tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40360444906005286222024-03-05T15:52:07.302-08:00adventures in post-traumatic citiesAshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-49392314543791147652011-08-21T07:27:00.000-07:002011-08-22T09:00:08.600-07:00an ending<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCHNYMtc45l1SjFXL6cLrUBHiDwy6tCkAvF_YN8osHBNWASpcrHlODAXzRZESvZfRIOgHFmOQcirW1zutHTTFY3o3Bd_cydwfSQkSJ07Cz7pd2K7T576nYEM4p3cbG1nP_-Gy3eMcInkd/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCHNYMtc45l1SjFXL6cLrUBHiDwy6tCkAvF_YN8osHBNWASpcrHlODAXzRZESvZfRIOgHFmOQcirW1zutHTTFY3o3Bd_cydwfSQkSJ07Cz7pd2K7T576nYEM4p3cbG1nP_-Gy3eMcInkd/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Woa. Finally back in the States. Very strange to be back-- feels almost like the past month never happened, either that or it is so totally out of time that I'm not sure how to place it in my mind. I was awarded the grant February 7th, planned for it all last winter and spring, adapted the trip details last second and then it's over. Just like that. Very odd.<br />
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After sitting in the Beirut airport for four hours, an eight-hour flight to London, spending the night in Heathrow and a seven-hour flight to DC, I finally made it to the promised land of Dulles airport. My lovely father graciously parked my car nearby (and replaced the cracked windshield that had been gradually been creeping along the entirely of my view over the course of three years-- hey, I've always admitted being cheap!), I grabbed a cab, picked up the adored Fit, and commenced my eight-hour drive to Spartanburg, South Carolina for my cousin Wyatt's wedding. Made it just in time for the rehearsal dinner that night and the ceremony the next morning.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFG2HFJfTJ_e4YkpNbMKl-9CFyh7OFhAh2fackOnJp-vrxgc_809xQTnk_nNP3ZdzyRKWtPd3F6eXVwkhB6w8QOVafRUfBN50QuOHIG2oG1RhMRtcGC2il7t9LIYQxVL4toTD6m2X2P7n/s1600/rome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFG2HFJfTJ_e4YkpNbMKl-9CFyh7OFhAh2fackOnJp-vrxgc_809xQTnk_nNP3ZdzyRKWtPd3F6eXVwkhB6w8QOVafRUfBN50QuOHIG2oG1RhMRtcGC2il7t9LIYQxVL4toTD6m2X2P7n/s320/rome.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Now it's up and down the east coast, visiting friends and family, checking up on my new tenants (groaning as I realize the roof is going to need to be replaced very very soon and having to hire a plumber for my sink, dishwasher and bathtub who struggle to fight the downhill slow of the city's sewer system), collecting my belongings sprinkled throughout several states and then back up to start my <i>last</i> year of school. Can that be right?!<br />
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I thought I'd do a wrap-up for the trip, but I'm really not sure how to do it (strange I know-- I'm normally spewing horribly tangental thoughts that completely lack any sort of cohesiveness). However, I am finding it hard to deconstruct and mentally organize my month of travel.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0A81l-ApmHA60hRaHaiFVDMSdMxjoPop5IXfvuqGHa0wAm-mpnZzA2m-ft0rcWAnKT8aJBt-j8EnRiBqJhr_RB5csBrSllsazZPtXofof27l0-zKrU7y-hXFJqD_5JykQBOKVJi3yva9/s1600/oia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0A81l-ApmHA60hRaHaiFVDMSdMxjoPop5IXfvuqGHa0wAm-mpnZzA2m-ft0rcWAnKT8aJBt-j8EnRiBqJhr_RB5csBrSllsazZPtXofof27l0-zKrU7y-hXFJqD_5JykQBOKVJi3yva9/s320/oia.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The first two weeks were obviously full of fabulous food, delightful debauchery and a general lack of academic research. My frustration and generally apathetic view towards Yale in the past year pretty much yielded a guilt-free use of the first two weeks as nothing less than a vacation. The last two weeks, however, completely fulfilled my hopes of Middle Eastern exploration. I feel that I collected what I needed to pursue this area of study and, though I still regret the missed opportunity of visiting Egypt, Syria or even Israel, I am certain that this trip has opened up new doors for me to pursue this type of study and has thoroughly whetted my appetite for returning to watch what happens during the next few transitional years.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgesTGIAsniVlnZD_LkTR7ypzqlF6cOvHzMCUmHP3sHBmlpIpyT-dW9dvDjYEg_mvG6fcBVXIb7rVC916YkmtkwFkJQxS44Ty-2r-5V88hbO3ZSduvg_QW1mRYV8pQx5FfnVz6IWlnR41BG/s1600/nicosia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgesTGIAsniVlnZD_LkTR7ypzqlF6cOvHzMCUmHP3sHBmlpIpyT-dW9dvDjYEg_mvG6fcBVXIb7rVC916YkmtkwFkJQxS44Ty-2r-5V88hbO3ZSduvg_QW1mRYV8pQx5FfnVz6IWlnR41BG/s320/nicosia.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Yale does not have a thesis, however they do have the option for an independent study. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a proposal to obtain a coveted spot and continue to study how this reconstruction is actually taking place, including current events, current political turmoil and the personal opinions of local inhabitants. I have to put together a show at the end of the year, documenting my trip and displaying any conclusions or "lessons learned" on a series of boards hanging on the main floor of the architectural building. A question and answer session with the Dean (good lord, who knows how <i>that</i> is going to go...) is open to the general student body during a wine and cheese reception. Definitely not a big deal so the compilation of this research is pretty much up to me. Guess I'll do it during all my free time this upcoming school year. Ha.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCxakghyphenhyphenWU1KO1-SXz7vGIyIGSegH-bNlwYBXGPrP_nXNkR4Q4yAUb8Md18Ep3VZm8uNo9fFoZYDFtFiEn_Z4FzmlcC4HYs2yVgFkfS1vD4Kq-habRTSJ-Z4bCnC1Yc_7ZbmkQOjktD5DB/s1600/beirut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCxakghyphenhyphenWU1KO1-SXz7vGIyIGSegH-bNlwYBXGPrP_nXNkR4Q4yAUb8Md18Ep3VZm8uNo9fFoZYDFtFiEn_Z4FzmlcC4HYs2yVgFkfS1vD4Kq-habRTSJ-Z4bCnC1Yc_7ZbmkQOjktD5DB/s320/beirut.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I wanted to thank my mom who gave up her priceless and fleeting Bethany time and summer in general to come to my rescue in a time of rapid change and uncertainty. The trip would have not been nearly as fun without someone to enjoy endless vino and hedonistic meals. Plus, who would have caused us to get lost on moped adventures or be a witness to countless travel debacles that people at home would not believe had I experienced them alone? (However, we were in the Lebanese newspaper while we were there. Names, quotes and all! I guess that's something...) I definitely would not have come home with as many travel trinkets, which I would have surely inevitably regretted.<br />
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This blog has pushed my comfort with social media and my fear of "governmental tracking" (Facebook is the devil) without a question, but I am glad that I kept it (though once I got home I definitely dropped the ball on keeping it updated!). It is a different type of journalling than I am used to, but I think it is a worthwhile thing to have. It will unquestionably help my ever-diminshing memory once I start forgetting what happened and the chronology of events! This silly thing has gotten over 2,200 views (though I am certain that most of them are repeat offenders!) in over six countries, which has completely blown my mind. I am touched that there was so much interest in my travels and appreciate all the emails received during the trip. Thanks for the support! (Sorry for the cheesiness...)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSEAtoEgaP-fYrww9DieJzIyCEiJat9FIzWORaxV89p5cpIQFBVtQJmHAKoalhYp0Eq7jANZIdPGmNfrFL5_JKf_l2AGma9-PW2Zm5j3smUW2ZkN7cRmeLQt3gBNUHDqAr5VJTGqxDKk-/s1600/southern+suburbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSEAtoEgaP-fYrww9DieJzIyCEiJat9FIzWORaxV89p5cpIQFBVtQJmHAKoalhYp0Eq7jANZIdPGmNfrFL5_JKf_l2AGma9-PW2Zm5j3smUW2ZkN7cRmeLQt3gBNUHDqAr5VJTGqxDKk-/s320/southern+suburbs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Alright, off to the next adventure: studio. And, oh, what an adventure it will be! Now all that is left is to try to figure out how the <i>heck</i> to take this thing down so that no one at my snobby school will ever find it!<br />
