29T08:13:00.000-07:002023-05-29T08:13:06.452-07:00Then Change came to the Village<p>Change. It is as inevitable as the passing of seasons. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbc9NggwIsBqATVdSURy83U0VqmC65moWMLKNsMRE_n-3xPQu3qwZMMfePBhgkSW58wf1xJwHmOWPHfRooMnSZ5xz2eHGr87GL6ZbZTbEgFiJg2Lo8I_3l0Neiyqt6kFAAXv4wX2JLnw6yMgnGs1zOOr5H5Q67_ANTeSBSgXgawCwE9CyAnKOrB3HYUQ/s2016/blogvillage.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbc9NggwIsBqATVdSURy83U0VqmC65moWMLKNsMRE_n-3xPQu3qwZMMfePBhgkSW58wf1xJwHmOWPHfRooMnSZ5xz2eHGr87GL6ZbZTbEgFiJg2Lo8I_3l0Neiyqt6kFAAXv4wX2JLnw6yMgnGs1zOOr5H5Q67_ANTeSBSgXgawCwE9CyAnKOrB3HYUQ/w470-h344/blogvillage.jpg" width="470" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agios Nikolaos, our village</td></tr></tbody></table><p>And now change has come to our village. Slowly at first, it seemed, now picking up speed and with a domino effect. It isn't a single change, mind you, but a gestalt or pattern of changes, that has caused both delight and disappointment among those living in this slice of the Greek Peloponnese. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPMSdcZmtZJjnJ5PYuYdUmhexPqBfSDZ_bIbuWq6R-bezW59q0onjLb7tSoDgrxGXQHxto0-EFCZ0M2O0GZpAZjTX86cjRTBt6MXR3yG0EgRdGvsQvNvlpGjITJ1SBRlktzNRncNE8cNGQUAHeZ0ZiLR4YM_nTjFaxUywAwKrr96CYX5AqJwT6odWVvA/s342/8743642af391d7099d86509670636ad9%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="236" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPMSdcZmtZJjnJ5PYuYdUmhexPqBfSDZ_bIbuWq6R-bezW59q0onjLb7tSoDgrxGXQHxto0-EFCZ0M2O0GZpAZjTX86cjRTBt6MXR3yG0EgRdGvsQvNvlpGjITJ1SBRlktzNRncNE8cNGQUAHeZ0ZiLR4YM_nTjFaxUywAwKrr96CYX5AqJwT6odWVvA/w316-h386/8743642af391d7099d86509670636ad9%5B1%5D.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agios Nikolaos, just south of Kalamata</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our small fishing village is Agios Nikolaos. With a year-round population of a few hundred, it sits on the edge of the Messinian Gulf, cradled in the base of the towering Taygetos Mountains and set amid olive groves. It expands with visitors during the warm months and shrinks back to size in the late fall and winter. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2nCR9xfe_PSEVRHVDv3iW2lIOlu_ECCz-4Hr_2-K52sYaff4uWBmK8z-Kqb9bnEiOzkaoQ3hlaEjNv4TPd22b2hRJH1DDG1JbTQN9_AJ0lMOTMTFU1FRUSdQGxFoKhjY07CzDkSip4j_ZdLgP8NEKnU-kQnbwUoy9Tn8h97e8kQp4YaUvXpUfdqu0zQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="274" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2nCR9xfe_PSEVRHVDv3iW2lIOlu_ECCz-4Hr_2-K52sYaff4uWBmK8z-Kqb9bnEiOzkaoQ3hlaEjNv4TPd22b2hRJH1DDG1JbTQN9_AJ0lMOTMTFU1FRUSdQGxFoKhjY07CzDkSip4j_ZdLgP8NEKnU-kQnbwUoy9Tn8h97e8kQp4YaUvXpUfdqu0zQ=w363-h442" width="363" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is a real estate office in the village now</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>The heart of the commercial area of town offers kafenions (coffee shops), bars and eateries. There is a single clothing store, open seasonally. A year-round hardware store and nursery are found a bit out of town, as are two gas stations. A dozen or so fishing boats remain based in our harbor. </p><p>As of last year, we also have a real estate office that announced its arrival with the installation of fancy signage. It offers an inventory of homes and property. At least one of those properties posted on that board in the photo is for sale - asking price 850,000 euros.</p><p>Yes, change has come to the village.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Change in the Village</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_gUyUd3npzhP8epOsI1QcmAwUMiikFwlhDd1v0hCHU6bsXZw4IxpwodLOotrF4EENMHOcVweWZLdtb3b5RtwHEF11g9CuYMOAHNaaal1VwzF7Y-6G1WOPZw81PJOOQlE6Us49UZBFCTGmVUkeE0cxMj2u7VJjWy12HRcZxKGiVdp21T1tjalfrUwTg/s4000/P1110916%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_gUyUd3npzhP8epOsI1QcmAwUMiikFwlhDd1v0hCHU6bsXZw4IxpwodLOotrF4EENMHOcVweWZLdtb3b5RtwHEF11g9CuYMOAHNaaal1VwzF7Y-6G1WOPZw81PJOOQlE6Us49UZBFCTGmVUkeE0cxMj2u7VJjWy12HRcZxKGiVdp21T1tjalfrUwTg/w458-h330/P1110916%20(2).JPG" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captain Antonis and his boat - Agios Nikolaos</td></tr></tbody></table><p>'Kalimera, Captain!' I called out to our friend, Captain Antonis, as he worked on his boat in the harbor. I blew him a kiss as I walked by on the harbor road. 'Kalimera, Jackie!' he called out blowing me a kiss in return. Seeing him and his fishing boat in the harbor and exchanging greetings, is one of the things that hasn't changed in the village. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpCl62vjk6DYxnJY3OBKyTQFH3FyQZutTKdjUmUocFIcsT1O0oxI8rRrBu6hs76EL3x-XZ0KEuratUIplMKKWJXIaB9-rBPbNSdkxpOeCMeX0R3DGVS4TMgbG4AEQZ0MCpYRZz9wPq6XDQCJqSET96t9S2UyKv5D4LkmR-0fdbsz42WF8LXGlOGg-Jwg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpCl62vjk6DYxnJY3OBKyTQFH3FyQZutTKdjUmUocFIcsT1O0oxI8rRrBu6hs76EL3x-XZ0KEuratUIplMKKWJXIaB9-rBPbNSdkxpOeCMeX0R3DGVS4TMgbG4AEQZ0MCpYRZz9wPq6XDQCJqSET96t9S2UyKv5D4LkmR-0fdbsz42WF8LXGlOGg-Jwg=w513-h341" width="513" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were among the first to take the Captain's excursion</td></tr></tbody></table><br />However, Captain Antonis might actually be one of the village's first change agents. Two years ago, he began taking groups out to experience reeling in the net, sorting the catch, then touring along the coastline, serving lunch and making plenty of swimming or fishing-by-pole-from-the-boat stops before returning several hours later. <div><br /></div><div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6aJ4pcMTQoPr-9CbJmHRgJC2zMSr8tR1Gay8xF9Ejjcnih5ewLhrH7gJ5EhAMpvl-2uDfq01n_N3Hcg6sQ5IWY6q-jQbffuuvsAFSpDwy5kMwxIYgu7_cXRRhAhX8IX4ZfZIqiDBa1SLFYErlOENCtKUAPQ7YbBWy8WYoIQ2p7kLJGd5zmpzXjigAxQ/s4896/P1020457.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6aJ4pcMTQoPr-9CbJmHRgJC2zMSr8tR1Gay8xF9Ejjcnih5ewLhrH7gJ5EhAMpvl-2uDfq01n_N3Hcg6sQ5IWY6q-jQbffuuvsAFSpDwy5kMwxIYgu7_cXRRhAhX8IX4ZfZIqiDBa1SLFYErlOENCtKUAPQ7YbBWy8WYoIQ2p7kLJGd5zmpzXjigAxQ/w450-h333/P1020457.JPG" width="450" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captain Antonis reels in fishing net</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>His new venture is one of the most popular changes in town. It was announced by a small sign at harbor's edge and word of mouth among his friends. <p></p><p>While the captain's change was subtle, others can't be missed. The most recent -- and the one seeming to cause angst among expats and soon-to-be-arriving tourists, is the sale of our local supermarket chain. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherp8qs8SokllYygyituksVpZ1EGyMUpahOSynoT3rx5flGCMcUq6Q4gWu5PrMD-Btp_yruxuhMb9n1iJYlHGJl5Z-eBrYmF9xUDj5QU1Tp3Jf5ag-HTzhtXID8qaONc_yGDlp3-JAWLGxHfG6ZFgNYpy7irOQWcK9kSYNOq0sffkUlsloWBZ_gmFOqg/s2016/blogkaterinas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherp8qs8SokllYygyituksVpZ1EGyMUpahOSynoT3rx5flGCMcUq6Q4gWu5PrMD-Btp_yruxuhMb9n1iJYlHGJl5Z-eBrYmF9xUDj5QU1Tp3Jf5ag-HTzhtXID8qaONc_yGDlp3-JAWLGxHfG6ZFgNYpy7irOQWcK9kSYNOq0sffkUlsloWBZ_gmFOqg/w442-h332/blogkaterinas.jpg" width="442" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Katerina's is closing!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Let me tell you, if you want to get speculation to an all-time high and nerves jangling among those who don't like change, just start talking about changing the small grocery store chain serving our area. We have two independently owned supermarkets; one of which will continue operating every day but Sunday, as it always has while the other closes temporarily for a change of ownership. </p><p>Turns out the news of the sale is true. We wait to learn of the new operating hours. Because our Katerina's market chain is locally owned and it will be different having a new chain operating shops in its place. One of the Katerina's stores - the one in our village -- closed last week for renovation by the new owners. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitveL9AG7eir4HPhsCg_Qo0QA0siagT6U6QzYVoeyP5hkUS6TC-qQKf7URMmOFV_4oxa6n3_z1b7d0aXJGXAxOXUawIYc7Qe1yTVzY85SvQ3blxwBu4-gkUgo3mbIPjXqsANlGbAZAB8TlTUW3CUe6dsTjixPAZ37yElviItev-XF6M0hzlIv7QJvT4w/s2016/blogkritikos.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitveL9AG7eir4HPhsCg_Qo0QA0siagT6U6QzYVoeyP5hkUS6TC-qQKf7URMmOFV_4oxa6n3_z1b7d0aXJGXAxOXUawIYc7Qe1yTVzY85SvQ3blxwBu4-gkUgo3mbIPjXqsANlGbAZAB8TlTUW3CUe6dsTjixPAZ37yElviItev-XF6M0hzlIv7QJvT4w/w454-h361/blogkritikos.jpg" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Litsa's Katerina's closed this week and will reopen under new ownership</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It and three other Katerina's will open as a Kritikos stores, part of a Greek grocery chain that got its start on the island of Aegina as a mom-and-pop shop decades ago; now with hundreds of stores across the country. We will miss the retiring Litsa who oversaw our small store's operation, but staff members are all returning as employees of the new store. We are among those rather excited about this change, having seen Kritikos outlets elsewhere in Greece and knowing that no one is losing their job. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZF6Uz0-0_8g1VmFj9sJyH_jrljle3-zNGaSVuSA7UArIXXMYsRNtvQfJPlbowAhv3bHj5tn1A0ACLkrTBvuRBTRMuMElM1W7B0j3oqxw6ghuAaeOtnDrGlwJke-wq7lpzDi6kHAHSomerpdPiGxXjjOkx6ugr-iAgt1G1_kaccaGMpkpsR3wRDCAIA/s3804/P1110994.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2853" data-original-width="3804" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZF6Uz0-0_8g1VmFj9sJyH_jrljle3-zNGaSVuSA7UArIXXMYsRNtvQfJPlbowAhv3bHj5tn1A0ACLkrTBvuRBTRMuMElM1W7B0j3oqxw6ghuAaeOtnDrGlwJke-wq7lpzDi6kHAHSomerpdPiGxXjjOkx6ugr-iAgt1G1_kaccaGMpkpsR3wRDCAIA/w467-h341/P1110994.JPG" width="467" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kritikos on the island of Spetses</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Just down the road from the little grocery store, a new upscale restaurant opened in a renovated stone building along the harbor where a long-time favorite, but seasonal, restaurant had operated for years. While we miss the traditional restaurant, the new one, Medikon, quickly became a favorite of ours and others. As a full-time resident here, I can tell you it is nice to have year-round-eating-out options in the village.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU9Kmks6fQgX_46KaEFlHf_Zwzzr6_5t-spQeZYkeodYO2JqOX0-10a24lfMNIhz_K2yNBYQzdiKrJWrsftDB97KpaEdS-fxB2SwVehQjAwHB9ZqK_8RnVOJwz2vtroUh42xqVPGWBkFdAVeubpcq7MCB3YQacwezhytV0ud2n439Wwop12bFwG18JEg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU9Kmks6fQgX_46KaEFlHf_Zwzzr6_5t-spQeZYkeodYO2JqOX0-10a24lfMNIhz_K2yNBYQzdiKrJWrsftDB97KpaEdS-fxB2SwVehQjAwHB9ZqK_8RnVOJwz2vtroUh42xqVPGWBkFdAVeubpcq7MCB3YQacwezhytV0ud2n439Wwop12bFwG18JEg=w416-h328" width="416" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining at Medikon - interior courtyard</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The food is so good there, that on our recent cruise we found ourselves comparing a specialty dining venue on the ship with our hometown eatery as being, 'as good as Medikon!' We no longer need to travel to Athens for a fine dining experience. Change has come to the village.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizZZsxlEIwYcCicURwwKGL3_0S1cKoKHNIrUG9M8iSnK3qIayzw9VoNxzzG7W3jzFfI-h9HJhmiRlmx9wjtk3kqH67IiFZkQ3oj81FriRDRAJ2neobtKR3oY5CMo_99Uzxkx6UwZvJIRVtdgg7zbxg8HSEWJF2xGQaT34kdzS4zDIR1ZBbY_s9hdHLrw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizZZsxlEIwYcCicURwwKGL3_0S1cKoKHNIrUG9M8iSnK3qIayzw9VoNxzzG7W3jzFfI-h9HJhmiRlmx9wjtk3kqH67IiFZkQ3oj81FriRDRAJ2neobtKR3oY5CMo_99Uzxkx6UwZvJIRVtdgg7zbxg8HSEWJF2xGQaT34kdzS4zDIR1ZBbY_s9hdHLrw=w423-h311" width="423" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Souvlaki, pizza and Medikon - our harbor is lined with new eateries</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>Next door to Medikon, a pizza place - a sister to the one in neighboring village Stoupa - opened a couple years ago. Then the souvlaki place next to it changed ownership earlier this year and expanded its operation and waterfront presence. The souvlaki place even offers home delivery!