Sunday, August 1, 2010

Those there Mountains need a good Climbin‘!




When you first see them, some things are obviously made for a purpose. The mountains of Meteora are definitely NOT made for monasteries to be built on top of them. But that didn’t occur to the locals 700 years ago.

Maybe their minds just worked a little differently to mine, but I saw them and thought, “Climb!”. So climb we did. The fact that our guide only had super grippy climbing shoes that were 2 sizes too small just made it more of an experience - I not only felt the thrill that only Peter Parker knows better, I also now know what Chinese ladies of days gone by felt when they had their feet bound into parcels half their size.

Not much more to say that pictures won‘t say a thousand times better, other than that there was a 95% chance that the American guy climbing with us was Vin Diesel, and a 5% chance that it was his twin brother or stunt double.

Photos of climbing and all other Greece fun and games can be seen here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=456406&id=808690304&l=b5d2ab55c5

Hitting the Big Time



It was two months since our last big city, and what better place to get back into the groove than Athens? Stepping off the Metro and seeing the Acropolis watching over the city is a very, very cool feeling. Our three days in Athens were spent like kids in a candy store, moving from Socrates’ favourite hang-out, where he would stir people up with his arguments, to Hadrian’s Gate where the Emperor made sure that everyone knew who the city belonged to, and finishing with climbing up to the famous Acropolis - it was like a “Best of” 7th form Classical Studies, without the classrooms or exams.

Night times were spent with Vassia - our first CouchSurfer since Iran. Totally addicted to coffee, smoking, Damian Marley (and excellent music in general), and romance, her place was a reprieve from the mid-30s heat and ubiquitous electronic music. She slept on the couch so that we could have her bed, fed us our first Chinese food in months, made Emma morning Frappes (more essential than you would think), and had us laughing with her sharp barbs of humour that take you completely by surprise (just when you think you’ve got someone pinned as a nice, sweet, and almost quiet Greek girl!). The fun was elevated a level when Bernard the Tree Hugging Austrian (another Couchsurfer with long dreads, multiple piercings, an Anarchist philosophy, and a very gentle and considerate character) turned up to join us on the last night.

Thank you Vassia! (and best of luck in your Norwegian/Belgian/Spanish adventures ;)

Island Hopping: Marvel, Madness, Misery and Mykonos



Just tell people that you’re off to spend 3 weeks in the Greek Islands and their faces seem to take on a greenish hue. So we had an inkling of what was in store, but there were a few things that we didn’t see coming:

Marvel - Santorini: When your first stop is a settlement that clings to the rim of what was the largest volcanic eruption in recorded history, there’s bound to be some cool sights. Exploring the quaint white walled town, scooting out to see the sunset from the crater’s edge, and clambering around what is a geologist’s Disneyland made this a fun few days.
Madness - Ios. How to make yourself feel old at age 25? Go to Ios. We wouldn’t have partied past dawn for two nights if we weren’t enjoying ourselves, but when there are 20 year olds who have been doing that for a week and still want to play beach volleyball rather than have an afternoon nana nap, you can’t help but wonder if there are any Zimmer frames available at your campground. An incredible party scene, but three days was enough to push us both over the edge and into a crippling Man-Flu (I’m not sure exactly which strain Emma caught, but it was just as debilitating).

Misery - Paros. Initially we only planned 2 days on Paros - just enough to make the most of this windsurfing Mecca. Instead, it became 5 days of miserable ManFlu, made slightly less miserable by the fact that daytime naps were in hammocks on the beach, and salt gargles were replaced by light sea swims around the headland at sunset. This place was just what the doctor ordered (along with heavy doses of what Brad termed “ghetto medicine” - antibiotics, strepsils and Vicks Vaporub).

Mykonos - My favourite island, where you can (and we did, repeatedly) get lost in the winding white streets that were designed to disorientate pirates, stumble across “Little Venice“, countless art galleries, cool little cafes and creperies, and then find the landmark windmills before figuring out the way home.

With our glands still up, but ManFlu on its way out, we mustered for a night out on the town, finding that Mykonos lived up to its reputation of being a little older (than Ios), a little edgier and diverse (rather than the Ios model of having the entire island pulse to the beat of the latest Ministry of Sound release),and a little more “K Rd”. A great night out, with surprisingly less adverse health consequences than we feared (maybe we’re not THAT old yet).

It's OK if the Locals Do It...



Long-haul buses seem to be a great place to meet people, and the men of Central Crete were adamant that their buses would be no exception. On our way to Anogia (rebel stronghold up in the mountains - more on this to come), we had a 15 minute stop while we transferred buses. Just enough time, it seemed, for us to join a table of three old men sitting at a cafĂ© by the bus stop for Raki shots and snails. It didn’t matter that it was 11am - what better time of the day to be raising your shot glass to the cry of “E Viva!”, and following it (very quickly) by a snail dunked in olive oil and vinegar.

Being shy little Kiwis, it took us a few minutes to accept the offer and fully get into things, and a few more minutes to learn the finer points of eating snails - like how to squeeze out the gastrointestinal tract and its contents before putting the snail into your mouth. Luckily our bus to Anogia came before we were stumbling around with oil dripping from the corners of our mouths.

Leaving Anogia, we were less lucky. Or more. It depends on how you like to spend the time waiting for your bus.

We arrived at the bus stop at 11am, and before we knew it, had been lured across the road to where a group of 5 old Greek men were switching between animated argument and hysterical laughter. It took three shouts of “E Viva!” before we realised that, for the second day in a row, we were being plied with alcohol before noon, and they managed to communicate (via charades, or course) that our bus was two hours away. As more and more rounds were poured, we learned about the village we were in, and the Cretan people in general (all of this was via charades, and then with the help of another man who joined our group and had lived in Melbourne for 30 years, so was happy to help interpret):

  • Anogia always has been a rebel town, and still is. They resisted the Turks, the Venetians, The Ottoman Empire, and the Germans. Even now, the police won’t try and enforce he law there. We saw a police car drive through town as we were sitting there, and the men laughed and waved it away, “they will not stop in our village - they know they are not welcome”.
  • The result of self-policing seemed to be an extremely strong community with some slightly unconventional conventions: (1) when a 10 year old boy was seen driving a ute up the main street, looking through the steering wheel it was explained by, “It is ok - he is getting his pilots license!”; (2) Every man at our table had not a hunting rifle or pistol, but a machine gun, in his home, “we will not let ourselves be invaded again”.
  • The stubbornness of these people is legendary. As we were sitting with our recently adopted grandfathers, a man was sitting under a tree across the road dishing out wads of 100 Euro notes to people as they came to talk to him. We didn’t think that these men would allow drug dealers in their town, and they couldn’t be arms dealers (there’s no way that they would ever sell their machine guns), so we asked what the deal was. The answer? They refuse to put their money in the banks, so the government pension officer drives into the mountains with bags full of cash and delivers everyone’s pension in person. But he doesn’t mind too much - it means that he too can have a few Raki’s before heading back to the city.
  • The hospitality of these people is just as legendary. We sat, talked, and drank for over an hour, during which time rounds would keep coming, stories would become wilder, and the men would wander over the road and return with loaves of bread and a round of cheese to soak up the Raki. Then the leader (if these men would follow anyone, it seemed that it would be this guy) stood up and walked over the road to his restaurant to light a fire. Then out came half a lamb on a spit - in case we might be hungry.

Turning down offers of more food, drink, and accommodation for the night, we stumbled onto the bus back to the city full of lamb, cheese, raki, great stories, and a strong dose of Cretan hospitality.