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Thanks again,<br />
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the war-torn wanderer.<br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-42150566113891625532011-08-19T15:57:00.000-07:002011-08-19T15:57:54.520-07:00hezbollah<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK1efX4zbl5LGw0hQ22a-gjv-Sk3bccuIgQbcLiFTNme45zI7Q7rWbdbR8FmqZx-2ao97p04wNJrZ5SzsYeUxm8Oe_oAfIBxEMXy8P8saxmZRJQZ2GUvO9f8pjdtHqMjTNeoMkqEu4bkX/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK1efX4zbl5LGw0hQ22a-gjv-Sk3bccuIgQbcLiFTNme45zI7Q7rWbdbR8FmqZx-2ao97p04wNJrZ5SzsYeUxm8Oe_oAfIBxEMXy8P8saxmZRJQZ2GUvO9f8pjdtHqMjTNeoMkqEu4bkX/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">after all night in airport. lovely.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Last day in Beirut. Last day of the <i>trip</i>! I can't believe it went by so fast. I guess when one is hopping from city to city time seems to fly by. Gracious.<br />
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Pretty much I have been dying to go into the Hezbollah controlled area of Beirut since I started researching the reconstruction of the Middle East last fall. I think Lebanese political history is so interesting and having the downtown being rebuilt at the same time as the southern suburbs is pretty much the <i>ideal</i> comparison of restoration in a war-torn city. Call me crazy, but I was determined to get into those areas being rebuilt by something other than the official government or capitalistic developers.<br />
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Hezbollah has a tumultuous history with the Lebanese government. They have a tumultuous history with Israel. They have a tumultuous history with the US. Pretty much they are controversial. They are made up of mostly Shi'a Muslims and have been supportive of the PLO and the poorer Shi'a people living on the southern coast of the country. Their support of these Palestinian refugees has put them in the spotlight as a political party that may harbor potential terrorists and has caused them to be one of the main targets of the Israeli army.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypgfpUrRmKDY_ohECXV2iDjnKQW-tnWPCd8FGokddfhoHr_G-gs025tuYVdZ_RtOQyV2JXwD05MCcxosaHyvYp8OszaTApYrrbSOpEKpqszo4UM387ZZ6RplhXWmR1_o4XS47IIF0S95b/s1600/new+building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypgfpUrRmKDY_ohECXV2iDjnKQW-tnWPCd8FGokddfhoHr_G-gs025tuYVdZ_RtOQyV2JXwD05MCcxosaHyvYp8OszaTApYrrbSOpEKpqszo4UM387ZZ6RplhXWmR1_o4XS47IIF0S95b/s320/new+building.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In 2006 a 34-day military conflict erupted in northern Israel and southern Lebanon when militants from Hezbollah fired rockets at the Israeli border towns as a diversion for an anti-tank missile attack on armored Humvees patrolling the Israeli side of the border. The attack left several Israeli soldiers dead and the Isreali Army responded with airstrikes and artillery fire in the southern suburbs, resulting in the launching of <i>more</i> rockets into northern Israel and the instigation of guerrilla warfare by Hezbollah and their supporters. The conflict killed at least 1,200 people, mostly Lebanese citizens, severly damaged Lebanese civil infrastructure and displaced almost one million Lebanese people and over 300,000 Israeli citizens.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTLEn2HnBzSikAM3QxG1VM2fRe5EP8gVXU2M1Dcx8KrexanfDKyPYxTeRWN8yRGD6hNgYY_7rYuoUHWgoLpyHuC-l7NRZ8ymIoHptQYKiuNnveY8VHa9Jwh462hyphenhyphenWmF3uaFlVRhlZiCZh/s1600/view+from+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTLEn2HnBzSikAM3QxG1VM2fRe5EP8gVXU2M1Dcx8KrexanfDKyPYxTeRWN8yRGD6hNgYY_7rYuoUHWgoLpyHuC-l7NRZ8ymIoHptQYKiuNnveY8VHa9Jwh462hyphenhyphenWmF3uaFlVRhlZiCZh/s320/view+from+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As a result of all this fighting, the Hezbollah controlled portion of Beirut was left in shambles and in desperate need of renovation, rather, completely new construction. The innocuous word <i>dahiya</i>, meaning "suburb", achieved unprecedented notoriety because it was this <i>dahiya</i> that the Israeli warplanes pounded until little, other than rubble, remained. This was Hezbollah's security zone and since Hezbollah has always desired a separate identity from the Lebanese government, they sought to redo their portion of the city themselves. The area has its own phone lines and other infrastructural systems and their means of construction couldn't be more different than that taking place in downtown Beirut.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgA1mwZFbweFzDh9jrgmWoE2n9t5lgybsPqZ12CAU2y88wj5vk-nssTFgWr33HsxoKlVUIzJ2ncxppeHSS0zOgyAxDWUrg6M5kwaQnh6o2zKEgPGCyh1XQwY-GODe8ML-DCvRHz-eVo8bP/s1600/close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgA1mwZFbweFzDh9jrgmWoE2n9t5lgybsPqZ12CAU2y88wj5vk-nssTFgWr33HsxoKlVUIzJ2ncxppeHSS0zOgyAxDWUrg6M5kwaQnh6o2zKEgPGCyh1XQwY-GODe8ML-DCvRHz-eVo8bP/s320/close+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I finally found a driver I could <i>bribe</i> into taking me into the southern suburbs (wimps!). I can't even explain the look I got from the guy arranging it (stupid American!), but even though the duration of the trip only lasted about 2 hours, it was the best money I spent during my time in Lebanon. It's not that it's <i>dangerous</i> going there, it's just that most people consider the area to be a slum and there is always the risk of a foreigner being taken in for questioning. Also, I promised Yale I wouldn't go near it.... hmmm.<br />
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Officials in the area strictly forbid taking pictures so all images that I have are from my iphone, which I inconspicuously held up every now and then to snap a shot out of the van window. I definitely was not allowed out of the car and made sure to wear long sleeves. The driver spoke little english so I wasn't able to get out as much information about the area as I had hoped, but he was good company nonetheless and didn't seem to be too bothered by the idiot who wanted him to drive up and down each street.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi371Yi_heAG2LJX-zrzcrfwSI4jA0VpIYDQjXcw4Smfsx6OaeuNsAYVWjzZcnzWPzV38YxULJbca0OIFQ_3THvFo0i-Ve70uqDLqR3ho1ywOjA_eir7xnSsrzBo6WV8k95JGBOpqIk3x6Z/s1600/scaffolding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi371Yi_heAG2LJX-zrzcrfwSI4jA0VpIYDQjXcw4Smfsx6OaeuNsAYVWjzZcnzWPzV38YxULJbca0OIFQ_3THvFo0i-Ve70uqDLqR3ho1ywOjA_eir7xnSsrzBo6WV8k95JGBOpqIk3x6Z/s320/scaffolding.jpg" width="240" /></a>So, there I am, riding shotgun in an SUV through Hezbollah's living quarters, trying to hide my iphone as I snap away, jamming out to Mariah Carey (seriously, this guy played the cd over and over-- four times we listened to the silvery lyrics of the musical legend), and in general gawking at how much renovation is taking place.<br />