</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Growing Pains</span></h3><p>We've found the most difficult part of change has been the goodbye's it has brought with it. We welcome the new but miss the old familiar faces and hangouts. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrU0yAdMz2VY4NvQ_meGvlVhT6aihUQmkIZkzLJVAMizcvfmJv2WAQIG0KxQkKAmOlwan8d9v6F17idmCv-QVk9T5CxY4PPtUnRZYdrFtPU-Q-3M3qMIbKUc9MVpAr4yoAgkQr9EFxYQ0KnMu6_DuJrn-98ZMkUgz6FxE8Jy7Op_g5eI9qe-pvxr_o6Q/s2016/blogaspacia.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrU0yAdMz2VY4NvQ_meGvlVhT6aihUQmkIZkzLJVAMizcvfmJv2WAQIG0KxQkKAmOlwan8d9v6F17idmCv-QVk9T5CxY4PPtUnRZYdrFtPU-Q-3M3qMIbKUc9MVpAr4yoAgkQr9EFxYQ0KnMu6_DuJrn-98ZMkUgz6FxE8Jy7Op_g5eI9qe-pvxr_o6Q/w323-h374/blogaspacia.jpg" width="323" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend Aspacia - a casualty of change?</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Many of you have come to know through these posts my friend, Aspacia, who lived next to the ATM. It is this woman with whom I exchanged plant starts and hugs throughout the year. She spoke no English and my Greek was limited. I gave her a poinsettia each Christmas, she gave me fresh eggs. She and her husband sold honey from their home. One day they were there, it seemed, and the next day construction was underway.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFKP6C-9Nj007oRR70PrtcyjMQZalkfyml6JkJ0IuKxCYrP_G7zlSG0zCGTeVyb_HCvbjAcFUndXEjBdIpPY46t6ZSRLV4ZTNCioFkdN_W1MjjIMOyS6zuvjjo4pFNwLiqTyg7ct5gVnstoQuJG2CPb0XFSn09Ugfy5D7l7fGdOHzYGfz7DMSEgCqdQ/s2016/blogatmagnik.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFKP6C-9Nj007oRR70PrtcyjMQZalkfyml6JkJ0IuKxCYrP_G7zlSG0zCGTeVyb_HCvbjAcFUndXEjBdIpPY46t6ZSRLV4ZTNCioFkdN_W1MjjIMOyS6zuvjjo4pFNwLiqTyg7ct5gVnstoQuJG2CPb0XFSn09Ugfy5D7l7fGdOHzYGfz7DMSEgCqdQ/w344-h400/blogatmagnik.jpg" width="344" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New home of something - but not Aspacia </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>A sleek glass door now leads into a renovated space where they made their home for the decade we've been here. No one in the village seems to know where they have gone. Nor what is going into the commercial space.</p><p>But it was the closing of Gregg's Plateia in January, that probably sent the most shock waves through not only this village but neighboring villages as well. For 15 years it had been the place you went when you needed food, drink, help, advice, a laugh or a hug. Gregg, his mom Freda, wife Kathy, and their sons, along with longtime employee, Nikki, were celebrated at an impromptu closing party where well wishes were offered, and tears were shed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLcJhnO9OthNFOikSuXSZS_S81lgXZ_YNtTrW4AyUP_tGrAnLobLRSp7O3V11D2cP_VpA5k6ipEyD0r1nt_Ybi1PW-M3oKafEE450VXfV2yRk5Dw5YozQL2kCd4VZYFxZlmVGcAi7wn8cfaKyg0bIQxrTep0m6KPMVc7XlNbWyzIqXpx5RWyx6J_hCJA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLcJhnO9OthNFOikSuXSZS_S81lgXZ_YNtTrW4AyUP_tGrAnLobLRSp7O3V11D2cP_VpA5k6ipEyD0r1nt_Ybi1PW-M3oKafEE450VXfV2yRk5Dw5YozQL2kCd4VZYFxZlmVGcAi7wn8cfaKyg0bIQxrTep0m6KPMVc7XlNbWyzIqXpx5RWyx6J_hCJA=w483-h352" width="483" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our visitors always made a stop at Gregg's Plateia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The business closed and the building is being renovated. It will house a meze restaurant owned by the same people who opened Medikon. Gregg has just announced he will begin a transfer service, taking passengers to and from Athens and Kalamata. Freda is enjoying time with family in Australia. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVR9kg3Bt6VZlNS7zmk17Gw0Govn3zEpfRy8P0mWJmdFz48edsLdf9KzFgTZflocyJKUz3_2nMyX92OIoP5D-AxO56_T3UhR1wrCZqg2cM2sb3VeiKhy7t3CybNeBp3XIEiP50IiCJcXnYJ-HMLvFbdr9lSbTK2aetZTVhGZbXiATNGiOhcncGkrhcA/s4000/P1070938.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVR9kg3Bt6VZlNS7zmk17Gw0Govn3zEpfRy8P0mWJmdFz48edsLdf9KzFgTZflocyJKUz3_2nMyX92OIoP5D-AxO56_T3UhR1wrCZqg2cM2sb3VeiKhy7t3CybNeBp3XIEiP50IiCJcXnYJ-HMLvFbdr9lSbTK2aetZTVhGZbXiATNGiOhcncGkrhcA/w453-h343/P1070938.JPG" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No one was a stranger at Gregg's - Freda and a guest from Arizona</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We are all eager to try the new place, yet nearly six months later, it doesn't seem right not having Gregg's Plateia in the village. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRfsystsgbF81d7RGas_1WFDmro9QMwf3m2j08WNAWnAX-h7omxLHlZiK9ft436oWmJF-8rQrT6qszQyvdfzq8LtCxDq05vSD1Jdsv1OCfwJXHDSYmTSm01eEGiCcvgsTSu0tTEidQVzYOP5Yhw26qSp6AMSkBi8g1ix3L0Aoek2coy1wsrrPv8jofA/s4000/P1110876.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRfsystsgbF81d7RGas_1WFDmro9QMwf3m2j08WNAWnAX-h7omxLHlZiK9ft436oWmJF-8rQrT6qszQyvdfzq8LtCxDq05vSD1Jdsv1OCfwJXHDSYmTSm01eEGiCcvgsTSu0tTEidQVzYOP5Yhw26qSp6AMSkBi8g1ix3L0Aoek2coy1wsrrPv8jofA/w417-h308/P1110876.JPG" width="417" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bus still inches through town at least twice a day!!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Maybe COVID lockdown gave rise to the changes. Maybe it has been the impact of the growing numbers of expats - those like us -- who've been charmed by the place and want more than a vacation-sized serving of life here. </p><p>Maybe it is the Greek government's push to expand tourism to year-round and in still-developing tourist destinations. In May the Peloponnese Tourism folks and the City of Kalamata hosted a conference of more than 300 travel writers, bloggers, content producers, and influencers as we are all called now. I can assure you, those attending loved what they saw of this area! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEae8hXiZqOCeUr8UVUzPWmjX2l6CiDjDRs5btCoe9-MssVpJdMjiyLh6Dyo6OV4lU1D55mcTXrHAo88cBxCH5BxkgLgCR7rW2Ik3YYjDBhW15slSJaI5sZsVcrbNu9foCvHJO5elU37BjYuoQv-79Fd5_uDyBH7JkJVKnQU0VHJK05T_euFhOHS0xQ/s4128/villagefromnotary.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="4128" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEae8hXiZqOCeUr8UVUzPWmjX2l6CiDjDRs5btCoe9-MssVpJdMjiyLh6Dyo6OV4lU1D55mcTXrHAo88cBxCH5BxkgLgCR7rW2Ik3YYjDBhW15slSJaI5sZsVcrbNu9foCvHJO5elU37BjYuoQv-79Fd5_uDyBH7JkJVKnQU0VHJK05T_euFhOHS0xQ/w443-h351/villagefromnotary.jpg" width="443" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agios Nikolaos</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Did I mention that we now have a hang-gliding launch pad in the village behind Agios Nikolaos and its not unusual to have a glider land near Pantazi Beach, just to the south of the village?</p><p>That's it for this week. Thanks for being with us again - hope you will be back next time when I ponder expat life. We have heard from many of you and it seems you are contemplating expat life in Greece. It may be time to tell you a bit more about it - the good, the bad and the ugly! Safe travels to you and yours</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-81937999769941586012023-05-08T07:11:00.001-07:002023-05-08T07:11:34.400-07:00Surprisingly Stunning Saigon<p>By whatever name -- Saigon, as it has long been known, or by its actual name, Ho Chi Minh City -- is a city both stunning and full of delightful surprises. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xaM4vqVEet8-9tAxB1LQprQR5xp0zD4M4Q5rYBcLsvVaoGbS7UYGiUggkcCb1_Sx4rVpjTpx31ZYxN3vHuwh6CSe0LEU8y7ptFj-WzYppgUEbYLSdQscKRzgxjmpSTJ3cfM8SZCHCT7Ql9oL18zOe7Iv9DbvPa0iM-C0VbwHJLpUnvCGZWVkIaRwKQ/s2016/saigon2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xaM4vqVEet8-9tAxB1LQprQR5xp0zD4M4Q5rYBcLsvVaoGbS7UYGiUggkcCb1_Sx4rVpjTpx31ZYxN3vHuwh6CSe0LEU8y7ptFj-WzYppgUEbYLSdQscKRzgxjmpSTJ3cfM8SZCHCT7Ql9oL18zOe7Iv9DbvPa0iM-C0VbwHJLpUnvCGZWVkIaRwKQ/w454-h350/saigon2.jpg" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saigon, Ho Chi Minh City full of surprises</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Even though it had been on our travel bucket list for nearly three decades, we didn't come with any expectations; no 'must see' or 'must do'. We simply wanted to see as much as we could in the nearly three days, that we had to explore this sprawling megalopolis. And maybe that is why we found it so full of surprises, and so stunning.</p><p>Here, unlike Cambodia, we explored on our own. . .on foot. A bit warm with temperatures in the low 90F's but with good walking shoes, quite easy to accomplish.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusafIQgbzG8oLucjvm3s0Qyxy9Ug_xHKKbED-uo2O6eafjVVJXhiaBdDp7UjhmF-4cCeCl92Mro3FtS1kgHJBHiHOfv3D6AKgKLR4Q_D9qpy69TWwvVbMMPHS28zLOI9x5xjRMW2XzZCo0ZktvJ-9ntduS4-Wcw819znf4DmwApnlG6Kz1BZCYpAt7g/s4000/P1180551.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusafIQgbzG8oLucjvm3s0Qyxy9Ug_xHKKbED-uo2O6eafjVVJXhiaBdDp7UjhmF-4cCeCl92Mro3FtS1kgHJBHiHOfv3D6AKgKLR4Q_D9qpy69TWwvVbMMPHS28zLOI9x5xjRMW2XzZCo0ZktvJ-9ntduS4-Wcw819znf4DmwApnlG6Kz1BZCYpAt7g/w463-h324/P1180551.JPG" width="463" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City Hall patterned after Paris's Hall de Ville<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>This city was our last port of call and one of the reasons we had chosen this cruise aboard the <b>Oceania <i>Nautica</i></b> itinerary for our 10-day late February getaway. <div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gTo6RHo3hmb5NNzBeMPF4nLzbjRs7bwuTyMrnn86ZoQcZR3cMjwD_AvK1TCr9WizpWQs_yU2ldKIy9aBocswUoXL5fGmY7m0XYDYRcWyRgia88MUm6weVKf2y3bDAwmoBRxiRnzRlpakIEcBpeZ3KBYha_A1vhdAsGG9-tCYVNwAz8om59O_NT0Kpw/s2016/saigon9.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gTo6RHo3hmb5NNzBeMPF4nLzbjRs7bwuTyMrnn86ZoQcZR3cMjwD_AvK1TCr9WizpWQs_yU2ldKIy9aBocswUoXL5fGmY7m0XYDYRcWyRgia88MUm6weVKf2y3bDAwmoBRxiRnzRlpakIEcBpeZ3KBYha_A1vhdAsGG9-tCYVNwAz8om59O_NT0Kpw/w435-h324/saigon9.jpg" width="435" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The polluted Saigon River looked better at night</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The murky river route that led us to the city (you can read about it <b><a href="https://www.travelnwrite.com/2023/04/good-morning-viet-nam.html">here</a></b>) didn't give us any reason to expect much. The stereotype of communist countries had me expecting to find a big city as drab, gray and polluted as the river we traveled to get to it.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQqSPcvBntVOhQM5TYaFYwu4JhXR9-Nha5_s0oC5fZsU-ijsCpXlYv0SOEhkwo9Pz7fIGTiNRfQPoGvERMr_N15Fns5RAZ9kJ5_ktkHxoMcFqAA_uLbP86S7-nI-KfA3Ucl5hfVdzjDAllu3vMASVuUFGRFoGkcyRTKOVrdAR40ivZB6U2u5LKJDK__Q/s2016/saigon16.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQqSPcvBntVOhQM5TYaFYwu4JhXR9-Nha5_s0oC5fZsU-ijsCpXlYv0SOEhkwo9Pz7fIGTiNRfQPoGvERMr_N15Fns5RAZ9kJ5_ktkHxoMcFqAA_uLbP86S7-nI-KfA3Ucl5hfVdzjDAllu3vMASVuUFGRFoGkcyRTKOVrdAR40ivZB6U2u5LKJDK__Q/w346-h400/saigon16.jpg" width="346" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rolls-Royce and Communist Country didn't compute</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p> And that certainly was a misassumption on my part! Clean tree-lined streets were home to high end fashion boutiques offering the ultimate latest designs in in home decor, clothing and shoes. We certainly didn't expect to happen upon a Rolls-Royce dealership across the street from City Hall. . .a showroom so exclusive that you had to show your passport to get into the store!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcL3GUeVydodQG-ZXQuvw0mzTE1JCajvFG-KkO4E2ieR5MK9l3qVZmuG2MQ07rfjvIBc6i7-nM_zmdHelW4AAtld3ig8mwJc-oP9j27nc0H1dOw23ITa23DEjNUMzXcdvx92XKf5Vp3XtWMLpTk7YS0zPD4FaBNt1DoxDE2yDdzMEbp5IrcsxaKfpYg/s3264/saigon17.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcL3GUeVydodQG-ZXQuvw0mzTE1JCajvFG-KkO4E2ieR5MK9l3qVZmuG2MQ07rfjvIBc6i7-nM_zmdHelW4AAtld3ig8mwJc-oP9j27nc0H1dOw23ITa23DEjNUMzXcdvx92XKf5Vp3XtWMLpTk7YS0zPD4FaBNt1DoxDE2yDdzMEbp5IrcsxaKfpYg/w445-h316/saigon17.jpg" width="445" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Scout reflecting on a Rolls-Royce on display</td></tr></tbody></table><p>As 'Saigon', the city had been the capital of the French Colony of Cochinchina and later the Independent Republic of South Vietnam from 1955 to 1975. It became Ho Chi Minh City in 1976, named for the founder of the Communist Party of Viet Nam and the country's long-time leader.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqabAItH_xcp8ScRygqbUopCQCIDYXzkEW9j1lJO7rZNMmJ58rj_r16jEoBB6x3khmEGLVDARjKq7vNqpCPpvH_wUHHw25TZkpLIGzEZz1GNk8NKR7c1wv-sk_f9LCFr1jWd51s37IpkUuNFw6KnBG9k58e0mBDf0fBOn98s5CGOyUYztu0MiEVoL0Jg/s4000/P1180567.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="431" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqabAItH_xcp8ScRygqbUopCQCIDYXzkEW9j1lJO7rZNMmJ58rj_r16jEoBB6x3khmEGLVDARjKq7vNqpCPpvH_wUHHw25TZkpLIGzEZz1GNk8NKR7c1wv-sk_f9LCFr1jWd51s37IpkUuNFw6KnBG9k58e0mBDf0fBOn98s5CGOyUYztu0MiEVoL0Jg/w378-h431/P1180567.JPG" width="378" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A portrait of Ho Chi Minh dominates in the city's post office</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Admittedly, our visit was short. We had just an appetizer-sized sample of the city with our explorations limited to its District 1, an area chockablock with some of the city's most beautiful French colonial buildings lining its wide elegant boulevards.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXSKboLp5IT9kjSANSfPK84y39H4tKXO99YgN4LdM6yftrvVY-MwcbeOCnOJducsDhx9rVpA15Y1fwOHW6UBZqUChLIlEH4nRBLZrBiZIY9oV3v1phK1m_BIbLsUJ4F96zu0B3vBqpsgW58xKdCNV6GgCzJE22hY8qvNvEsSkRGwaDGc87kkdGgsssg/s4000/P1180526.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXSKboLp5IT9kjSANSfPK84y39H4tKXO99YgN4LdM6yftrvVY-MwcbeOCnOJducsDhx9rVpA15Y1fwOHW6UBZqUChLIlEH4nRBLZrBiZIY9oV3v1phK1m_BIbLsUJ4F96zu0B3vBqpsgW58xKdCNV6GgCzJE22hY8qvNvEsSkRGwaDGc87kkdGgsssg/w454-h330/P1180526.JPG" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Majestic opened in 1925, one of the city's oldest and elegant</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Being fans of historic hotels, we headed to the Hotel Majestic to celebrate <i>The Scout's</i> birthday which fell on one of our days in port. The five-story hotel is built in French colonial and French Riviera style and its rooftop bar overlooks the Saigon River. It was a perfect place for a birthday toast!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bhDaDfBv9q7unj_mFYeSkHGIr94zjAjFNTWeZ64nNalqYasKZpyCXXeqq49i0OqWdRO3kEI-z-ytDx_LF-hqqEuOPda3u-K_rujzVuVODrX4nMgCk0UljSdUJV7SY3-93nXv8g59Vw1VNQsMYe5AB7LGjfoQWuar2iBeqYUiveH2UUUSDRKSI3VR1w/s2016/saigon18.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bhDaDfBv9q7unj_mFYeSkHGIr94zjAjFNTWeZ64nNalqYasKZpyCXXeqq49i0OqWdRO3kEI-z-ytDx_LF-hqqEuOPda3u-K_rujzVuVODrX4nMgCk0UljSdUJV7SY3-93nXv8g59Vw1VNQsMYe5AB7LGjfoQWuar2iBeqYUiveH2UUUSDRKSI3VR1w/w438-h331/saigon18.jpg" width="438" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh mango margaritas at the Majestic Hotel</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We sipped fresh mango margaritas, one of the hotel's specialty drinks and agreed this might be a good base should we return for a larger sampling of this city. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHhlmHy4XiK2CEMlo5N8mHSDjYp6tTZ8pFAstnaCobHDWPttny2VcBhltdSbRjET0OU9RPAEAAx-kn52B2JAUdUaVB_zzxDp8SjCS9s7caAsJTgCZKyQvah5b9b0On-wlKZ6x1E57qeqP97OS0E04UdjTlYjlClB-E4K2XgbQByFSGO2OXufZ9BFjWg/s2016/saigon1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHhlmHy4XiK2CEMlo5N8mHSDjYp6tTZ8pFAstnaCobHDWPttny2VcBhltdSbRjET0OU9RPAEAAx-kn52B2JAUdUaVB_zzxDp8SjCS9s7caAsJTgCZKyQvah5b9b0On-wlKZ6x1E57qeqP97OS0E04UdjTlYjlClB-E4K2XgbQByFSGO2OXufZ9BFjWg/w370-h427/saigon1.jpg" width="370" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring rolls at the Rex Hotel rooftop</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Choosing between it and another historic hotel will be a tough decision though. The Rex Hotel, once a hangout for American officers and war correspondents in the 60's and 70's, quickly became a favorite of ours. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1Ei47-Nq_DWMhXGgAtQpq60DkrVGf1u70G2D4jM252XdrMlcRsNePWO0w9AE4GEkkedBpYMRm622-Jp28l4AFm0m6MlvWYZtabKXaLFgXHExkBAjly7QuBtvReJkR8PvQo-9qdRCsnzHKoOhTQGQkyylb-S3HlHAl39gbAEvRUg_go823NWxj1qBMQ/s3378/saigon10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3378" data-original-width="2161" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1Ei47-Nq_DWMhXGgAtQpq60DkrVGf1u70G2D4jM252XdrMlcRsNePWO0w9AE4GEkkedBpYMRm622-Jp28l4AFm0m6MlvWYZtabKXaLFgXHExkBAjly7QuBtvReJkR8PvQo-9qdRCsnzHKoOhTQGQkyylb-S3HlHAl39gbAEvRUg_go823NWxj1qBMQ/w280-h384/saigon10.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee mocha at the Rex Hotel</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We made its rooftop bar -- once known as the home of the Five O'Clock Follies -- a regular stop each morning for iced coffee mochas. We also had appetizers - the best spring rolls we've ever eaten -- and drinks there one evening.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7df7KAskk_XiwqLt5Ezyj93C1_6sBdeRDA1XxaR3hzrPp88OOuE-qAHMOwU17CdKyOcVy6e5E1BGJNEtkJImRHiaNgNMYfW9_9itTBCkCMn3tkcjPpEGElZGOsgLOi1vH0hIu-48iPbgF8IEoZV3VvYX3MOIwgJBMGPIRf0dNNIPr_QMuCbq5nbK5cQ/s3122/saigon12.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2885" data-original-width="3122" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7df7KAskk_XiwqLt5Ezyj93C1_6sBdeRDA1XxaR3hzrPp88OOuE-qAHMOwU17CdKyOcVy6e5E1BGJNEtkJImRHiaNgNMYfW9_9itTBCkCMn3tkcjPpEGElZGOsgLOi1vH0hIu-48iPbgF8IEoZV3VvYX3MOIwgJBMGPIRf0dNNIPr_QMuCbq5nbK5cQ/w496-h370/saigon12.jpg" width="496" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daily war press briefings at 5 pm in the Rex rooftop bar.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The elegant building housing the hotel was opened in 1927 as a car dealership. It wasn't until 1961 that the first guests experienced what that year opened as The Rex Hotel. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GgEnqIAxzDxNsisbznn7vyYmQq4yT-rFJMmkugve_FLme-TlY-blK7fzokgvVm7m2dKOLU4HtK6KH1Qdu7bCQyAls9yEnUPG8LgdGXqQiignOr5gVSUx0kwpCmScptp0LeBM97DURTvPbw1s4OQoXJwRn4rlIWbzCMrYVDf8ya6g7ToTObrZ9cMyXw/s2016/saigon4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GgEnqIAxzDxNsisbznn7vyYmQq4yT-rFJMmkugve_FLme-TlY-blK7fzokgvVm7m2dKOLU4HtK6KH1Qdu7bCQyAls9yEnUPG8LgdGXqQiignOr5gVSUx0kwpCmScptp0LeBM97DURTvPbw1s4OQoXJwRn4rlIWbzCMrYVDf8ya6g7ToTObrZ9cMyXw/w405-h400/saigon4.jpg" width="405" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rex Hotel and its famed rooftop bar</td></tr></tbody></table><p>During the Viet Nam War in the 1970's its rooftop bar was the site of daily press briefings which were nicknamed the 'Five O' Clock Follies' by U.S. journalists who are said to have found the officer's optimism, shall we say, somewhat misguided. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mmDkkL3XXpyK8HQDEIepvk0EQpkB-mhn9HPIsHCZbv7FBhZaRJOPEJV_39XZ62wBi55uHcdhbRjSoGsUZbHkgiVrpsZcXmZoLJctih0wh6qOjWH7P3SohuUa0BUYx7s-sfIGvyoOH8cQYCPhRRRB4-EEIsxEEOGDrujzxR8s8_-rkRbgZRh-etpbbQ/s3264/saigon15.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mmDkkL3XXpyK8HQDEIepvk0EQpkB-mhn9HPIsHCZbv7FBhZaRJOPEJV_39XZ62wBi55uHcdhbRjSoGsUZbHkgiVrpsZcXmZoLJctih0wh6qOjWH7P3SohuUa0BUYx7s-sfIGvyoOH8cQYCPhRRRB4-EEIsxEEOGDrujzxR8s8_-rkRbgZRh-etpbbQ/w482-h347/saigon15.jpg" width="482" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtyard of the War Remants Museum</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Several blocks away the building that housed the U.S. Information Service, has become home of the War Remnants Museum. Previously called the Museum of Chinese and American War Crimes, it was a somber place where the war's atrocities and its impacts on the everyday Vietnamese citizen, were documented through pictorial displays, video, art displays. It was as horrifying to me as the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. We spent far less time than the guidebook's recommended two hours. It isn't a place for everyone. I am glad we went. It is good to see both sides of the story, the old journalist in me, kept reminding us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-5Akat6lsOaVrIVLhfNwwwk-jQKcDq9pZXjs4_jr2ToaCtwXBrFtEDIYEssTu5g2QPbXK3246DBa6xm0JWeL4kufyxmZvME0t2wIHa2Bw2dhO_9w_EQUm4I6sqTfLCAuMdrvDQD9dZrSB4o6GqlrLIQx82YK7QbulvBfBo357NUOJs9OXM_kKfTZqw/s4000/P1180566.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-5Akat6lsOaVrIVLhfNwwwk-jQKcDq9pZXjs4_jr2ToaCtwXBrFtEDIYEssTu5g2QPbXK3246DBa6xm0JWeL4kufyxmZvME0t2wIHa2Bw2dhO_9w_EQUm4I6sqTfLCAuMdrvDQD9dZrSB4o6GqlrLIQx82YK7QbulvBfBo357NUOJs9OXM_kKfTZqw/w465-h350/P1180566.JPG" width="465" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The French-era post office - a popular tourist stop these days</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">We continued sightseeing, by visiting the enormous French-era post office built between 1886 and 1892. While still operating as a post office, the place is a popular tourist destination.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YoQLZCnspy5pSzH7e0bvOYcbXhxEgDkjcFlz8SiEiiPr3nVPsuFOrvImZ4r1s8cujF3ViYy6s-XBPTXrnC7A-Qihi1fSfE_Ql47J430xnQp1CPJHrhha8p6DIvNI3XQRvarFkDJPJ-UXN9ZjXE3R7JdJn5VTzJyf3rF4MAUY7EBWmZDHEgm25m9IlQ/s4000/P1180579.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YoQLZCnspy5pSzH7e0bvOYcbXhxEgDkjcFlz8SiEiiPr3nVPsuFOrvImZ4r1s8cujF3ViYy6s-XBPTXrnC7A-Qihi1fSfE_Ql47J430xnQp1CPJHrhha8p6DIvNI3XQRvarFkDJPJ-UXN9ZjXE3R7JdJn5VTzJyf3rF4MAUY7EBWmZDHEgm25m9IlQ/w523-h331/P1180579.JPG" width="523" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Opera House, officially known as the Municipal Theatre</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our cruise ship shuttle bus stop was across the street from the city's Municipal Theatre, better known as the Opera House. It, like so many of the sights, were magnificent. But in the end, it was those scenes of everyday life that we will likely remember the longest. A small sample of them:</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpmkhvIyQ7UvYovFTKf3igYEdCmsT35knsby12R0gWgbDf09wch-WTGzLf6o1fNFu6L9kNh0c-4hPyisaTvQX3vNbtQIZas0Vbu5WFyawXFROs3Z7qn4DFwviw5CULY3AZ3jzIJkhR1fCS16-0jEYbfS9poaGyAVZyzKl9CuGlsuRslW2qs2E2PHuTg/s4000/P1180591.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpmkhvIyQ7UvYovFTKf3igYEdCmsT35knsby12R0gWgbDf09wch-WTGzLf6o1fNFu6L9kNh0c-4hPyisaTvQX3vNbtQIZas0Vbu5WFyawXFROs3Z7qn4DFwviw5CULY3AZ3jzIJkhR1fCS16-0jEYbfS9poaGyAVZyzKl9CuGlsuRslW2qs2E2PHuTg/w447-h312/P1180591.JPG" width="447" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A supply warehouse on the dock </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Our ship cabin faced the dock, so we were entertained by watching the coming and goings of commerce. A large warehouse, storing all sorts of goods, seemed a hub of activity all day long. </p><p>Of course, the street congestion as seen from our bus made its way to and from the ship, will also be long remembered. (Not to mention trying to cross those streets on foot!)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-iZMRedtYkp3bZWmh2zSRJCbseeLFuJK7_JuexAJm7LyuGIlw9_uiToavJrt-5HYd-H2dA6XkabGoFxE5FcguS1tkhU4JgByDenG9_ytxfomTqvWlK3t7_-7ltbjlTwbQgVaJyhJuSmSrdqMQFPv8bXxxpsyKjM-kRkWMtjoZvE5l6LdRdB8pl-uGA/s2016/saigon14.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-iZMRedtYkp3bZWmh2zSRJCbseeLFuJK7_JuexAJm7LyuGIlw9_uiToavJrt-5HYd-H2dA6XkabGoFxE5FcguS1tkhU4JgByDenG9_ytxfomTqvWlK3t7_-7ltbjlTwbQgVaJyhJuSmSrdqMQFPv8bXxxpsyKjM-kRkWMtjoZvE5l6LdRdB8pl-uGA/w463-h350/saigon14.jpg" width="463" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical traffic congestion in Saigon, Ho Chi Minh City</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>And the school children. They came by the busload to visit the Ho Chi Minh Museum just around the corner from our berth. They found our shuttle bus and we cruise passengers to be of interest and loved it when we waved to them.