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Here the rebuilding happens either a) a full block of new apartments arise from complete destruction or b) a building is singled out and built in-between existing slums on either side. The area has no cohesive plan but cranes, scaffolding and construction dust are everywhere. There are no signs in english, no fancy stores and definitely no skin showing. Not every woman is in full religious garb, but those who are not are more conservatively dressed than the chic urbanites downtown. The area sports signs of Universities and tolerance, but no one seems particularly welcoming. One can tell it is a tight-knit community who has little interest in absorbing the more westernized culture surrounding it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_XG7X0zmGR6L7_zFeu84qE7DIhSqn3o_BONVQjh_BBZgboRM5D_E_9dZ25D6aYNBUu_8xody9QntdVKYhTphZhStd_GxeZOQtoTMccks1NEPI3TdjUI1Esk2rzEc7Mqc8BE0phDs63e5/s1600/umbrella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_XG7X0zmGR6L7_zFeu84qE7DIhSqn3o_BONVQjh_BBZgboRM5D_E_9dZ25D6aYNBUu_8xody9QntdVKYhTphZhStd_GxeZOQtoTMccks1NEPI3TdjUI1Esk2rzEc7Mqc8BE0phDs63e5/s320/umbrella.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>After I felt I had gotten what I needed, and I had exhausted the driver who I'm sure was still convinced I was nuts, we headed to the airport where I started my long trip back to the States. The very long trip.<br />
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Thankfully I have "Hero" securely stuck in my head for travel entertainment.<br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-41234483698451171242011-08-18T08:04:00.000-07:002011-08-18T08:04:18.747-07:00hypocritical me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrsRTjAfuGd1w5XOmmuPCRt2h7lzUrmwEmUC1L_3M75ba52YTN1fwsX0w-42dld0v3vSdHyPd8duyUa9sdeiaAi-KgQpNAN8q5VAmmKyxNm4IMIZpyBfL9mTDsK9-XF3mTnoePHxyhqTz/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrsRTjAfuGd1w5XOmmuPCRt2h7lzUrmwEmUC1L_3M75ba52YTN1fwsX0w-42dld0v3vSdHyPd8duyUa9sdeiaAi-KgQpNAN8q5VAmmKyxNm4IMIZpyBfL9mTDsK9-XF3mTnoePHxyhqTz/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So, I admit, I'm terrible. I officially got home August 12 but have been so ridiculously driving all over the East Coast (admittedly I actually <i>enjoyed</i> seeing the familiar SUVs hogging the highway that I so previously detested) that I have this morning is <i>officially</i> the first morning I have been in a coffee shop to catch up on my travels. Apologies.<br />
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Mom left Beirut after the construction site adventures. A 3 am flight home left her wondering what day it was when she got home. Oh, lovely jet lag. Though I would miss dinner conversations, I was excited to set off in the city doing pure research and attempting to enter the places she made me promise not to explore. Safety?! So overrated.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTCFzxrzTo_B3VegjmbPSbJJNXJDnysqkLkXtuFlCPXGw7PVmVmWumWJwoBcbw3dakA9eEYhUQKawTDUeIIaCLreMQmncDARemoqVx1RbGEn2dz-mB1Yme15IOX1Ok_qLnfXhG1GGZf4c/s1600/birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTCFzxrzTo_B3VegjmbPSbJJNXJDnysqkLkXtuFlCPXGw7PVmVmWumWJwoBcbw3dakA9eEYhUQKawTDUeIIaCLreMQmncDARemoqVx1RbGEn2dz-mB1Yme15IOX1Ok_qLnfXhG1GGZf4c/s320/birds.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The day after she left I had an early morning meeting with my professor who is from Lebanon and back for the summer to oversee his project in the new marina. It is the same project we got such an intimate tour with the day before and he was shocked to see my photographs (I mean, seriously. <i>I</i> was shocked to have them!). It was wonderful seeing him; he had a million things for me to do. I only wish that he had answered my plethora of emails from earlier that summer so I could have met him earlier. I only had two days left to check of everything on his "must see" list!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHw0nFQdKQxYVQx13cJbiiOOrQGw6Y7mV8admibrB4sMDd7-7WhxEIowEbXl2OahEQ9ZdLrnkrxoFnUGmT5cMXwFP3yJMS7ZB8tWaR0qK0VPHjvshlnTd1fBcfcZNoIaDCeh3dPxQr4WP/s1600/souks+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHw0nFQdKQxYVQx13cJbiiOOrQGw6Y7mV8admibrB4sMDd7-7WhxEIowEbXl2OahEQ9ZdLrnkrxoFnUGmT5cMXwFP3yJMS7ZB8tWaR0qK0VPHjvshlnTd1fBcfcZNoIaDCeh3dPxQr4WP/s320/souks+view.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As stated before, there is one development company, Solidere (http://www.solidere.com), that is re-doing all of downtown Beirut. It is very controversial because they basically bought everyone that owned war torn buildings out, gave them shares that were worth a lot less than their original properties, and have totally reinvented the look and feel of the downtown. To be fair, there was not much left to salvage after the war, but the financial perfidy mixed with the utterly new appearance of the downtown has left conflicting opinions with the locals. Solidere has hired so many world-renowned architects (seriously the list makes one have to wipe the drool from her chin) that it is hard not to be excited about the city plans. Argh! I am so confused! Normally I hate such historical destruction and mass architectural capitalism. Buuuuut, here comes that salivation again...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKN2hWbkrETx-MhbO5tz0XaFfrJVf1Y0ovUqIK9k0Rt8RQ9D8a8HG3SnLse3plePSw0H-WKh3sMOyjL4MZY039E-gK6BicmMTtUatiFJUmieUTwTHt6-reXf6YDq-bsZWZ4J2EK-fU5f0/s1600/martyrs+square+pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKN2hWbkrETx-MhbO5tz0XaFfrJVf1Y0ovUqIK9k0Rt8RQ9D8a8HG3SnLse3plePSw0H-WKh3sMOyjL4MZY039E-gK6BicmMTtUatiFJUmieUTwTHt6-reXf6YDq-bsZWZ4J2EK-fU5f0/s640/martyrs+square+pan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
My professors's firms is one of those chosen by Solidere to complete a project. They designed it with Steven Holl (He's worth looking up. I promise!) and have designed a marina club beautifully built into the the shore line. He actually has about eight commissions currently in Lebanon and are expanding their New York office and establishing one in Beirut. The meeting definitely had hints of their desire to hire outside architects and bring them to Lebanon. Not going to lie, sounded perfect and worth considering.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjp0Aa3x9biH9mPp9MF_3CVKWQjw6IMYcsjLl8Bl_MROz4CjrYtPUCmkgvvUChCrFBMoagllcI4ItTmdiJGVcW5niSWyKsDcN74A50yQOzVEhc9nlPHGYR4y3H7OhglxfNwt9VpkMQIOs3/s1600/site+model.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjp0Aa3x9biH9mPp9MF_3CVKWQjw6IMYcsjLl8Bl_MROz4CjrYtPUCmkgvvUChCrFBMoagllcI4ItTmdiJGVcW5niSWyKsDcN74A50yQOzVEhc9nlPHGYR4y3H7OhglxfNwt9VpkMQIOs3/s320/site+model.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anyway, he insisted that I meet with some of the head guys from Solidere, called them up on the spot and told me to be at their office in two hours. Just like that. Done and done. So, off I went, hurriedly reading up on the Solidere project and familiarizing myself with all they were doing so as not to look like a complete idiot once I arrived.<br />
<br />
Of course I got lost on the way to the office. Being cheap and liking to think I am oh, so "green", I insisted on walking the 2 miles downtown, giving myself an hour to do so. Should be plenty of time! The only maps I had at this point were sections of the city that did not show the whole thing at one time. Of course they are all different scales so my attempt to glue them together failed miserably. There I was, sweating, wandering through the city, sweating, recognizing landmarks but not knowing how they knit together, sweating, and pretty much looking like an idiot. So much for my plan of arriving looking clean, spiffy and smart.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKUZmRXXm9_SPqcouUnOmxK2Ffktsksj6UDCIXujxBFRPy6sxUP4zzEYEwXjvOA6I9teHCgGCutcb8l8b3sHM0WLfymt_dcgByG_1aarSgVb8EJNO9kIxsyb0QSs-5ITtqb78QGHr5LNL/s1600/theater+model.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKUZmRXXm9_SPqcouUnOmxK2Ffktsksj6UDCIXujxBFRPy6sxUP4zzEYEwXjvOA6I9teHCgGCutcb8l8b3sHM0WLfymt_dcgByG_1aarSgVb8EJNO9kIxsyb0QSs-5ITtqb78QGHr5LNL/s320/theater+model.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I had to hire a cab for the last half mile since I was already 10 minutes late. He got lost (stupid security guards blocking off roads) and our typical argument about payment for services resulted in my simply throwing lira at him and running off to salvage the reputation of a Yale student-- or at least what one <i>should</i> be.<br />