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwewIL8UhU91haF4f-umTqRULx_vGZr7dKNVr219HvNmpAro_myFshI-Bn2kQtb0uUQOf3-Ai4Pbm8278BdUaGQ4v_E76xsj5XgePGyi6SEHFB9LfTbxlctC25vCMcwaKxH_Yzv8v5b52zCWulaVvDc5aFnlEuJZ_EgNLBLa6m1gpq_K6_jwa8Zig3A/s4000/P1180559.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwewIL8UhU91haF4f-umTqRULx_vGZr7dKNVr219HvNmpAro_myFshI-Bn2kQtb0uUQOf3-Ai4Pbm8278BdUaGQ4v_E76xsj5XgePGyi6SEHFB9LfTbxlctC25vCMcwaKxH_Yzv8v5b52zCWulaVvDc5aFnlEuJZ_EgNLBLa6m1gpq_K6_jwa8Zig3A/w480-h343/P1180559.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">School children waved in greeting</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Our time was too quickly over. We set sail for Singapore where we disembarked and made a dash to the airport for our flight back to Kuala Lumpur. After a night there and our Southeast Asian adventure was in the history books. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for coming along with us once again. We will be back with more travel tales and hope you will be with us! Safe travels to you and yours ~<br /><br /></div></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-82215486800628087222023-04-29T07:29:00.003-07:002023-04-29T07:29:20.201-07:00Good Morning Viet Nam!.<p>Arriving in the very early morning hours we found ourselves in a monochrome world; one that even muted the sunrise. Good morning, Viet Nam! </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLfjrIk3pMPzbFQrRaKDTALjbWykci1snWqY-V2BJqbFvxOgu72od6-9fu_mIqlqKjmG38vSqR4uNtgBwDlbLqHPcgeZ06eETyz94PuvK8zyWv-ZTpMrKJqqMy_NynuOR6s2_nXMmXaih-QQ3XsIo5c04xmh5U4a1C0hEjPvzZH1bqsWff3Sv01-TOw/s4000/P1180477.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLfjrIk3pMPzbFQrRaKDTALjbWykci1snWqY-V2BJqbFvxOgu72od6-9fu_mIqlqKjmG38vSqR4uNtgBwDlbLqHPcgeZ06eETyz94PuvK8zyWv-ZTpMrKJqqMy_NynuOR6s2_nXMmXaih-QQ3XsIo5c04xmh5U4a1C0hEjPvzZH1bqsWff3Sv01-TOw/w456-h326/P1180477.JPG" width="456" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A muted sunrise on the Saigon River, Viet Nam</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Because our cruise ship carried only 625 passengers, it was small enough to dock in Ho Chi Minh City. That meant we had a bit of a river cruise traveling up the Saigon River, at the break of day. Those enormous cruise ships can't make it up the river, so another plus for small ship cruising.<div> <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHACzUn9kAGjNRai0P0VoiSR3fHhbtppamUQSEqh1EIAYQim3yFLconEjnJypBwa3StMBdCeQWUf3yMXS2Nb5srB_dDGCZc1Vyn3d6oVe9IK1vdhyJP53dk51qMCsHU671l43SMBgVJb-hkoxH_NV7-SOyYGpNmeDfFwpx2cPkHAsL_RoezdAqYap6g/s4000/P1180486.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHACzUn9kAGjNRai0P0VoiSR3fHhbtppamUQSEqh1EIAYQim3yFLconEjnJypBwa3StMBdCeQWUf3yMXS2Nb5srB_dDGCZc1Vyn3d6oVe9IK1vdhyJP53dk51qMCsHU671l43SMBgVJb-hkoxH_NV7-SOyYGpNmeDfFwpx2cPkHAsL_RoezdAqYap6g/w446-h349/P1180486.JPG" width="446" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">River traffic on the Saigon was fascinating.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>This was the destination we had been waiting for on this 10-day Southeast Asian cruise. Aboard the Oceania <i>Nautica</i>, we'd set sail from Bangkok, Thailand and had visited Koh Samui, Thailand, then spent a day in Cambodia. We spent two days at sea thanks to stormy weather to our north and finally we were approaching Ho Chi Minh City, still called by some, Saigon.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYmtYgrTV1AGQXWimN_XtfcMHjbe1UaUgPMwEgoYB502E4K8vEzewYy9iOJp2iW_iqj97m3AjHuBSXTGfB7f8e6tQicXGlMZ_92GS8y1XFeDjoeWSld8Gx1K7YgBIFzxH5w7id6xXOKsawiPyrtqHOLGlXovb5p8Ap2dO9nZid3eVUGygbVlTu-MK6Q/s1478/saigon%20river%20map.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1269" data-original-width="1478" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYmtYgrTV1AGQXWimN_XtfcMHjbe1UaUgPMwEgoYB502E4K8vEzewYy9iOJp2iW_iqj97m3AjHuBSXTGfB7f8e6tQicXGlMZ_92GS8y1XFeDjoeWSld8Gx1K7YgBIFzxH5w7id6xXOKsawiPyrtqHOLGlXovb5p8Ap2dO9nZid3eVUGygbVlTu-MK6Q/w472-h369/saigon%20river%20map.jpg" width="472" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Saigon River, a journey in itself</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>One of my favorite parts of cruising is arriving at a port, especially one that we've never been to before. And this was certainly that! The everyday sights and sounds are every bit as interesting to us as are the 'tourist attractions' that await on land. I guess we'd ascribe to the theory that in cruising, the journey is every bit as interesting as the destination itself. The Saigon River didn't disappoint.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVosGgcldc1bAQB4anxNigGuNJjnNkQzITjES5EhHLRwnhpMwd0v1fGshuJN-rDJPAxbLpd1f1Swf92aQ5kFsHBjxD_oA5go6NJ4JDwJcSOcxmJhyJaV79HhDL16FjaEL5v-1fywSVhU5moHUyb5qh1WYGtH9j0coI4VgfCb7hx-c5mXkYv2YuEwi26Q/s4000/P1180474.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVosGgcldc1bAQB4anxNigGuNJjnNkQzITjES5EhHLRwnhpMwd0v1fGshuJN-rDJPAxbLpd1f1Swf92aQ5kFsHBjxD_oA5go6NJ4JDwJcSOcxmJhyJaV79HhDL16FjaEL5v-1fywSVhU5moHUyb5qh1WYGtH9j0coI4VgfCb7hx-c5mXkYv2YuEwi26Q/w492-h347/P1180474.JPG" width="492" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entering the mangrove lined river</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Remembering 'that' war</span></h3><p>The majority of our fellow cruisers were of the age to have lived through the Viet Nam war years.<i> The Scout, </i>on this journey, recalled his luck in having a military draft lottery number of 365, virtually an assurance he wouldn't be called to serve in the Southeast Asion conflict. I was a teenager who remembers the horrors that appeared in U.S. headlines. My memories of what had actually taken place here were as hazy as the atmosphere.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISND0x97t5sm2AgDNCnghI76YmrNyLGFK_kJ0_JjJksbx0ZkH3BQ676Ada9wV-3MqvoNIJ_i5U1eElzffMwsr7N6sTyLN6Ji3YHtxkbTuvnw8SuufETxhxUeSYQckdFWjDNjZQAJwPBisNgstf1RPAQS2tzABXNxDHQZ_CbVoeQhdkQQ1L3dBPVmSqg/s4000/P1180479.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISND0x97t5sm2AgDNCnghI76YmrNyLGFK_kJ0_JjJksbx0ZkH3BQ676Ada9wV-3MqvoNIJ_i5U1eElzffMwsr7N6sTyLN6Ji3YHtxkbTuvnw8SuufETxhxUeSYQckdFWjDNjZQAJwPBisNgstf1RPAQS2tzABXNxDHQZ_CbVoeQhdkQQ1L3dBPVmSqg/w488-h338/P1180479.JPG" width="488" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along the Saigon River</td></tr></tbody></table><p>For others on the ship, the memories of the war were much more vivid. One of our fellow passengers, a Vietnamese lady, was returning back to visit her country. She had been one of the 'boat people' who had managed to escape. </p><p>Another man, who had served in Viet Nam, stood next to us at the railing as we entered the river. He gazed out to sea as if seeing a scene from decades ago, and said, "We were out there. Our boat was out there. . .we saved 150 of them. . .they wouldn't have made it, had we not been there." </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0j8tRRLBlOQqqXjuLpNhB7e3rJbGyM1C_Pj9Q0ED6kZcoCfEzdn427E-2_FD5SowjngltZkRT1-Vxreirx-hB9WEUmbcOXw3n5wmyB-eH-guPxkEU2aw0cWILpYVAPdnMDd1wLj1LfIEeb-8sFI5yQG0-ZWmrmF6UWaKl2aBvGG4McOXMYwmibp1OHA/s4000/P1180481.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0j8tRRLBlOQqqXjuLpNhB7e3rJbGyM1C_Pj9Q0ED6kZcoCfEzdn427E-2_FD5SowjngltZkRT1-Vxreirx-hB9WEUmbcOXw3n5wmyB-eH-guPxkEU2aw0cWILpYVAPdnMDd1wLj1LfIEeb-8sFI5yQG0-ZWmrmF6UWaKl2aBvGG4McOXMYwmibp1OHA/w456-h335/P1180481.JPG" width="456" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bridge under construction on the Saigon River</td></tr></tbody></table><p>He then pulled out his wallet and retrieved a folded bill, a Vietnamese 'dong' as their currency is called. He showed it to us, saying, 'I've carried this with me since then.' He gave it a final glance, folded it up and tucked it and the memories it held back in his wallet and then continued to gaze at the sea. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Up a Hazy and Polluted River</span></h3><p>I'll admit that we've become spoiled by the crystal clear, deep blue and green waters that surround us in our adopted country, Greece. Some days the clearness and color intensity stop us in our tracks - so beautiful, that it doesn't look real, as in the photo below:</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4ghEjcXfbx4TKxvFB42YCet9RzXFh1DiNAHY-tXwEHiSgYdqwpARTFpkQ20Z5M8OsL9xrqAEVJRMr5fsSPZEAZtGhmXIHK7PNyJC5tfQidIlt1JfE3njrbJ-Umsi28nQWuS1LqszRe3ThcDE6OTWWm6VSOawFJfqfaXGKWwgrP-DjarXEa9pE7o43A/s4896/P1010624.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4ghEjcXfbx4TKxvFB42YCet9RzXFh1DiNAHY-tXwEHiSgYdqwpARTFpkQ20Z5M8OsL9xrqAEVJRMr5fsSPZEAZtGhmXIHK7PNyJC5tfQidIlt1JfE3njrbJ-Umsi28nQWuS1LqszRe3ThcDE6OTWWm6VSOawFJfqfaXGKWwgrP-DjarXEa9pE7o43A/s320/P1010624.JPG" width="320" /></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_6NuQXuEwH8u-narrRwk-c2RYF4beSVgsQMtMU8aMQ1YJ2n2Nb3BwOLwEO7MmZ2O_nCOniUSvB-JEm5v-dJFAvggzn4HSIHF0IFPgUqEY4vDH4ti3AmizYQb5tLjIxGxj-fymKsTXE4hxf-0Nzmyo2QCEF0mvUPTjo4RDkhJj-dVwkhYjxWYiLTfeQ/s4000/P1180506.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_6NuQXuEwH8u-narrRwk-c2RYF4beSVgsQMtMU8aMQ1YJ2n2Nb3BwOLwEO7MmZ2O_nCOniUSvB-JEm5v-dJFAvggzn4HSIHF0IFPgUqEY4vDH4ti3AmizYQb5tLjIxGxj-fymKsTXE4hxf-0Nzmyo2QCEF0mvUPTjo4RDkhJj-dVwkhYjxWYiLTfeQ/s320/P1180506.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>So you can imagine our reaction to the Saigon River pollution. I took this shot and several others of the free-floating debris that we traveled through to reach the dock. It seemed endless. While motor vehicles and scooter pollution contribute to a hazy - polluted - atmosphere at times, we lucked out and had blue skies. </div><div><br /></div><div>But the polluted river has so many sources of contamination that it doesn't seem to stand a fighting chance at clearing up anytime soon.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIB8IDzNhaOJGqSRVjBdS9hOFdxHIZSb-OAG2C1DzvTMZbvCxp1DGwD9KHsI2fx8fL4k9kdLXYSoCkP58JjV8xw1RwcZdGHhJZTdF-9KXZg9roHkXMJfNWF7Ez0El3gk9aaJtpDO2Ow7BXFe9CT2KnMsR6JUi71_6QTLGek4VTkXYC2GWRw6ZUZ1Kg8w/s4000/P1180498.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIB8IDzNhaOJGqSRVjBdS9hOFdxHIZSb-OAG2C1DzvTMZbvCxp1DGwD9KHsI2fx8fL4k9kdLXYSoCkP58JjV8xw1RwcZdGHhJZTdF-9KXZg9roHkXMJfNWF7Ez0El3gk9aaJtpDO2Ow7BXFe9CT2KnMsR6JUi71_6QTLGek4VTkXYC2GWRw6ZUZ1Kg8w/w458-h360/P1180498.JPG" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A current of garbage making its way to sea</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Since returning and preparing to write this post, I have been reading about the sad state of the Saigon River -- actually, somewhat startling, in this day and age of world-wide environmental focus. There are so many sources of pollution it is mind-numbing. Industrial, agricultural and population-generated waste are all blamed for the river's pollution. Most recent articles about the city say leaders are 'looking at' the waste problem - sadly, none report any actions being taken. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUh6JzOpNRUfv9H2HynCPZE3-9B9Z_Bn17VEMR5J2YYCtBSMVwbEomKpjsU5QsFTKDrI_tK1mLFbZeAa-xC2seb_-roA8elyeqn-OvvK8-YmliPV7xVu9Ez2-FOTKi7uypevtsmBTQRk2269PkJck4VccJme6KWDu3AAlzkGouf59tlbsj6Oz-dGZ5w/s4000/P1180608.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUh6JzOpNRUfv9H2HynCPZE3-9B9Z_Bn17VEMR5J2YYCtBSMVwbEomKpjsU5QsFTKDrI_tK1mLFbZeAa-xC2seb_-roA8elyeqn-OvvK8-YmliPV7xVu9Ez2-FOTKi7uypevtsmBTQRk2269PkJck4VccJme6KWDu3AAlzkGouf59tlbsj6Oz-dGZ5w/w470-h329/P1180608.JPG" width="470" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pollution in the Saigon River</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>We docked some three hours after entering the river. Our stay in this city of about nine million people was for the better part of three days. By the second day the ship was asking guests to conserve water because they were not taking on water here. I can see why!</div><div><br /></div><div>One morning as we made our way into the city, we saw a shop owner vigorously sweeping the waste that had accumulated on the sidewalk in front of his small business. It was an admirable effort until he swept the containers and garbage into the storm water drain instead of putting them in a garbage can!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvP4xEY45rHWNa2ASREgYeU8brwY0aZ7VW_Rj710BqhcNkT7sqVI6bT-Jywq3_kn536KSk44um-oPuAXDuuEqfLV0r7MnkDXPVasiEzdmtRjtIe4oLRHLJc9V85W1x2B01nlCdQ3FwFoXwfzDgeMdV4qrQSpt0bvEUZuw6YAWIGfgeJYFoSlFAi1VHA/s4000/P1180515.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvP4xEY45rHWNa2ASREgYeU8brwY0aZ7VW_Rj710BqhcNkT7sqVI6bT-Jywq3_kn536KSk44um-oPuAXDuuEqfLV0r7MnkDXPVasiEzdmtRjtIe4oLRHLJc9V85W1x2B01nlCdQ3FwFoXwfzDgeMdV4qrQSpt0bvEUZuw6YAWIGfgeJYFoSlFAi1VHA/w454-h331/P1180515.JPG" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching Ho Chi Minh City</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>While our introduction to this amazing city was a bit off-putting due to the pollution and haze, it was a fabulous stop in a most amazing city. It exceeded my expectations tenfold. We are both saying a return visit will be in order. Next post will focus on all that is stunningly beautiful in this, the largest city in Viet Nam.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until then thanks for joining us today. Wishes for happy and safe travels to you and yours~</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-30125437196242603972023-04-13T07:07:00.001-07:002023-04-13T07:07:54.231-07:00Adrift in the South China Sea<p> Adrift, is probably too strong a word. As in reality, we simply sailed in circles for a couple of days.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeysJDA5adFaClb4Q24V9bXFwwJAVaCv0_3uk93YwZFNVwzyeohRWRlELla3fEhjOj9bN79PGC9gfwSGeupOPqYf88ZWoxP47YNr7r7gyjjPUj0r7YTQDeUo7fnebEcYgRKDJbX7_YSHIXNHuso8YXE0lQefzrT_qTCl3zcwBafu2WvZOQjM4hm3MkXQ/s2016/cruiseshiptender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeysJDA5adFaClb4Q24V9bXFwwJAVaCv0_3uk93YwZFNVwzyeohRWRlELla3fEhjOj9bN79PGC9gfwSGeupOPqYf88ZWoxP47YNr7r7gyjjPUj0r7YTQDeUo7fnebEcYgRKDJbX7_YSHIXNHuso8YXE0lQefzrT_qTCl3zcwBafu2WvZOQjM4hm3MkXQ/w348-h462/cruiseshiptender.jpg" width="348" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tender at the side of our Nautica ship</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">We were sailing from Cambodia to Nha Trang, our first stop in Viet Nam, on a 10-day Southeast Asian adventure aboard Oceania's Nautica. But when we checked the ship's navigational map, it appeared our ship was headed back the direction from which we had come. </span><span style="text-align: left;">We joked with others at breakfast that someone had better tell the captain we were supposed to be going the other way.</span></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLg2bv_PQdb_7vGE1DLlU8Dh2wWbO9_mAnGbeSDadxFg2luxgEV8ULIGxYIoCYRq8Xpv3ESBo9yOsIf3LX3VwTn037rgpQb8qyTB86gZwteGyrWn_Es9uObXGJnCqTiQO9Vbk_bN8ONwx4fYUrV6QQV2m0UdBl3yWzIEa9B2YPGHCrMFCD2QISpdRh8A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLg2bv_PQdb_7vGE1DLlU8Dh2wWbO9_mAnGbeSDadxFg2luxgEV8ULIGxYIoCYRq8Xpv3ESBo9yOsIf3LX3VwTn037rgpQb8qyTB86gZwteGyrWn_Es9uObXGJnCqTiQO9Vbk_bN8ONwx4fYUrV6QQV2m0UdBl3yWzIEa9B2YPGHCrMFCD2QISpdRh8A=w453-h336" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue line shows our circling the South China Sea</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Turns out the captain got the last laugh. We were going just the way he intended. The morning announcements confirmed we were going back the way we came as we were getting away from the storm and rough seas that would prevent our visit to Nha Trang. As the blue line on the map above indicates we didn't move very far either direction for a time.</p><p>Instead of one day at sea, we'd have two. Now we both like sea days, but when the selling point of the cruise had been two stops in Viet Nam, the news, I will admit, was disappointing. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJ6CmB0wylcLQFhO85KaXTrbmkcdobPCFBqdDd2NqGC22GKHXvoFXBIMvcMVmZbMEMQ7qWvn4ukxC56EJwc6etk4oU4sKw_BiZ4oUE83gTgQEpQ38e0ISqpJCib6VzNU700VkErOg6aHylgr3AVxrI4HnlCHNYCN1hAlvfO8en0ufmbt_vbCQOj_XDQ/s3853/cruiseshiptender2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3853" data-original-width="2890" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJ6CmB0wylcLQFhO85KaXTrbmkcdobPCFBqdDd2NqGC22GKHXvoFXBIMvcMVmZbMEMQ7qWvn4ukxC56EJwc6etk4oU4sKw_BiZ4oUE83gTgQEpQ38e0ISqpJCib6VzNU700VkErOg6aHylgr3AVxrI4HnlCHNYCN1hAlvfO8en0ufmbt_vbCQOj_XDQ/w337-h428/cruiseshiptender2.jpg" width="337" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Koh Samui tenders were open to the sea and sun</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>But the port we were skipping was a' tender port'; one that requires the ship to anchor some distance out at sea, passengers descend a portable stairway attached to the side of the ship and board small boats that take them back and forth between the port and ship. </p><p>Sometimes the shuttle runs in those 'lifeboat' tenders that dangle at the side of the ship and other times they are provided by the port. In Koh Samui, Thailand, we had colorful Thai tenders that opened to both the sea and the sun. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNa1Z4u8d1_gc1HIIA9ih2DpagCey234g4nzGTJbUADDB4Z-8icCKRsyId4xrnlvJGKXbyYfXCgklqlKjp_f7DsNLU520TQg47--wMjo6v70AGZfBtbqvg49fkAD-5wFbgCHSmqtIICmuuNTqjjt0zI6wJkhbuVVy189bYNhXIhvuyYIudCMmjY6tFFQ/s3906/cruiseshipthailand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2930" data-original-width="3906" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNa1Z4u8d1_gc1HIIA9ih2DpagCey234g4nzGTJbUADDB4Z-8icCKRsyId4xrnlvJGKXbyYfXCgklqlKjp_f7DsNLU520TQg47--wMjo6v70AGZfBtbqvg49fkAD-5wFbgCHSmqtIICmuuNTqjjt0zI6wJkhbuVVy189bYNhXIhvuyYIudCMmjY6tFFQ/w428-h338/cruiseshipthailand.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our ship at sea in a tender port, Koh Samui, Thailand</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Neither of the small boat options would be good in a storm when the ship is a healthy distance from the shore.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljqMKD8ESoRmoC1d0Qb1dO-QjF9vldQ2p5aFKaZlgLTt29tm9JSP7AWJlTXq1MDYYUwKY8afTddEI1vftXVQrZdLSv40Mb3a6oryxyjO6e5JNfuIuZZzMX7kkfH8EcO35uEXQWB6Jxmgxflh8j9WSBkO6llUP2MA6EIS39qXhMiBE0Lm7S9z13ovQew/s4000/P1180407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljqMKD8ESoRmoC1d0Qb1dO-QjF9vldQ2p5aFKaZlgLTt29tm9JSP7AWJlTXq1MDYYUwKY8afTddEI1vftXVQrZdLSv40Mb3a6oryxyjO6e5JNfuIuZZzMX7kkfH8EcO35uEXQWB6Jxmgxflh8j9WSBkO6llUP2MA6EIS39qXhMiBE0Lm7S9z13ovQew/w431-h333/P1180407.JPG" width="431" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Nautica Horizon's Lounge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>It was a good reminder that the best laid travel plans don't always work out, especially when traveling on the sea and subject to the whims of Mother Nature and the weather gods. The nice thing about being on a cruise ship with such an itinerary change was not having to scramble to find an additional night's accommodations nor change airline tickets. </p><p>For two days, the ship and the sea would be our world.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_UhEa9OzrfjhuD0gGTaIqp0iBo5yoswomRsVrF1no1XAEtbDhTxsm_6wyiA3zElJcUDP8tZ8v80iwsgtR4RjPoJz4XoejOcErRpLPb4qKEZJVGmTRXGeZxc995hZFOMsErEucL8AeyWIvEF6O1pJWHTtkZhuIRP5s50nOcfsbmWUYq2BJ40TYVBHjQ/s4000/P1180411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_UhEa9OzrfjhuD0gGTaIqp0iBo5yoswomRsVrF1no1XAEtbDhTxsm_6wyiA3zElJcUDP8tZ8v80iwsgtR4RjPoJz4XoejOcErRpLPb4qKEZJVGmTRXGeZxc995hZFOMsErEucL8AeyWIvEF6O1pJWHTtkZhuIRP5s50nOcfsbmWUYq2BJ40TYVBHjQ/w441-h338/P1180411.JPG" width="441" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Days at Sea. . .<br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>In today's cruise world, our ship with just more than 600 passengers, is considered small. Yet, it came with a choice of dining venues (fine dining to grilled hot dogs and milk shakes), there was musical entertainment, a small casino, theater, movies, lectures, cooking demonstrations, and a wonderful wood-paneled library where you could spend hours. <div><br /><div>Staying on board was not tough duty.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W_KaTtVmI38wvjuso4ZCi_J0g6m3W_N10vHqhiCwp34HfTWYXu19tBweNY8hNdc8-f3IMGm75YIRzP00QkwGwo_awcm2B5LhahZ8b_b0jUoHFmpBYs5MFvOHri9Yyn153RW8SOK6yDo4zSQfTGyvVpqt3tg1asSisXbt3eNDsNFrzvqbOOdyk_4S9w/s2016/roomservicecoffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W_KaTtVmI38wvjuso4ZCi_J0g6m3W_N10vHqhiCwp34HfTWYXu19tBweNY8hNdc8-f3IMGm75YIRzP00QkwGwo_awcm2B5LhahZ8b_b0jUoHFmpBYs5MFvOHri9Yyn153RW8SOK6yDo4zSQfTGyvVpqt3tg1asSisXbt3eNDsNFrzvqbOOdyk_4S9w/w357-h400/roomservicecoffee.jpg" width="357" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning coffee on our cabin's deck - a daily event</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>We didn't completely avoid that storm and our ship was rocked both evenings of our sea days with wind and waves. Think of a cradle rocking from side to side and you've got an idea of the motion. It was not frightening, but somewhat upsetting to those who don't have strong stomachs - luckily, we aren't among those folks.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW15-aP4GcBIxeX1DgmvQX_P8TTsukQmSUgyGDvfWUNMOnx3Z65_GZUkzvqRgJszU37RPW4_v3w_7qj_xC-_a2B5azEzhX-65HPWAZKUTjDgTgVOsYyavzTKDYytlYF5zJxE666k847i7Zvu-9sZ7V7SV2F8ZVmv8Bn2ia5dC66T2RajOY2t1ag3vJeg/s2016/cruiseshiponboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW15-aP4GcBIxeX1DgmvQX_P8TTsukQmSUgyGDvfWUNMOnx3Z65_GZUkzvqRgJszU37RPW4_v3w_7qj_xC-_a2B5azEzhX-65HPWAZKUTjDgTgVOsYyavzTKDYytlYF5zJxE666k847i7Zvu-9sZ7V7SV2F8ZVmv8Bn2ia5dC66T2RajOY2t1ag3vJeg/w418-h319/cruiseshiponboard.jpg" width="418" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sun and sea beaconed on those sea days</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The weather was hot, usually in the 80F to 90F, or 26 - 32C, range. The chaise lounges at poolside called out to many of our fellow passengers. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_c-6eX_6T1C07GY6VMWOTMLnIQDEJpoAMejFL_1WxkK5VsH73hSpnJ4drvS4_DQ6Uxb1OYufiEw-SwWs0jlDPbaQq6TR3Xrf-vBsWMoNzvF1EuNfZ-ay_cohgiL6Q_WJUmlMMixvgGEucP4chtpUhk5h_Qoo1bKkUVs7OX1w2fBrIyXy2h_kmZlh7SA/s2016/cruiseshipcabin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_c-6eX_6T1C07GY6VMWOTMLnIQDEJpoAMejFL_1WxkK5VsH73hSpnJ4drvS4_DQ6Uxb1OYufiEw-SwWs0jlDPbaQq6TR3Xrf-vBsWMoNzvF1EuNfZ-ay_cohgiL6Q_WJUmlMMixvgGEucP4chtpUhk5h_Qoo1bKkUVs7OX1w2fBrIyXy2h_kmZlh7SA/w364-h432/cruiseshipcabin.jpg" width="364" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our cabin - Oceania Nautica</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We opted for the comfort of our cabin where we'd grab one of several books we'd purchased along the way and spend most of the afternoon reading. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIEOKUVF3_ZNq_CebDqvaIdwnIx5MWzS_JUmGUF9xU1C4MQh9DQtX_sKfNk89odGV18c3ZWX5425dDpIU3mJ-oxtRDyk9Sf3N2C7GXuok43bWo4z8AtYjPeVy646r0AjJSbiHrCLo13NkkbE9oYbSm6LuxanvdpeE9rt-VgJjn0T5TjwjVL6VOoxsaew" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIEOKUVF3_ZNq_CebDqvaIdwnIx5MWzS_JUmGUF9xU1C4MQh9DQtX_sKfNk89odGV18c3ZWX5425dDpIU3mJ-oxtRDyk9Sf3N2C7GXuok43bWo4z8AtYjPeVy646r0AjJSbiHrCLo13NkkbE9oYbSm6LuxanvdpeE9rt-VgJjn0T5TjwjVL6VOoxsaew=w301-h357" width="301" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our delightful crew members</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />A highlight of any cruise for us is getting to know members of the staff. . . and sea days certainly give you time to visit with staff. All of the service and hospitality personnel are primarily young people from all over the world. They are eager to talk about their families and the countries from which they come. Their home country used to be printed on their name tags, but Oceania has quit doing that for whatever reason. </div><div><br /></div><div>A favorite Happy Hour waitress was from the Philippines. The ship's next cruise segment would get her back to the Philippines and afford her a day-long visit with family - she was thoroughly excited. But, the 28-year-old, added, she was in her eighth contract on the ship. She'd begun with the idea of doing a single six-month contract and had liked it so well, she found herself signing up for more.