<br />
I got into the office, went to the wrong floor, finally found it, and shook the Solidere's business man's hand, huffing a dramatic apology. (Never caught the man's name, or, more likely, I didn't understand it so he therefore shall be referred to as Bob for the remaining of the story.) Bob was gracious about my tardiness and anxious to walk me to their marketing office and through their finished projects.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEgTfuZI-Y9HmJcFZwXut1xN4lTxJUVSLE7OMJPiitYS1gLk0MyU6tqtHZ-uEPtHEha5SKA36H4CckfrwfOxJOJIQioyebp-nbP18Z33UmsfH9EpasauI19UwkEF3vYBGpmQbrEv9UXkt/s1600/water+model.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEgTfuZI-Y9HmJcFZwXut1xN4lTxJUVSLE7OMJPiitYS1gLk0MyU6tqtHZ-uEPtHEha5SKA36H4CckfrwfOxJOJIQioyebp-nbP18Z33UmsfH9EpasauI19UwkEF3vYBGpmQbrEv9UXkt/s320/water+model.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We crossed the street and entered into their second office who's lobby was <i>full</i> of models of the master plan, buildings and demonstrative models of how things would work. The site plan model was over 12'x12' and took up the entire lobby. Projects by Zaha Hadid, Norman Foster, Steven Holl, Jean Nouvel and so many others were there and fit perfectly into the city fabric. It was truly amazing. I am definitely going to have to plan a trip back in 15 years when it will all be finished.<br />
<br />
<br />
Bob took me upstairs and saw larger scale models of each individual building and I got the corporate scoop on each project. The <i>very</i> corporate scoop. Still, it impressed me and I am excited to watch how the whole thing plays out.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zFDFZWQKXrpTsil2LNDDP4raN1HeQQjHy2WyfKWKFxpfmY5l5OQAx2TFggkv4ZgyEON0KSTRtOqTImNRu8uLHLgFhqT2Z9e6eAlPXLP5grYBDKtyXEFLvaQKbQmbvGPa38UzvZuhK8U8/s1600/souks+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zFDFZWQKXrpTsil2LNDDP4raN1HeQQjHy2WyfKWKFxpfmY5l5OQAx2TFggkv4ZgyEON0KSTRtOqTImNRu8uLHLgFhqT2Z9e6eAlPXLP5grYBDKtyXEFLvaQKbQmbvGPa38UzvZuhK8U8/s320/souks+2.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>We walked over to their most recently finished project, the Souks, a project designed by five separate international architects as a comprehensive program of pedestrian zones for shopping, restaurants, a theater, underground car parks and gardens featuring Roman ruins uncovered during the excavation. It was very cool, very modern and made me even more embarrassed of my sad "city" of New Haven.<br />
<br />
As much as I hate the corporate take over of the city center, and the Disney-like way that everything looks so perfectly re-done, Solidere is doing a great job of incorporating gardens, historic ruins, cultural events and sculpture into the project and have been successful in bringing life into the city in general. All the stores in the Souks are way out of the average American grad student's budget, featuring designers such as Gucci, Prada and more diamond stores than one can imagine, but the place is busy with patrons that can actually afford such luxuries.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj270NAeL8oz9mGdP7jvC2dNnlg1vv4_2VQ3qFvUgmJhaqiKxfCvfcNdY6szBfmsv6Ki_yzsgYT2b4GO-CYGGD_Lbe1Poc5weHQGPjX5RZzrW2B6yDJqtCqwwg7ZCqv3wBZTaGtrwR3FiLJ/s1600/souks+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj270NAeL8oz9mGdP7jvC2dNnlg1vv4_2VQ3qFvUgmJhaqiKxfCvfcNdY6szBfmsv6Ki_yzsgYT2b4GO-CYGGD_Lbe1Poc5weHQGPjX5RZzrW2B6yDJqtCqwwg7ZCqv3wBZTaGtrwR3FiLJ/s320/souks+1.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>The rest of my day was spent exploring the new construction and pouring over the gorgeous book Bob gave me showing all future development. Hardcover, 10"x16", matte finish images and thick paper, it definitely seduced even a snob like me. Why do books beguile me so? Sheesh. I am so cheap and easy.<br />
<br />
I was tempted to go to the Sky Bar later that night, Beirut's hottest night club and the only place to be if you are in your 20s (http://www.sky-bar.com), but then I remembered that I hate crowds, hate being alone with drunk people, hate paying for cabs and, unlike my sociable sister, hate being hit on. I am much more comfortable in dilapidated cities than among swanky and chic young urbanites. It would have been a good story though...<br />
<br />
Tomorrow it was off to the southern suburbs controlled by Hezbollah, the militant group who has a complicated history with the Lebanese government. The 34-day war with Isreal in 2006 left their part of the city in complete ruins and, like downtown Beirut, they are in the process of rebuilding it. I have been dying to get over there but the wimpy taxi drivers wouldn't take me. Pansies! More on that later...<br />
<br />
Spoiler: I did get over there and it was well worth the bribe I offered.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDznlhH96yI_l_truTlg6e6meEF-u_mO2aBMfMkbes_uQpW6g24ac0U2kyOvRU4RABrGKhw27uxlwwLDgD816arH2mU0B9urN1CrahulvAp1YmlhofuN4DURYxYxxv34sdCyUTqsxJeUt/s1600/souks+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDznlhH96yI_l_truTlg6e6meEF-u_mO2aBMfMkbes_uQpW6g24ac0U2kyOvRU4RABrGKhw27uxlwwLDgD816arH2mU0B9urN1CrahulvAp1YmlhofuN4DURYxYxxv34sdCyUTqsxJeUt/s640/souks+panorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-4657304211849832692011-08-11T01:57:00.000-07:002011-08-11T01:57:51.828-07:00construction zone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EmEdgsGg0aWMGvFMCIg3BwrQ0hHMpD5KJAoRUoLPrHwGCk6dtakgT3-kHqdn8UoxWYD2xWcgZHZeOP_W7kxJh0ZBvjyZzEdVKslYX4clzx12trkTal-qs8qWXQbED2VJEFabUq2zITTv/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EmEdgsGg0aWMGvFMCIg3BwrQ0hHMpD5KJAoRUoLPrHwGCk6dtakgT3-kHqdn8UoxWYD2xWcgZHZeOP_W7kxJh0ZBvjyZzEdVKslYX4clzx12trkTal-qs8qWXQbED2VJEFabUq2zITTv/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So cab drivers are tricky business here. Apparently there is a code to which all taxi drivers adhere. I have not had the honor of physically <i>seeing</i> this clandestine cabby constitution, but I am assuming it includes the following statutes:<br />
<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;"><li>honk at least every 25 seconds lest someone forget you are one of 30 other taxis around</li>
<li>shout "taxi!", "taxi!" at anyone that looks remotely foreign and follow the poor soul along the curb until she ducks into a store</li>
<li>look a nice American woman like she shot your mother when she offers you the LEGAL rate of 2,000 lira for her ride and not the 15,000 you are demanding</li>
<li>suddenly forget you know all english if in a precarious situation... or one you simply don't like</li>
</ol><br />
Exempli gratia:<br />
<br />
It was our second day here and I wanted to walk along the shoreline where my professors are working with Steven Holl on a marina project being built at the very head of the city. I kindly asked the taxi driver to take us to the port, something which apparently was not clear because he kept pulling over asking unsuspecting passers-by what I meant by "port" or "marina". This should have been a warning, but instead of reading the omen, I simply got more and more annoyed. (My typical response with any inefficiency or confusion.) We finally made it to the downtown area and were driving along the coast when I saw the construction site.<br />