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6DlZ2heDXMqnhSh3Ixe1bVr093irPgEj_hlu5jASLcGtFCSMTh5eGslayTivGmBIW83bY1szjKpORNWbNG9J7VOloQtirAonBtpkWWzjz1DvuT42-FBlULhLMu2VOnffn6TLfstgs8wONAAdHOpKbM6A_JhAUGACsQE3t7m20sXZOl1ZiBg8QJvFStA/s4000/P1180465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6DlZ2heDXMqnhSh3Ixe1bVr093irPgEj_hlu5jASLcGtFCSMTh5eGslayTivGmBIW83bY1szjKpORNWbNG9J7VOloQtirAonBtpkWWzjz1DvuT42-FBlULhLMu2VOnffn6TLfstgs8wONAAdHOpKbM6A_JhAUGACsQE3t7m20sXZOl1ZiBg8QJvFStA/w463-h311/P1180465.JPG" width="463" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Senior Staff introduced at the Captain's Cocktail Party - guess the Chef</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There is usually one staff member who stands out above all others for us and on this cruise, it was Aye. This livewire seemed to work 24/7 behind the buffet counter. Always full of life, she was calling out greetings and flashing her smile whether she was serving early morning breakfast or late-night buffet. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wq7cFPYDDPDcMNU6D5lyQ2Ixv9bPJ-1ctnrASZP2nUamxNhIa-7xDT-3iZj-zu8pOW7i738Wn6xvyT-REEdIGNTIQGwAoRH5j6_ckT9Z2b4JUJ_DLNPxOoIaO3Gf_-eGDnrtbGkbiGdnfoKRZD2GLMLGxHxPrrZuivNW_qnPGxbe7lEhl6sa7KfFcw/s2016/cruiseAye1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wq7cFPYDDPDcMNU6D5lyQ2Ixv9bPJ-1ctnrASZP2nUamxNhIa-7xDT-3iZj-zu8pOW7i738Wn6xvyT-REEdIGNTIQGwAoRH5j6_ckT9Z2b4JUJ_DLNPxOoIaO3Gf_-eGDnrtbGkbiGdnfoKRZD2GLMLGxHxPrrZuivNW_qnPGxbe7lEhl6sa7KfFcw/w375-h444/cruiseAye1.jpg" width="375" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My name is Aye, that is A not I</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>'My name is Aye,' she explained one morning, 'That is A not I.' Aye hails from Myanmar. And that is all that I learned about her as her job serving at the buffet didn't allow much chat time. However, in that brief name discussion I told her I was Jackie. From that point on she no longer greeted me as 'Ma'am' but flashed her smile and would call out, 'Miss Jackie'. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_dhS_IPFAgIuV4GR2gt01ISkdPReBJy8ZC5DBU73ty2SKfufUasOHqXaErew0q_ozq4t4gohMGdJuWpbTBZNLEosDOpapHTvhiAEEc6iGnEC_9PX__RqFKmc5BPGWCCP8u1CFhiQ2UkLwRHfixKASbhRZd3mL0pDTUCOowdx9r7uNZY0OFnsm45vpg/s2016/cruiseAye2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_dhS_IPFAgIuV4GR2gt01ISkdPReBJy8ZC5DBU73ty2SKfufUasOHqXaErew0q_ozq4t4gohMGdJuWpbTBZNLEosDOpapHTvhiAEEc6iGnEC_9PX__RqFKmc5BPGWCCP8u1CFhiQ2UkLwRHfixKASbhRZd3mL0pDTUCOowdx9r7uNZY0OFnsm45vpg/w333-h419/cruiseAye2.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aye charmed us all</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>One evening in Viet Nam, she was dressed in a traditional Vietnamese outfit to help serve a special Asian Buffet dinner. While always adorable, on that particular night she was simply stunning. I asked if I could take her photo and if I could share it with my friends on social media. I stopped her in her tracks, she was so flattered: 'Oh Miss Jackie, you want my photo? Of course!' </div><div><br /></div><div>Early on I predicted that with her personality and skills, that we would likely have her as a cruise director one day. As our cruise went on, I changed the prediction: this young woman may well be the company's CEO one day!</div><div><br /></div><div>And with the photos of Aye against a backdrop of Ho Chi Minh City, you have probably figured out that we eventually arrived in Viet Nam. HCMC was stunning and will be my focus next time around! Hope to have you back again and bring some friends with you! Until then wishes for smooth sailing to you and yours~</div><div><br /></div></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-77157444163324889172023-04-06T06:50:00.000-07:002023-04-06T06:50:16.384-07:00Gasperetti's - A Taste of Home<p> My taste of home arrived at our village post office last Friday. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3pDDp4vj6pqIYcEt6F7j0R-DXAKK4J8Yo4tuRD9DpadV5IaZ6r3y0vy4VFcPB3Lbyhcn9LZKKd1LB8YqGi2ZULnMulWyfO2HNJK9296s9xA265K09yb4VPz1Oeg98XSrK8ySrn1x5Vz8U8xJQNTlBSRT689utnG4sLOIdY_xO_IyldpHxRJkNS6vzSg/s1587/bloggaspersbook.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1587" data-original-width="1512" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3pDDp4vj6pqIYcEt6F7j0R-DXAKK4J8Yo4tuRD9DpadV5IaZ6r3y0vy4VFcPB3Lbyhcn9LZKKd1LB8YqGi2ZULnMulWyfO2HNJK9296s9xA265K09yb4VPz1Oeg98XSrK8ySrn1x5Vz8U8xJQNTlBSRT689utnG4sLOIdY_xO_IyldpHxRJkNS6vzSg/w401-h432/bloggaspersbook.jpg" width="401" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My taste of home</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Exactly one month after it began its journey from my hometown, Yakima, Washington, in the U.S. Pacific Northwest, it arrived in our adopted home in the rural Greek Peloponnese. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcU4XGyVBLK8-RaREFy0aYPBif64nJ7CG1RDzcJzFmMSMdgRu2DjPSPG2rPdJ9i_Ike871F1-YQicvrygyR529LasVnFQ0mcxK3iOpZGIRRvaYgxud3jrzzz7uGYk-x98Dqh6JkkRD-9xWUAjB6dJJBBPvswOq6fwt7Ux8xYtzf12DxsU73q8Xp-feOA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="526" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcU4XGyVBLK8-RaREFy0aYPBif64nJ7CG1RDzcJzFmMSMdgRu2DjPSPG2rPdJ9i_Ike871F1-YQicvrygyR529LasVnFQ0mcxK3iOpZGIRRvaYgxud3jrzzz7uGYk-x98Dqh6JkkRD-9xWUAjB6dJJBBPvswOq6fwt7Ux8xYtzf12DxsU73q8Xp-feOA=w362-h432" width="362" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melt-in-your-mouth meatballs</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>'Gasperetti's, The Story of The Restaurant'</i></b> was published as a tribute to the long-time Yakima business and the family for whom it is named. The restaurant is a part of Yakima Valley history, having been operated over a span of nearly 70 years, in two locations, by two generations of the Gasperetti family. It closed in 2020.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMDnglMtBWaT1AxGoaCpPKCB4NnEbbnvw2pn59m4UkuFJACuNsO1B1MEWhFWyeyTrkqoH-bdv_iFn4ynOuoJzI7nPPY0Ks2qMcwZi84sFqoPWI40uPm-zeN-x1u7cyjm001S915PwLqM2ignjyzuP0_yZ23_GIsUxE5ddMkcj10h9ghtgBSS-V4YOcQ/s2016/blogmenu.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMDnglMtBWaT1AxGoaCpPKCB4NnEbbnvw2pn59m4UkuFJACuNsO1B1MEWhFWyeyTrkqoH-bdv_iFn4ynOuoJzI7nPPY0Ks2qMcwZi84sFqoPWI40uPm-zeN-x1u7cyjm001S915PwLqM2ignjyzuP0_yZ23_GIsUxE5ddMkcj10h9ghtgBSS-V4YOcQ/w355-h443/blogmenu.jpg" width="355" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the book, a menu, circa 1945</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I liken the book to a multi-course meal at 'The Restaurant' (as it was called in its day). Its appetizer course is the opening chapter; a history that takes the reader back to the family's culinary roots in Tuscany, Italy. The main course consists of some 65 mouthwatering recipes for those favorite dishes that were once served at The Restaurant, now adjusted for home-sized cooking. Sweet memories prompted by its photos was a most fitting dessert. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY-4DdpdRKaoW2aQKIRoMuVpOs209RG5Z1z3PUAbezabU3-pRGc8HGNqM2S-RYrDVF-17IEXzQaUM8X8EbTkfG43_zJj8Gccr3qq2eJriEqmSDpl80jRPSeoXBYZQKg59vcO0AQusOJcuxyQhvZW_xo8k9FUM17WekltXVRAnLsbNtfJ4b_iAag4qdIg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="787" data-original-width="526" height="455" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY-4DdpdRKaoW2aQKIRoMuVpOs209RG5Z1z3PUAbezabU3-pRGc8HGNqM2S-RYrDVF-17IEXzQaUM8X8EbTkfG43_zJj8Gccr3qq2eJriEqmSDpl80jRPSeoXBYZQKg59vcO0AQusOJcuxyQhvZW_xo8k9FUM17WekltXVRAnLsbNtfJ4b_iAag4qdIg=w366-h455" width="366" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thursday nights Crab Cannelloni Nights</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>I was surprised by not only the hunger pangs it prompted, but the emotions as well. It was a shot of nostalgia, and memories both for the restaurant and the town. It had been '<i>the</i> place to go' when celebrating life's special occasions: birthdays, anniversaries, or even the end of an ordinary work week. It was at this restaurant where we gathered with our close friends a few years ago to celebrate our move to Greece.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Gasperetti's Comes to Greece</span></h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhSR01Iegj13RqJAAFSxDcTACWuuPPyLsgB3b4L_gxqjdUM77riyW_mTTiMbtpZWFGVTElrNEflsDuCCTZ1XlRCmT0PboHf0l2Pm63DbG3_OkPpyygos5NEVAysTliiSnqBkdi4OwiHOHE2kJ73B_o_V_CrzFrIsFP26C759s_ceggLLJVBGFTE9L0Q/s960/blogoldjohn.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhSR01Iegj13RqJAAFSxDcTACWuuPPyLsgB3b4L_gxqjdUM77riyW_mTTiMbtpZWFGVTElrNEflsDuCCTZ1XlRCmT0PboHf0l2Pm63DbG3_OkPpyygos5NEVAysTliiSnqBkdi4OwiHOHE2kJ73B_o_V_CrzFrIsFP26C759s_ceggLLJVBGFTE9L0Q/w291-h416/blogoldjohn.jpg" width="291" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Gasperetti and the book</td></tr></tbody></table><p>News of the book's publication many months ago had me contacting my now FB friend, John Gasperetti, about ordering a copy. I'd finally decided the logistics of doing it from Greece were too difficult and I'd risk waiting until my next trip to the States to get a copy. I was hoping it wouldn't be sold out.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75REaEazHfyv94FTPb2HEro8XauXj8qskr--2l3ZK4-87ubVnz_26RFe5y4orq2m-FbAmZZYuQ6Q45Df2YtT6U6KaEGrCyDMJzBisaLonUJDg9uvPr5EesHw-Uyu2XwQsP9QkO0u_t4Y3_kGVXdXV3DwWMe-r6Mp9v-QRe86MGXhJyzWdjgkQ44mhTg/s2016/bloggaspersenvelope.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75REaEazHfyv94FTPb2HEro8XauXj8qskr--2l3ZK4-87ubVnz_26RFe5y4orq2m-FbAmZZYuQ6Q45Df2YtT6U6KaEGrCyDMJzBisaLonUJDg9uvPr5EesHw-Uyu2XwQsP9QkO0u_t4Y3_kGVXdXV3DwWMe-r6Mp9v-QRe86MGXhJyzWdjgkQ44mhTg/w431-h419/bloggaspersenvelope.jpg" width="431" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Postage to Greece is outrageous</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Then came a message from my college roommate and forever friend, Mary. She said a parcel was headed my way. She provided a tracking number, but its contents remained a secret. </div><p>She and I both began tracking the parcel two weeks into its journey. By then, it had reached Athens. In fact, it had shipped from Athens five days before the day I checked on it- but to where, I wasn't sure. The travel time between Athens and here is about four hours, certainly not days. . .</p><p>Nikos, the unflappable clerk at our small village post office, checked his computer. He told me it had shipped from the Post Office to Customs in Athens. He speculated, that maybe it had, or maybe it hadn't gotten there; maybe it had or maybe hadn't been shipped. . .or maybe it had gotten there, and no one recorded it. Bottom line, it was in a Black Hole somewhere. Another 10 days and we'd have to start some sort of process to find it, he advised.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtoG9fkze1qx1jxMdlxlslcRdq5SHhAZ-U6F56qGI_HXDrw514JDoOmRKVoCgICt7hOUf2LctcnVb9Bx4XApYcj8P0qc87ZZIAygFSyUUphig4rMvFwyZeJmFlMJ51x1SV6hEMbN_sJZKbtTN6r5OCOTvxcPWGHFYkf3EFd51_gtSin--6zH1Gb2wCJg/s698/Screenshot%20(124).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="698" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtoG9fkze1qx1jxMdlxlslcRdq5SHhAZ-U6F56qGI_HXDrw514JDoOmRKVoCgICt7hOUf2LctcnVb9Bx4XApYcj8P0qc87ZZIAygFSyUUphig4rMvFwyZeJmFlMJ51x1SV6hEMbN_sJZKbtTN6r5OCOTvxcPWGHFYkf3EFd51_gtSin--6zH1Gb2wCJg/w453-h264/Screenshot%20(124).png" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But what did it mean?</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Its whereabouts got murkier when I checked on it this week and found signs of movement, I just wasn't sure what they meant. So back to Nikos I went. He frowned at the news of 'held in customs' because that could mean a hefty customs fee. </p><p>Then he flashed a big smile and said, "Oh! My computer says it is here. Yes, it came Friday!" He reached to a shelf a few feet from his chair and there it was - my taste of home! As I've written before, getting mail in Greece is always an adventure.