<br />
-- <i>Here, Sir. You can just drop us here. </i><br />
<br />
-- <i>Here? This is nothing.</i><br />
<br />
-- <i>We want to see that building there. We are going to take pictures</i>.<br />
<br />
-- <i>This building</i>? (pointing)<br />
<br />
-- <i>Yes.</i><br />
<br />
-- <i>This building?</i> (pointing again)<br />
<br />
-- <i>Yes. Just drop us here and we'll photograph it and then walk into the city. Thank you.</i><br />
<br />
-- <i>This building?</i> (Are you freaking kidding me?!)<br />
<br />
Ignoring our constant reassurances that yes, <i>this</i> was the building we wanted to see, he slowed momentarily at a red traffic light, spun around the traffic barrier and into the construction site. The new building was close to the water and we were still a good 150 meters from it. He pulled next to a small gate house (for lack of better word) and started shouting and pointing in Arabic. The other guy shouted and pointed back. We drove into the construction workers' "parking lot" (which by the way, was filled with only Mercedes and BMWs- very strange cars to see parked along side of bulldozers for sure) and navigated through the tight spaces left by the nice, though dusty, cars.<br />
<br />
Got through the car maze. Darn. Blockade at the end of the lot. <br />
<br />
Back we went, this time faster-- our guy was getting mad since <i>clearly</i> the guard had told him the way was unobscured. Drove by the guard. More shouting. More waving.<br />
<br />
--<i>Sir! This is fine! Drop us here!</i><br />
<br />
-- <i>This building?</i> (pointing to the SAME and ONLY building in sight!)<br />
<br />
-- <i>YES!!!!</i><br />
<br />
-- <i>This building?</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sONdAevWPyBJmmtAnKDu_5e2puNNA4uBK5rDMPD-0hPHcnyLHxfHYGzgUNKIEmQpYLgJI_-dprRuXkX_4B1vcQ5JQqQudjDAoGCMsR2gxALLE8myPLkat587oynFBxB9hpgtLd9XqRX_/s1600/construction_what.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sONdAevWPyBJmmtAnKDu_5e2puNNA4uBK5rDMPD-0hPHcnyLHxfHYGzgUNKIEmQpYLgJI_-dprRuXkX_4B1vcQ5JQqQudjDAoGCMsR2gxALLE8myPLkat587oynFBxB9hpgtLd9XqRX_/s320/construction_what.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Through more traffic lights. More U-turns. Hit another guard post. This time it was actual security guards with uniforms and official looking badges. More Arabic and rapid hand waving transpired. This time he kept pointing to us then to the building then to us again. Somewhere between the high-speed driving, heated discussions in a language that always sounds like someone is pissed and Mom, who was still trying to tell our guy that we were better on the street taking pictures, I decided to stop trying to translate and see how this one played out. On we went in the direction of the confused guard's gestures. That is, until we hit another barrier.<br />
<br />
Have no fear! We just drove <i>around</i> the barrier! Off the paved road, into the dust. Bouncing up and down in our "off-road" BMW getting closer and closer to the construction site. Piles of rocky sand? No trouble! We'll just go over them! Ramps of dirt meant only for construction trucks? No worries! Our tiny car will undoubtedly make it down their slippery slopes! Construction workers hollering at a small car with cab light driving through their construction zone? Forget it! Surely they can't mean us!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3-aTpgVLMU_W0X8nW0-kVo8Lv_pYBog-tMDBce8PXlACDAm5yndtzSBfO32Qir2mtDruGD4WSdfUI08_qffbzIfiU6eYGHhcNuvlLszbJQifZhhpRDz9NwiwEgxOB-l9EQdIoe7IEmoa/s1600/hard+hats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3-aTpgVLMU_W0X8nW0-kVo8Lv_pYBog-tMDBce8PXlACDAm5yndtzSBfO32Qir2mtDruGD4WSdfUI08_qffbzIfiU6eYGHhcNuvlLszbJQifZhhpRDz9NwiwEgxOB-l9EQdIoe7IEmoa/s320/hard+hats.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">you want hard hat?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>If there was a soundtrack to our trip it would be some sort of arabic circus music that ended with an abrupt high note allowing the whooshing sound of the dust settling after our spin-out to be heard. We came to a stop literally 20' in front of the building and I'm pretty sure that the only reason we didn't drive <i>into</i> the building was because there were piles of construction material in the way. We got out at which point confused workers came out of the woodwork and our lovely cabby invoked rules 3 and 4 of the previously stated code. More money. No English. Apparently he thought he had done an excellent job at getting us where we wanted to go. I mean, I guess I can't argue with him... I did get great pictures.<br />
<br />
After attempting to "talk" with a few construction workers, being taken into a trailer and being offered hard hats and then taken to another trailer to meet the construction manager, we were finally able to explain that our presence was a mistake and confusing even to us! We began the long trek back to the street, back up the dirt ramps, through the cut stone, waving as huge trucks stopped for us to pass in front of them. I mean, <i>seriously</i>?! Were we really in the middle of a Lebanese construction in our open-toe sandals, sporting large purses and cameras?! Needless to say, we were pretty much peeing our pants from laughing in disbelief the whole way back (either that or gagging from the dust that was flying everywhere around us!). Good lord...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfcTlNTGj2RgakJZQtlnnCKfWvSMxhYt2yRCAkgnaKifQkpPCBHPyKNtuT21DYSWGQ_i6W0c7bGZfYCPIaONEoDfmDjBcQQlWIZngVuILLEgGKOmzNjDFcfiF72quEbWLr-iW-I4vRJ1J/s1600/marian+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfcTlNTGj2RgakJZQtlnnCKfWvSMxhYt2yRCAkgnaKifQkpPCBHPyKNtuT21DYSWGQ_i6W0c7bGZfYCPIaONEoDfmDjBcQQlWIZngVuILLEgGKOmzNjDFcfiF72quEbWLr-iW-I4vRJ1J/s640/marian+panorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our view from construction zone... <i>this</i> building?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6PzSON5ehffU0zPD2LyGHYAemp95LUmcmMTcdXjcYqwr-OpyK9Tth_3aYeBCjjr2UGdhxP9r8lhB-uLsvKgd6PZDWQdryOqtxZlrzpZPn8KkniPpEKjBYo0Y4CCgIn9V-nuqjDwuHDNg/s1600/electric+wires.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6PzSON5ehffU0zPD2LyGHYAemp95LUmcmMTcdXjcYqwr-OpyK9Tth_3aYeBCjjr2UGdhxP9r8lhB-uLsvKgd6PZDWQdryOqtxZlrzpZPn8KkniPpEKjBYo0Y4CCgIn9V-nuqjDwuHDNg/s320/electric+wires.jpg" width="214" /></a>After such an eventful morning the afternoon seems a bit dull. We walked and walked and walked while I took picture after picture after picture. The construction downtown was swift and immediate. The developers took down every last building that was destroyed by the war and put up brand new ones in their place. As we got further down the old Green Line things were not quite as cut and dry.<br />