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Stirring the Italian travel bug</span></h3><div>Besides taking me on a trip down Memory Lane, the book stirred our collective travel bug.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHcwT5Uzg4p-L9c7dqxNK96KnVoGsORWQtpas7YudtjZrr6VOtx5AEPAQH4n50mCGRjYw74CfzVJsPR9bCm2b1aQa_Zp3YgyWwCIYXlcHS0UHXcoSznWk4A7hF35aWenUDoeOUPNhRLES5jNetKQU0qWKIF4O2ToFv1lsGywfzeidfC7RrZSUeRXGfUg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="800" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHcwT5Uzg4p-L9c7dqxNK96KnVoGsORWQtpas7YudtjZrr6VOtx5AEPAQH4n50mCGRjYw74CfzVJsPR9bCm2b1aQa_Zp3YgyWwCIYXlcHS0UHXcoSznWk4A7hF35aWenUDoeOUPNhRLES5jNetKQU0qWKIF4O2ToFv1lsGywfzeidfC7RrZSUeRXGfUg=w467-h319" width="467" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Borgo a Buggiano Italy</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>The family's culinary roots stretched back in time to a small village in Tuscany. </div><div><br /></div><div> '. . .the family culinary skills were first showcased when, in 1800, the first Mario Gasperetti earned the praise of Pope Pius VII for his superior chicken cacciatore'. </div><div><br /></div><div>'In 1906,' the book continues, 'Mario's great-great-grandson Angelo Gasperetti arrived at Ellis Island in New York City from the small village of Borgo a Buggiano, northwest of Florence, Italy.'</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHzH2VRCx-Up81BfyYZQyuWMvZSUvsp8zthuj-wQALv28qCDBbprv_SDLfOvwD9Nq7HkCt3Thi-CwXfZYWrTz0GMRV3gDFv2QKOeHS8OQh9dl66PR6sGTaMiveyD6j0DLWjR1_6RkP7vfwjfVWk8BbX6wEUi3PAJD5AS9yQmDnM97q7JTkzewK9XHLIQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="371" data-original-width="600" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHzH2VRCx-Up81BfyYZQyuWMvZSUvsp8zthuj-wQALv28qCDBbprv_SDLfOvwD9Nq7HkCt3Thi-CwXfZYWrTz0GMRV3gDFv2QKOeHS8OQh9dl66PR6sGTaMiveyD6j0DLWjR1_6RkP7vfwjfVWk8BbX6wEUi3PAJD5AS9yQmDnM97q7JTkzewK9XHLIQ=w498-h305" width="498" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gasperetti 'roots' in Borgo a Buggiano</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>'Near Florence!' I exclaimed as I was reading the passage to <i>The Scout</i>. 'Let's go visit that village the next time we are in Italy!' <i>The Scout </i>was already looking it up on a map of Italy. The village, it turns out, is between Lucca, where we now have friends living, and Florence, a favorite of ours! (Since we are less than a two-hour flight from Italy these days, a quick trip might just be in the offing!)</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5akxX6lNcRZ1-NIaj8DfMtXskOwEr32nOxV9bQKEmADGurHDXzNPbpe-E9vXgMHzC782mAUrTneFPWX3fuIPE3ZZmYB8eLYH5oF72GXfo9CPrTX7NUtD9qCwX8dvw09dXrucpp1fRul83fsR3xSyOeE_28WWlEsmpoFyF7lKHHrDJpW7QvMHPlxLx2A/s4000/P1180094.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5akxX6lNcRZ1-NIaj8DfMtXskOwEr32nOxV9bQKEmADGurHDXzNPbpe-E9vXgMHzC782mAUrTneFPWX3fuIPE3ZZmYB8eLYH5oF72GXfo9CPrTX7NUtD9qCwX8dvw09dXrucpp1fRul83fsR3xSyOeE_28WWlEsmpoFyF7lKHHrDJpW7QvMHPlxLx2A/w448-h326/P1180094.JPG" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Arno - Florence, Italy<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>Over the years of dining at the restaurant we came to know John and his sister Jean who operated 'The Restaurant' that opened in 1966 while I was still in elementary school. Their parents, Mario and Minnie, had operated the original Gasperetti's from 1943 until 1960 at another location.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOqHaNl088lzra3Sex2LqJ7l5IGGlRF6-N9fPWnIBMRNsTA0g5InD43YLN7ij6B2PkW77mJ2wgpp0F9KLwaQblS4pHSAzilaKq1ftyLbnd4swp7i4Jd2xGBTowaCdw76Z_oKjFM9fH_aBs0Byhao28F0H3WyP0HdeNy_93YERoB49OMPtjzqldK8-XQ/s2016/blogjohnjeangasper.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="423" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOqHaNl088lzra3Sex2LqJ7l5IGGlRF6-N9fPWnIBMRNsTA0g5InD43YLN7ij6B2PkW77mJ2wgpp0F9KLwaQblS4pHSAzilaKq1ftyLbnd4swp7i4Jd2xGBTowaCdw76Z_oKjFM9fH_aBs0Byhao28F0H3WyP0HdeNy_93YERoB49OMPtjzqldK8-XQ/w434-h423/blogjohnjeangasper.jpg" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Gasperetti and his sister Jean Gasperetti Lemki</td></tr></tbody></table><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Let's Eat!</span></h3><div>The cookbook is a tribute to an Italian family and the mark they've left on the culinary scene in Washington State. I know people who used to travel across the state from the Seattle area just to dine at this Yakima landmark. A visit back to Yakima for us certainly wasn't complete without dinner at The Restaurant. </div><div><br /></div><div>The recipes, while predominantly Italian, also include those that spotlight Yakima's agricultural base, like the Broiled Yakima Pear Salad. Others carry names of restaurant patrons, friends and family. Brad's Avocado and Dungeness Crabmeat Salad is named for John's husband, Brad Patterson, the restaurant's long-time creative culinary artist and chef. Brad joined the Gasperetti's team back in 1966 at age 19.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_jsdkMc5ezhnqbICIs9jTPAU7Lvtps9MbuX-VymyMRPMy6T_1Yb0kYr8fjhgYDrDuEo5wZ0jtW1C6CU1PrqvYLesl6wMj04lX-zbU8CoGCJRwNLblvFSCjwYaCncILGws-SkQYO_ooLM9KSbGggO0qrxfoQjrwozj0jUjxZ-mzvq8mqzWbCb8CfFSsQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_jsdkMc5ezhnqbICIs9jTPAU7Lvtps9MbuX-VymyMRPMy6T_1Yb0kYr8fjhgYDrDuEo5wZ0jtW1C6CU1PrqvYLesl6wMj04lX-zbU8CoGCJRwNLblvFSCjwYaCncILGws-SkQYO_ooLM9KSbGggO0qrxfoQjrwozj0jUjxZ-mzvq8mqzWbCb8CfFSsQ=w369-h421" width="369" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note: Kalamata olives in this recipe!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>As I was reading through the recipes, the one above stopped me in my tracks! Back in our Yakima days, I'd never have any more imagined Gasperetti's closing, than I'd have imagined us living in and growing Kalamata olives in Greece. Yet, both have happened! I've decided this Chicken Cacciatore will be the first dish I make and will use our Greek home grown and oil-cured olives in in it. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFuv9v57z7uWaJF_7TF4gTjLriJtMGYKV_OudCXnxmT6PM8hZZ1TNlFONuHIvE3hCtoESsklMWc9ydhxsy9qM3R6wMNqtN3G0z59qlocXwvNleyG0Q6-uiavkxQhglg5FWE1-HySiKhwN1l3LxAG88M3IHNA_IZsFHrAYIB_hNmG1Yz6w31VBobeBqA/s2016/blogkalamataolives.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFuv9v57z7uWaJF_7TF4gTjLriJtMGYKV_OudCXnxmT6PM8hZZ1TNlFONuHIvE3hCtoESsklMWc9ydhxsy9qM3R6wMNqtN3G0z59qlocXwvNleyG0Q6-uiavkxQhglg5FWE1-HySiKhwN1l3LxAG88M3IHNA_IZsFHrAYIB_hNmG1Yz6w31VBobeBqA/w379-h438/blogkalamataolives.jpg" width="379" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My homegrown and cured Kalamata olives</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for indulging in my trip down memory lane and joining me for a taste of home. I will resume tales of Southeast Asia in my next post. How about you? Any similar restaurants located on your Memory Lane? Any cookbooks that sparked a taste of home?</div><div><br /></div><div>And for those of you who want a copy of this book, they are available from Gasperetti's Floral Design, 5833 Summitview Ave., Yakima, Washington, 98908. Details and ordering information from: gasperettisfloral@hotmail.com or the FB page, Gasperetti's Floral. </div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time. . .</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2LXyN2bvs-3ewO1uM0rC3Jjy6MOlaHqVJ8PsWXFMG-DCZN4gJ3tXkiioNIbqVNxWXXq6VCYNknP6HG1VF2-BajoMdpaSa3lDM6LfbklqgsAAEBePf4aqqLfUdbUa-vBevc3TvO3Rs7ktUbPF35sFo0trWp25nARdwXhZGb08L_MNZCFztoYgnQtw0A/s2016/blogjohnsignature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2LXyN2bvs-3ewO1uM0rC3Jjy6MOlaHqVJ8PsWXFMG-DCZN4gJ3tXkiioNIbqVNxWXXq6VCYNknP6HG1VF2-BajoMdpaSa3lDM6LfbklqgsAAEBePf4aqqLfUdbUa-vBevc3TvO3Rs7ktUbPF35sFo0trWp25nARdwXhZGb08L_MNZCFztoYgnQtw0A/w346-h358/blogjohnsignature.jpg" width="346" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7011248318265372337.post-86588880513673476752023-03-31T07:46:00.000-07:002023-03-31T07:46:09.538-07:00Cambodia and The Killing Fields<p>They were orphans, those children who followed us around on that hot, humid day in Cambodia. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgED3jfMraMU5VBL7AqBR84Q4yjrh7yagLm6nk0pkv3f7H4IBwZ8DTzHxyHKS-yUNefcYA3swwM6k1C9wNrpzeDHttXXz-SmY1Vyvz7ir63LQxZ9_NDwMEBqna7Hd0NXEw54PpzGrd6X7KvtsRy-mfoD2N14ucKVx4jl2nVhG5w-U8aggloMCnM62PLog/s4000/P1180445.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgED3jfMraMU5VBL7AqBR84Q4yjrh7yagLm6nk0pkv3f7H4IBwZ8DTzHxyHKS-yUNefcYA3swwM6k1C9wNrpzeDHttXXz-SmY1Vyvz7ir63LQxZ9_NDwMEBqna7Hd0NXEw54PpzGrd6X7KvtsRy-mfoD2N14ucKVx4jl2nVhG5w-U8aggloMCnM62PLog/w422-h300/P1180445.JPG" width="422" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were quite interesting specimens</td></tr></tbody></table><p>As we made our way into temples, and around the grounds of this Buddhist Wat, the children watched us with as much interest as we were showing the statues and buildings that made up this holy place. </p><p>Our guide explained as our tour bus pulled away, that the children are being raised and educated within the compound by the monks that oversee its operation.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXStBS3lbF41Oq4XwOrLZUX1Fx388LL-1iZm-jPJ7In_2eId_F9iQyHLmuI0WwKGXaJQau1MLBPqHGghwVhNEuMlgpaLvjmbViMR-R2mfUDzCig_eienrMQBFnC3YyJ-8dx6JhcK9Gnn4Cxo8J48QUi8fDh9KkPAgFfvVG0xoQhXyLcWclDmUuIzi0Hw/s4000/P1180453.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXStBS3lbF41Oq4XwOrLZUX1Fx388LL-1iZm-jPJ7In_2eId_F9iQyHLmuI0WwKGXaJQau1MLBPqHGghwVhNEuMlgpaLvjmbViMR-R2mfUDzCig_eienrMQBFnC3YyJ-8dx6JhcK9Gnn4Cxo8J48QUi8fDh9KkPAgFfvVG0xoQhXyLcWclDmUuIzi0Hw/w460-h349/P1180453.JPG" width="460" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Wat Children - Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A collective sigh - the type prompted by learning something heartbreaking - seemed to echo through the bus.as our fellow cruisers processed the information. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJN3Tf8_bI8do1Hsl_yO4mTZftiMClBYyC4ZojHocYGIggAaHKwXbo7uxYT4ZC2vCqGJ2bYfoUXztAKjDKxXdBizm1JC5PbhZXbUI0RYLE8IfV_L2NQd4xH-IuUoXDmGnfqWcY8Q3ARZqT18pLoSY9lPZQI6Kd4xWtRB06iSqEAr0cZuyZUNH8tbbPg/s4000/P1180441.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJN3Tf8_bI8do1Hsl_yO4mTZftiMClBYyC4ZojHocYGIggAaHKwXbo7uxYT4ZC2vCqGJ2bYfoUXztAKjDKxXdBizm1JC5PbhZXbUI0RYLE8IfV_L2NQd4xH-IuUoXDmGnfqWcY8Q3ARZqT18pLoSY9lPZQI6Kd4xWtRB06iSqEAr0cZuyZUNH8tbbPg/w393-h424/P1180441.JPG" width="393" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temples of Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The temple compound was our first stop on a tour of Sihanoukville (see-an-oouk-ville), Cambodia, the third port of call on our Southeast Asian cruise. Cambodia was one of the reasons we chose this Oceania cruise. It was all new territory and aside from guidebook descriptions and a few online travel articles most of our ideas about the country had been forged decades ago in our teen years.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKC3ELRlW3t9MqhwUBKU7YPt-wYk8YdGSPVTnhj9sLmgW623h24p-WAbtHHi48ZKc_PZJQZQX4TgvhfFOkewnblJxiUyN3etcDMY2cwUbMzzjq3lTXbfCbE5O40M_4fZNqax1vsDDv2PmgTzCFfHnoSUhKES_VGyI1UJ84RtAO8b4wvtq-77sKykfzHA/s4000/P1180429.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKC3ELRlW3t9MqhwUBKU7YPt-wYk8YdGSPVTnhj9sLmgW623h24p-WAbtHHi48ZKc_PZJQZQX4TgvhfFOkewnblJxiUyN3etcDMY2cwUbMzzjq3lTXbfCbE5O40M_4fZNqax1vsDDv2PmgTzCFfHnoSUhKES_VGyI1UJ84RtAO8b4wvtq-77sKykfzHA/w485-h340/P1180429.JPG" width="485" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our welcome to Sihanoukville, Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Back in the mid-to-late 70's U. S. newspaper headlines and nightly news reports shaped our view of Cambodia; a country that was then a war zone. Images were furthered cultivated by the chilling, but award-winning 1984 movie called, 'The Killing Fields'. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIujFlNH2244mL2qHnsI7De2Rb9c2RYk-szcicwYO6jXioGCy8TtdV5XuYX30tMktRRXHRRM-hLM7QCBpVETyZLNv43Soor9E1iAzRQYX05e1Kk14YChv3B2ZS7CmeQ22u7rLMUFPQrBRK44zejSTHpI3rDIK526IhDHfPtZ5pInODKkYxW8JiPnX3xg/s720/killing%20fields.