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Before the war Beirut's downtown was owned by many people of different religions and demographics. After the war the country was left trying to piece itself back together, dealing with remnants of things established in the 70s and with a financial system that no longer existed. Therefore new construction can be as tricky as dealing with cab drivers. If a tenant signed a 50 year lease in 1974 (before the war) for 700 lira a month (about $350), that lease still would be upheld. However, the troubling thing was that now 1,500 lira = $1, meaning that if the tenant had stayed throughout the war and wanted to continue living there, they now only owed $0.50 a month. Needless to say, there were lots of Lebanese who liked paying nothing to live downtown.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyiouH2vqAhz4xvFF4o2IcGo1znimLgsg2Ahl9Zh3zoaQwaxsyxGkYYgiBq9NcYUglzVDgGUb3eILx0WsHhx7ph0v87b4ZwbZY5TN5bNgTdRQrSvpOHyOHOTZbH02uls4rIrVFWkIpFa9u/s1600/new+construction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyiouH2vqAhz4xvFF4o2IcGo1znimLgsg2Ahl9Zh3zoaQwaxsyxGkYYgiBq9NcYUglzVDgGUb3eILx0WsHhx7ph0v87b4ZwbZY5TN5bNgTdRQrSvpOHyOHOTZbH02uls4rIrVFWkIpFa9u/s320/new+construction.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Since the building owners were making no money on their land and they couldn't break their contract, they either stopped maintaining their buildings or began sabotaging them themselves, trying to convince the inhabitants to leave (our tour guide from yesterday had a story where his building owner threw dead animal carcasses on all the balconies until people left. Apparently he had watched The Godfather earlier that week). The property owners are waiting for their contracts to expire before they start fixing their buildings and the State has no ability to buy the property of people that abandoned their land during the war; therefore, it is very often that one sees a brand new building sharing space with one that is completely derelict.<br />
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The city is literally a construction zone throughout. Everywhere new buildings are being erected; cranes dominate the skyline. On one hand it is extremely exciting that a country as a whole can be so ready to move on, but on the other hand, the presence of these run-down older homes makes it hard to forget that while all this "moving on" is happening, no one is really dealing with the heart of the situation: rules and regulations set up and unchanged since the 1930s, money coming in surreptitiously from outside the country and politics that do not include everyone, nor solve all the country's problems. Big name architects have arrived on the scene to give Beirut a facelift, but will all these construction zones really fix a broken social system?<br />
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If not, can they at least be made more easily accessible by cab?<br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-29972645039583728232011-08-09T10:18:00.000-07:002011-08-09T10:18:03.473-07:00finally, beirut.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLObDdeB_W55hjBKRKcIJqvUXm1r6Vu3Q7ZZvY7V-rKyLIUqJjrrQjRgzVQDpRNCfbxymDk_o2tJpB1svaOB0iU_meozW-PqcszkFRQFvR2WIphYgRoWsaMuqyJO5WgPCYY64U0H1qi2VU/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLObDdeB_W55hjBKRKcIJqvUXm1r6Vu3Q7ZZvY7V-rKyLIUqJjrrQjRgzVQDpRNCfbxymDk_o2tJpB1svaOB0iU_meozW-PqcszkFRQFvR2WIphYgRoWsaMuqyJO5WgPCYY64U0H1qi2VU/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Arrived in Beirut yesterday morning. The most expensive flight of the whole trip and only 35 minutes long. That just seems <i>wrong</i>. My professors had said there was a ferry from Cyprus to Beirut but I guess it was discontinued a few years ago because of issues with "security". Who knows. I am getting the feeling that is how Lebanon typically roles-- decisions made without much of a legitimate explanation.<br />
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We left Cyprus (and our ridiculous hotel never mentioned because it makes my blood boil just thinking about how stupid the experience was. Good lord, don't get me started...) around 7.15 am after getting up at 4.30 am (only to sit at the airport for 2 hours. Again, don't get me started on the stupid hotel managers!), and arrived in Beirut at 7.45 am.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaWLqJ0AvkE3qRs2EL6QVTnkO8zlMYrno55gPGyqg_kObfkz_lCAzY1pIDXgoWYBBoOR3tecS0QBYgZEyX518CipNu3YDjHx4CzodafJox6wBHJoPNcnKPzzw3Zr44dUQI-qqoI6E3dib/s1600/construction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaWLqJ0AvkE3qRs2EL6QVTnkO8zlMYrno55gPGyqg_kObfkz_lCAzY1pIDXgoWYBBoOR3tecS0QBYgZEyX518CipNu3YDjHx4CzodafJox6wBHJoPNcnKPzzw3Zr44dUQI-qqoI6E3dib/s320/construction.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We grabbed a cab to the city center, which was an adventure in itself. Apparently around here one must bargain for a cab. Drivers tell the unseasoned visitor there is a set fare. Little does she know that everyone will lower his after trying to rip off the stupid American women who look totally dazed and about to cry. Let's just say that in the first five minutes of our time in Beirut we were baffled by the ATM which only dispensed US dollars, swindled by a cabby who was going to charge $45 to take us to the hotel, watched a fight break out over who would take us-- a fight which included one cabby grabbing another's throat (still haven't figured out if that was a joking gesture or not), and another cabby walking away with our luggage and putting it in his car. Welcome to Lebanon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOhVstqtXmnXSqT5t6gnWtdsufpzRgI49TXvr5DMoIARUkN2ecjc8S3q8MAbUkH0uWdjYhRRVlzno9PNRMNt5h_qll9sJl4S4vsjZ5o0mSlgT8eWjZbPMWa8QhBr2-qkU7Wf4O09EeXB7/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-09+at+7.24.55+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOhVstqtXmnXSqT5t6gnWtdsufpzRgI49TXvr5DMoIARUkN2ecjc8S3q8MAbUkH0uWdjYhRRVlzno9PNRMNt5h_qll9sJl4S4vsjZ5o0mSlgT8eWjZbPMWa8QhBr2-qkU7Wf4O09EeXB7/s320/Screen+shot+2011-08-09+at+7.24.55+PM.png" width="311" /></a></div>The hotel is lovely and right in the center of the Hamra district, the neighborhood that contains American University of Beirut as well as all the old coffee shops and studios where the political debates fueling the civil war took place, inciting the students to take action and join the fight. It is still a young demographic and even though the country is celebrating Ramadan, the night life is bustling.<br />
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We had randomly (and fortunately!) found a walking tour online that would be offered later that night. We wandered the area and visited the University while waiting for the tour, getting associated with the neighborhood and enjoying the luxuries of the hotel (clean sheets, AC, constant electricity and fabulous shower!). The first thing we found, of course, was the most wonderful bakery that had counters <i>full</i> of honey soaked delicacies and nutty treats. What a great opportunity for <i>research</i>! Of course we have to taste the local cuisine!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeKGP8DBKxFD4NYPKFeHnqc2uWsdJpORjPZ6Z0ozZyBgzgJIGt68rE522U4qKoUuJ_D8ajpUnP-Cw9Rmac5m4d-K2MCvEwJ4EtXfSDSGOOw1uSlZDDNOLlczwNHV9LSGddyF5fZoJfFTg/s1600/PANORAMA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeKGP8DBKxFD4NYPKFeHnqc2uWsdJpORjPZ6Z0ozZyBgzgJIGt68rE522U4qKoUuJ_D8ajpUnP-Cw9Rmac5m4d-K2MCvEwJ4EtXfSDSGOOw1uSlZDDNOLlczwNHV9LSGddyF5fZoJfFTg/s640/PANORAMA.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">downtown construction- cranes dominate the skyli</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The walking tour is the only tour that Beirut has. It was started by a AUB student who couldn't look any more hippy or have a more peculiar temperament if he tried. But, boy, could he tell some stories! The <i>four</i> hour tour took us all over the city, explaining a plethora of conditions from why American dollars are used throughout Lebanon without an exchange rate changing in twenty years to land use zoning issues and the political history of the recent war. He was fantastic. Truly captivating. It was the fastest four hours of my life and I still didn't want it to end.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogBR_Y9VBF9puSBNSREe5CjHr2d01lDCcgXtO84bqbyADwzylOpy-eFPJUnij-mxveyRqSop3OtUnGMQquOMnKTV_204ZrSs7GMLikua-3Q0rl0Lfw759ddlNd-U9nWcxb9Klpq2LKIh3/s1600/holiday+inn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogBR_Y9VBF9puSBNSREe5CjHr2d01lDCcgXtO84bqbyADwzylOpy-eFPJUnij-mxveyRqSop3OtUnGMQquOMnKTV_204ZrSs7GMLikua-3Q0rl0Lfw759ddlNd-U9nWcxb9Klpq2LKIh3/s320/holiday+inn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the holiday inn, center piece of the civil war</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Beirut's downtown was center stage of the fighting, its Green Line running from its port all the way past the city's edge. The Line was established in 1975 and wasn't abolished until 1990. With the exception of the Israeli bombing of 2006 that destroyed the southern suburbs, the further destruction of the city has been on a lesser scale. However, as one can see in the news, Lebanese life is never completely peaceful and tumultuous situations can arise spontaneously, and most often do. Lebanon can't seem to find a way to maintain a status quo. There is always something worth fighting for, or so it would seem.<br />