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="600" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIujFlNH2244mL2qHnsI7De2Rb9c2RYk-szcicwYO6jXioGCy8TtdV5XuYX30tMktRRXHRRM-hLM7QCBpVETyZLNv43Soor9E1iAzRQYX05e1Kk14YChv3B2ZS7CmeQ22u7rLMUFPQrBRK44zejSTHpI3rDIK526IhDHfPtZ5pInODKkYxW8JiPnX3xg/w408-h462/killing%20fields.jpg" width="408" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1984 award-winning movie, The Killing Fields</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A capsule bit of history: The Khymer Rouge, a radical communist movement headed by an individual called Pol Pot, ruled Cambodia from 1975 - 1979. He and the Khymer Rouge wanted to socially engineer a classless, agrarian society so took aim at intellectuals, civil servants, professionals and city residents forcing them to march to and work in agricultural fields as part of a re-education process. An estimated 1.5 to 2 million Cambodians died of execution, starvation, disease or of being overworked. Their bodies were buried in mass graves that later became known as the killing fields.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Sihanoukville Today</span></h3><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIcmvA9Uyo1VaUiaYBel5VmWrKiChbRQkbNUMJXP843slDqucMhr8ms_hW2Pb7O6BbaEhJOiG6oiMUCu4fs6nvv7-A1g3rs8Ol_wvnnHN_VLzP3m3dj4ytVNMKqdQn-cxDxNW-3loCbdW44lnjJSF26HYZwheWQsOMow7xDEHDLrdl4sltidMBPf2xzg/s4000/P1180426.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIcmvA9Uyo1VaUiaYBel5VmWrKiChbRQkbNUMJXP843slDqucMhr8ms_hW2Pb7O6BbaEhJOiG6oiMUCu4fs6nvv7-A1g3rs8Ol_wvnnHN_VLzP3m3dj4ytVNMKqdQn-cxDxNW-3loCbdW44lnjJSF26HYZwheWQsOMow7xDEHDLrdl4sltidMBPf2xzg/w453-h335/P1180426.JPG" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning arriving Sihanoukville, Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The Sihanoukville cityscape that greeted us in our early morning arrival was breath-taking - it looked both modern and large. And definitely a contrast to those wartime images from 40 years ago. </p><p>With just a day to explore this city we chose a highlight's tour which took us to some of the area's famed white sand beaches, the enormous and overwhelming Phsar Leu Market, with booths selling a bit of anything and everything, as well as its famous Golden Lion statues and Buddhist temples. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglAHMlF_iJyMr79J2QBhl2q9p6izbJCnpkR4pdBpAh8dD0D0-4bCkYen0hCPpCKEYj-E19CDHubnAzO2gS_NiPw2-368OsmKiwxOYNuWYjA8O_x-z-7iwtQ7AzBBvvuuN5k_kEBIdgliVoEmHT_QFzegjAQT_k9BwoLZSzt5TdZhqHlPUx_E88AZnW2Q/s4000/P1180458.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglAHMlF_iJyMr79J2QBhl2q9p6izbJCnpkR4pdBpAh8dD0D0-4bCkYen0hCPpCKEYj-E19CDHubnAzO2gS_NiPw2-368OsmKiwxOYNuWYjA8O_x-z-7iwtQ7AzBBvvuuN5k_kEBIdgliVoEmHT_QFzegjAQT_k9BwoLZSzt5TdZhqHlPUx_E88AZnW2Q/w333-h446/P1180458.JPG" width="333" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Land of Buddha - Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>As we traveled between the 'sights', we found the everyday scenes to be as interesting as those places considered 'highlights'. For all the high-rise buildings and big boulevards, hotels and beaches, we also saw poverty. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdHgUNNKxG6TY7MJREKh5N9mD9PlGDUA4RgNXMsTZZoHK3e54oqtlxy4t0HcpHNoj8cjfQsyZJwo-wm5PfTr5gzn98u96fNjebtDMOM3YMFRcCTGyYHI_6PX2hc117PqWSSeDmjmS1IXt53JTLDM1X7ybIjK6KJNIkS-3uUfL0ahZ5ySALb3et7v7vg/s4000/P1180439.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdHgUNNKxG6TY7MJREKh5N9mD9PlGDUA4RgNXMsTZZoHK3e54oqtlxy4t0HcpHNoj8cjfQsyZJwo-wm5PfTr5gzn98u96fNjebtDMOM3YMFRcCTGyYHI_6PX2hc117PqWSSeDmjmS1IXt53JTLDM1X7ybIjK6KJNIkS-3uUfL0ahZ5ySALb3et7v7vg/w475-h351/P1180439.JPG" width="475" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street scenes Sihanoukville Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Homes made of corrugated metal, and small roadside businesses being operated off the back of trucks.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0_lX0Q94vGz2YQ2-5X_YNJNoxU0hCJFSCyfdIfnHnVzH4mulFcDG5HrlYtUyVcZ7lNsxZTgdTefFFIlQ5RiMNd3iRykpRbmeWiE1n7HYo8gToe1xvAVPJwJHEtkzAyVbnoQdNjr_vxWGKpOXgT9TDdHKc_Uh-lDof11fCaQKhgKGIUekmFlBlRVgmQ/s4000/P1180431.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC0_lX0Q94vGz2YQ2-5X_YNJNoxU0hCJFSCyfdIfnHnVzH4mulFcDG5HrlYtUyVcZ7lNsxZTgdTefFFIlQ5RiMNd3iRykpRbmeWiE1n7HYo8gToe1xvAVPJwJHEtkzAyVbnoQdNjr_vxWGKpOXgT9TDdHKc_Uh-lDof11fCaQKhgKGIUekmFlBlRVgmQ/w469-h364/P1180431.JPG" width="469" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roadside business - Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Seeing local everyday life is one of our favorite travel activities.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqbsyiR9RBGFKTYtJyzUKMj8DfzWjkx0BcEhsSf4xVcAfHty11bzcnYxIvuALmyHJYytAz2lf2dHjLaOxBiFhXx4Y2pIxZgl8nnqt-pac-hFhvOEzCFW_YFQbmhnOXngDm1Sd6XjsEVFrr_uDXBzdybm2MAQa21NZlUQjSbL7REzUTB7aJTqLo4je-Q/s4000/P1180433.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqbsyiR9RBGFKTYtJyzUKMj8DfzWjkx0BcEhsSf4xVcAfHty11bzcnYxIvuALmyHJYytAz2lf2dHjLaOxBiFhXx4Y2pIxZgl8nnqt-pac-hFhvOEzCFW_YFQbmhnOXngDm1Sd6XjsEVFrr_uDXBzdybm2MAQa21NZlUQjSbL7REzUTB7aJTqLo4je-Q/w490-h346/P1180433.JPG" width="490" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street scene Sihanoukville, Cambodia</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We saw some beautiful and contrasting sights on that taster-sized tour, but what we will remember the longest about this introduction to Cambodia will likely not be the places we visited, but our tour guide and the story he told in response to that collective sigh about the orphans: </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLkd--h_tOQw0aBphqGLwuU4IC4LYhEuUj_h0aWaSuiUk-gvSE98naxwbMdNRfBQ_HY5Vs4KSIsi7NlSxxTEL-cH_cUN4kETqiJb27Gm6gpbuU9UrDufwPwapuMIPKWmVF7xIAE4LxzBxeMpgHU8DP2qEvfxTEl15VhmgGhIN_mE6f5ddtxwCNIySNA/s3260/tourguide1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3260" data-original-width="2636" height="429" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLkd--h_tOQw0aBphqGLwuU4IC4LYhEuUj_h0aWaSuiUk-gvSE98naxwbMdNRfBQ_HY5Vs4KSIsi7NlSxxTEL-cH_cUN4kETqiJb27Gm6gpbuU9UrDufwPwapuMIPKWmVF7xIAE4LxzBxeMpgHU8DP2qEvfxTEl15VhmgGhIN_mE6f5ddtxwCNIySNA/w366-h429/tourguide1.jpg" width="366" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our guide - witness to the killing fields</td></tr></tbody></table><p>'Being raised by a Buddhist monk isn't all that bad,' he assured us. 'I was. My sisters and brothers and I were raised by the monks after Pol Pot and the Khymer Rouge killed our parents.' </p><p>His father had worked for the government, one of the types of persons targeted by the Khymer Rouge.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMemDxlEWgb9FWqvVV_Z0DS0JLgjMmOCYP2iKwWfoTTi-JoJ0-vFnG9iGxAkA7iWdehioeOX_OhuPrvhj9AABGQ4REsRBxfft7VgCs2Sd0VVwsDxBNAQF72k0QlvI2mQYNIK3Xpg0Mf3w8MAQUvgIRhnM4Gy31bLwY4kS95DmddRNA-EuwkKqb1TPluw/s2963/tourguidesihanoukville.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2963" data-original-width="1961" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMemDxlEWgb9FWqvVV_Z0DS0JLgjMmOCYP2iKwWfoTTi-JoJ0-vFnG9iGxAkA7iWdehioeOX_OhuPrvhj9AABGQ4REsRBxfft7VgCs2Sd0VVwsDxBNAQF72k0QlvI2mQYNIK3Xpg0Mf3w8MAQUvgIRhnM4Gy31bLwY4kS95DmddRNA-EuwkKqb1TPluw/w342-h448/tourguidesihanoukville.jpg" width="342" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father of four with an infectious laugh and quick smile</td></tr></tbody></table><p>'I was 10, I remember the march to the fields.' </p><p>He then recounted some of the scenes he had witnessed along the way. I am not listing them, suffice to say, they were scenes no one should have to witness, especially a 10-year-old boy and his siblings. He lived with the monks for 10 years.</p><p>He didn't tell the story as a victim seeking sympathy. He recounted his experiences candidly. And he balanced the horrors of his childhood, by later telling us of his four college-age children, each on their way to graduation just as any proud dad would. Nor did he dwell on the country's past as he soon resumed his tales and tidbits about Cambodia.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcm39U-TruWdcJiBaOGoO1nLuopxyvANC1RQkRLpKAh_ped06kq3Z-JjrnbtXFMn37Q5SVT3ZNe00PDlmz2lHX2KLx-FrlGr_0Z_ryy2feIpYllRIepIDNCsh89P1TrUBSKrYSd_PA6gqmOANJkZskUuci9tfdnhUe-VJbj3TOFBByy-jWzGFxN7I0WQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3770" data-original-width="3449" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcm39U-TruWdcJiBaOGoO1nLuopxyvANC1RQkRLpKAh_ped06kq3Z-JjrnbtXFMn37Q5SVT3ZNe00PDlmz2lHX2KLx-FrlGr_0Z_ryy2feIpYllRIepIDNCsh89P1TrUBSKrYSd_PA6gqmOANJkZskUuci9tfdnhUe-VJbj3TOFBByy-jWzGFxN7I0WQ=w425-h421" width="425" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cambodia - thanks to WorldAtlas.com maps</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>Sihanoukville, also known as Kampong Som, is younger than the two of us. It was 1955 when work began on a deep-water port in an area called Kampong Som and with the port's opening a year later, a town to house the workers was born. It is four-hours from the country's capital, Phnom Penh.</p><p>During the course of the day. we were blessed by a Buddhist monk, who prayed and sprinkled holy water on us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKOVJGGsACx-_h6j_9FGYB6XP_nr_HUN7pYPbTaYFGrBbSKwM-R9frWyf4Qv8RygMW1WNg513xeW9XAs2eFJmV0aIzLBogl2d1sGZ96faBJalKvv1aIBc4CudhfYO0jcnJ6DtFGN2AqS2kJiBmGEvYHGei9Ay2sqLVFuXesldeH3dQGkCBmmn749jDQ/s1955/buddhistmonk.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1955" data-original-width="1438" height="463" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKOVJGGsACx-_h6j_9FGYB6XP_nr_HUN7pYPbTaYFGrBbSKwM-R9frWyf4Qv8RygMW1WNg513xeW9XAs2eFJmV0aIzLBogl2d1sGZ96faBJalKvv1aIBc4CudhfYO0jcnJ6DtFGN2AqS2kJiBmGEvYHGei9Ay2sqLVFuXesldeH3dQGkCBmmn749jDQ/w405-h463/buddhistmonk.jpg" width="405" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were blessed by this monk</td></tr></tbody></table><p>And we were granted good luck (according to legend) because we posed for a photo in front of the Golden Lions Monument on a roundabout from which wide boulevards extend and cars race past. (We had good luck both getting to the monument and back across the street, that is for sure!)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvfedqwVms4PLr855wDEhb_KjgHl123xp05mTEU7y0BHDIyRdikSfs_9cV6IUTxL1S0jdgKXj2p2PmnayvE2oqu9Y6jotfpim7__mCPvyz-mo2NtGvM_0TcBufBLvtPxOsffmHvcsQ2nCQWY2J5MQmMcahZqk9DQ7jN2N3gp7SZxcpHHlYt0TENAhqA/s3000/JKJEgoldenlions.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2712" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvfedqwVms4PLr855wDEhb_KjgHl123xp05mTEU7y0BHDIyRdikSfs_9cV6IUTxL1S0jdgKXj2p2PmnayvE2oqu9Y6jotfpim7__mCPvyz-mo2NtGvM_0TcBufBLvtPxOsffmHvcsQ2nCQWY2J5MQmMcahZqk9DQ7jN2N3gp7SZxcpHHlYt0TENAhqA/w394-h472/JKJEgoldenlions.jpg" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How lucky are we now!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Several of our fellow passengers were heard commenting that the city had disappointed them. It had been dirty, there was poverty, and they recounted any number of items that hadn't 'wow-ed' them. We don't travel just to see pretty, so I can tell you that for us, this stop only whetted our appetite for more Cambodia! We are ready to visit Phnom Penh, Angor Wat and Siemreab among others. </p><p>That is one of the selling points of cruising for us: these appetizer-sized tastes of places are often enough to bring us back for more comprehensive overland tours or to write a destination off as having 'been there, done that'.</p><p> Thanks for being with us today and we hope you'll be back -- and bring some friends with you -- for my upcoming tales of rocking and rolling on the South China Sea thanks to stormy weather! </p><p>Until then wishes for safe travels to you and yours~</p><p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Jackie and Joel Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14074129927177165084noreply@blogger.com2