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The downtown was completely demolished in the fifteen years of fighting and is now under such extreme renovation that one can barely recognize the old city, a fact that has many Beirutis up in arms, protesting against the major developers and arguing over what to do with the missing blocks in the city center. Over 1 billion dollars has been pumped into new projects so far and real estate values continue to skyrocket. It was surreal walking through the city and seeing ramshackle buildings, bullet-ridden and falling apart, next to brand new construction in front of which billboards boasted star-itects' names in bold letters, hoping to entice the richest and most cultured of clientele to buy.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhwBcJQPeq6Kl5eic7jp8oMv-2sAijNsaRWtVRk84WIsRY9e4V-vwKMmT6w9E8ix0lne_AFQtsX028iszjswjrraMGuv2lYGSzUzqIVzdDrqMe9HeesK-QIiHv54DTq8SgaIroYDkjBsx/s1600/lebanese+maggie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhwBcJQPeq6Kl5eic7jp8oMv-2sAijNsaRWtVRk84WIsRY9e4V-vwKMmT6w9E8ix0lne_AFQtsX028iszjswjrraMGuv2lYGSzUzqIVzdDrqMe9HeesK-QIiHv54DTq8SgaIroYDkjBsx/s320/lebanese+maggie.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> our Lebanese Mags</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We finished the tour a little after 9 pm (thank goodness it was an <i>evening</i> tour! The heat has followed us throughout this trip) and we started back towards Hamra. There was a young reporter on the tour with us doing an article on our tour guide for a local paper. Bubbly, well-traveled, knowledgeable and fully of personality, she quickly became our "Lebanese Maggie Clay"and allowed us to kidnap her a bit longer so we could bounce off questions about Lebanese customs and exchange war stories of past travel. She taught us how to navigate any future taxi debacles, answered our questions on Lebanese dos and don'ts and though a complete disaster, gave suggestions of where to eat (<i>love</i> her, but she's no foodie...). I think we must attract awesome people from the inherent awesomeness that we ourselves posses. It is like a <i>magnet!</i><br />
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We headed back to the hotel, still in awe of all that we had learned that evening, and hit the sack. A 4.30 am alarm clocks on top of four hour tours sure make a gal tired!<br />
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Tomorrow it's back downtown, documenting how this massive growth is affecting the city. We'll be visiting projects that my professors have designed and mapping the route the destruction took during the war. So far so good. I'm definitely loving it!</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-72346651207232244172011-08-08T08:46:00.000-07:002011-08-08T08:46:50.653-07:00greek side<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B0ZxHdC76f2TqGGup8yAqo6qiwU3jvPjM-XYm0A8mak8wQnTFnC1t_5YIsLj-t8BYMnJnd_YXrVLAksJ2bh9McxNKRy9JoyHu5NWHar7zuDUseUteF3cqqEL8wCrnqZMECNgpVdMxJ5D/s1600/me+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B0ZxHdC76f2TqGGup8yAqo6qiwU3jvPjM-XYm0A8mak8wQnTFnC1t_5YIsLj-t8BYMnJnd_YXrVLAksJ2bh9McxNKRy9JoyHu5NWHar7zuDUseUteF3cqqEL8wCrnqZMECNgpVdMxJ5D/s320/me+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Back to the Greek side. Back to rebuilding, renovating and ... Starbucks. Ahhh. (Didn't drink any-- are you <i>kidding</i> me?!-- but it is funny how the 'Bucks seems to be the mark of "civilization" these days...)<br />
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Grabbed an electricity-less siesta and some much needed water and hit the streets again. Armed with three types of writing utensils and the map of the south side of Nicosia we began walking the Greek side of the Line, mapping out what streets were destroyed during the fighting, which ones are still vacant and which have started renovations. The thickness of the buffer zone is marked on all maps of the city, but when one includes the dilapidated streets in that calculation, the Line takes on another size entirely.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNH4SV_9ctRULLic3F_DzPs12T86TFxg4O9TgoWcqu81xsyXUjwSzfg9bkG1xMDilp8f3TxtUHS1dgGqBHPmD0p3uxk_PVC_3xl4rriF-yYjYOs6dXno4yqPUnb-rzhP-VNxxvdoNxTipo/s1600/corner+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNH4SV_9ctRULLic3F_DzPs12T86TFxg4O9TgoWcqu81xsyXUjwSzfg9bkG1xMDilp8f3TxtUHS1dgGqBHPmD0p3uxk_PVC_3xl4rriF-yYjYOs6dXno4yqPUnb-rzhP-VNxxvdoNxTipo/s400/corner+panorama.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>It is sad how many streets have been deserted since the war, but when compared to the Turkish side, there's a stark contrast. It takes roughly four blocks from the Line before the Greek side starts getting life again. Whether it is better funding, citizens more bent towards entrepreneurship or determination to reclaim their city, the Greek side has moved towards the contemporary regrowth with substantially more speed.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVyvg5zrvDTqnTsNN4BxJx5i4q6Nnn4Bwz51mK7SYx5Io5qPk17gO144WuHdWJ8HvPVZNPlXF-5FHDIJVrJrwRbR0bDM0rl-DWTzFnFAXIjtrJ691Lr4z3qT3dlroQKg_h3Y-CIEQ7SJDp/s1600/war+torn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVyvg5zrvDTqnTsNN4BxJx5i4q6Nnn4Bwz51mK7SYx5Io5qPk17gO144WuHdWJ8HvPVZNPlXF-5FHDIJVrJrwRbR0bDM0rl-DWTzFnFAXIjtrJ691Lr4z3qT3dlroQKg_h3Y-CIEQ7SJDp/s320/war+torn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one block from green line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The areas that are still in ruins are either completely abandoned or are sparsely occupied, mostly by automobile workshops and architectural studios (oh, aren't we the ballsy ones!... Either that or the poorest, willing to set up shop anywhere. Hmmm.) It is clear that everyone wants these particular streets to be active once again, but so far it has only been a few brave (or monetarily challenged!) individuals who have actually begun reclaiming the area.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId1wyAnR4FJN45krn9loGYZM9FXr26e3vw54xIYj70hJWpcvYd83g-pSK3rcCBWOL5xhyphenhyphenm4zw7YYBcEvBXLMbZFl56lthd8okfvk5ZXWWIyIeSE9tX-KA9TLc5NWcpgci_4u1LhUy-GlH/s1600/cafe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId1wyAnR4FJN45krn9loGYZM9FXr26e3vw54xIYj70hJWpcvYd83g-pSK3rcCBWOL5xhyphenhyphenm4zw7YYBcEvBXLMbZFl56lthd8okfvk5ZXWWIyIeSE9tX-KA9TLc5NWcpgci_4u1LhUy-GlH/s320/cafe.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">student coffee shop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After mapping and diagramming in the sizzling, sweltering sun for three hours (definitely got many strange looks as I used the buildings as a vertical writing surface and even had a few passers-by pull over to ask if I needed directions--- "<i>ah, Miss! You have beautiful eyes!</i>"-- sheesh), we grabbed some water and lemonade at the Cyprus University student hang out that we had discovered the day before. This area is near the Line but come 6 o'clock and it is packed with students drinking frappes and enjoying cigarettes, discussing politics, fashion and other such things. A busy hub like this, just a few blocks from the Line, only reinforces the striking distinction between the north and south sides of the city.<br />
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We finished our lemonades and made our way back to our beautifully air conditioned hotel to peel off our soggy clothes, saturated in afternoon grim and sweat. Delicious.<br />
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We are finally on the Cyprus schedule (the last day we're here!):<br />
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10 am: coffee and yogurt<br />
2 pm: siesta starts/ electricity out<br />
4 pm: siesta ends/ electricity on<br />
5 pm: espresso and/or ice cream<br />
9.30+ pm: dinner<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5NJ0zHcw2xofaAhY0rGuagaBEkZcAsl8E81K_N_KsQdAhzo29N93RXwk5rB0b3Z0Kx2MO8t9IDgJTPHc-oPKx_iZoux2fngXnYWpRUTahnE_IsAJo8tFnOmCWDgdY4-z72S3ku9d_JVgN/s1600/skyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5NJ0zHcw2xofaAhY0rGuagaBEkZcAsl8E81K_N_KsQdAhzo29N93RXwk5rB0b3Z0Kx2MO8t9IDgJTPHc-oPKx_iZoux2fngXnYWpRUTahnE_IsAJo8tFnOmCWDgdY4-z72S3ku9d_JVgN/s320/skyline.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of Greek growth outside ancient walls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In the spirit of late night carousing, we waited until almost 10 pm before finding a place to eat. Oh, we are <i>so</i> with the times! Having had a Greek salad every day since arriving in Rhodes mid July, we opted for some pasta and found ourselves eating an Italian salad and roasted veggies pasta. A full bottle of wine and good bread and we were right back in Italy there on the streets of Greek Nicosia. Gotta love globalization.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPhhyphenhyphenqUeANdF86tIiM9hKc5lZ9rXLiqg93pEP6SGYYMcfeO0GSq1uiWUR1TzgB3k3CA4FtF_q8xoB3W7K_EZi8iJvBma0m3aOwFIAbmwkgObe4q0xkxHuo2uYpSPnjWn5jeRsZLCm1qyHe/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-08+at+6.24.05+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPhhyphenhyphenqUeANdF86tIiM9hKc5lZ9rXLiqg93pEP6SGYYMcfeO0GSq1uiWUR1TzgB3k3CA4FtF_q8xoB3W7K_EZi8iJvBma0m3aOwFIAbmwkgObe4q0xkxHuo2uYpSPnjWn5jeRsZLCm1qyHe/s320/Screen+shot+2011-08-08+at+6.24.05+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>Grabbed a Turkish coffee after dinner. Now, just for the record, Turkish coffee <i>could</i> be the best thing in the world. Layered with cardamon and the <i>lightest</i> amount of sugar, its thick texture coats the throat as it ambles down making a girl feel like she might just downright have to dance a jig with joy. Hot smooth liquid that is relished up to the point where the sipper must <i>stop!</i> suddenly lest she suck down the viscid dregs that occupy the entire bottom half of the tiny espresso cup. It is well worth the risk of getting the gritty dregs in the mouth. Well worth it. It's heaven. Simply heaven. Being around the Green Line makes one have a distaste for these Turks, but if they could come up with a drink this amazing, well, I might have to reconsider...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnZ036QYYV6BkolSFpnowosjD6AgbXhxtnVfdt5cS5zbYNMZMa93ZhR8l1TPhXZNqPuDh_Tut69AtN4n6NBRnOV6y_7JgNoy-rnLcX-0l2NmHxaCjSzgDGsFjg5G3pmFWTazMssLV4NbX/s1600/reconstruction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnZ036QYYV6BkolSFpnowosjD6AgbXhxtnVfdt5cS5zbYNMZMa93ZhR8l1TPhXZNqPuDh_Tut69AtN4n6NBRnOV6y_7JgNoy-rnLcX-0l2NmHxaCjSzgDGsFjg5G3pmFWTazMssLV4NbX/s320/reconstruction.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">street starting housing renovations</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Tomorrow it's an early flight to Beirut where I am hoping to do a similar mapping exercise. The Lebanese Green Line was taken down in 1990 at the end of the Civil War and has become a hot spot for flashy architects and millions of dollars of developmental investments. Nicosia is struggling to deal with its Green Line, to come to a political agreement or a way to move forward. Beirut has had 21 years of slow progress and has recently attacked the idea of reclamation with a fervor unmatched in any other war-torn city.<br />
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Goodbye Greek salads. Hello labneh and modern architecture.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlFn8n3TIhCGoEB05A4eGNE4owc1dbx28AtShnamSAhdFPtpep3bBhKhC28-BOGI9RiAS6llKj4JCrIhFzxu-95zEJik5EyhOLoS65PHGrZfUNSlFha_W2uxq8NW8t5AHOMy-Px8oq87b/s1600/street+panorama+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlFn8n3TIhCGoEB05A4eGNE4owc1dbx28AtShnamSAhdFPtpep3bBhKhC28-BOGI9RiAS6llKj4JCrIhFzxu-95zEJik5EyhOLoS65PHGrZfUNSlFha_W2uxq8NW8t5AHOMy-Px8oq87b/s640/street+panorama+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-26289440886709065782011-08-06T23:55:00.000-07:002011-08-06T23:55:25.833-07:00turkish side<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0K3JoAvwdEDdMAfgAMoyBZS5986je6D4x3QcBzjQT1WevH7b1yP9IEE4M9ApazyQ0bsoKqQJigGQbD_ssJwEeBBwjjeaKaudsNYhHVC-eK0dOUXx4fGb6aJAqlWEAmIC8d1uOoCilFEA/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0K3JoAvwdEDdMAfgAMoyBZS5986je6D4x3QcBzjQT1WevH7b1yP9IEE4M9ApazyQ0bsoKqQJigGQbD_ssJwEeBBwjjeaKaudsNYhHVC-eK0dOUXx4fGb6aJAqlWEAmIC8d1uOoCilFEA/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This morning we crossed the Line.<br />
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After touring the monuments and historic sites of the Greek side of the city yesterday I wanted to go across the divide and document the Turkish side of the Green Line, possibly seeing if they had another view on the events of the 1974 Turkish Invasion. If they were anything like the Greeks, they would have justifying opinions on why the invasion took place and why they had the right to the land.<br />
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The Turkish Republic in Cyprus is not recognized by any other country in the world (with the existence of this fact, why they are still allowed to occupy the island is beyond my understanding...) and therefore crossing into their "province"requires some political juggling. There are still passport checkpoints and you still get a stamp, but they are not allowed to stamp your official passport. Therefore they copy your passport number, have you fill out a form, and then stamp your form as if it was an authenticated document. This is seriously a 8.5"x11" piece of paper that they have ripped into quarters. That is our "passport" during our time on the Turkish side.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMKVLkPGyTErRNrbPJ_XZrlRDxSu8ZBf-2_bjp1qAqI9LhNTA6oH9GzYsZ1wQ_iBq6ok2w-EhziriSWOQU5fDSoyrikiWwBfHL1Bdun7ssmo8ZmXww_0DBNY8CDrKxUvks_bG_f0uPuCyr/s1600/entrance+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMKVLkPGyTErRNrbPJ_XZrlRDxSu8ZBf-2_bjp1qAqI9LhNTA6oH9GzYsZ1wQ_iBq6ok2w-EhziriSWOQU5fDSoyrikiWwBfHL1Bdun7ssmo8ZmXww_0DBNY8CDrKxUvks_bG_f0uPuCyr/s640/entrance+panorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">buffer zone entrance</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExmcSdmpT2vd1lF_Z_PAFd4JUATi5Brs2wlLjtvyWVSlAcORPfAq49sGFi1a0SLHLaO-JHkc2z_fUXlpjZzpIoOmFpNrHGYvYOLZ3K8JeFNyXoPW5yV5mnvM6G0ci2gXtkVk4_lN-go4W/s1600/ped+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExmcSdmpT2vd1lF_Z_PAFd4JUATi5Brs2wlLjtvyWVSlAcORPfAq49sGFi1a0SLHLaO-JHkc2z_fUXlpjZzpIoOmFpNrHGYvYOLZ3K8JeFNyXoPW5yV5mnvM6G0ci2gXtkVk4_lN-go4W/s320/ped+street.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It is strange spending two days on the Greek side of the city, crossing over a ditch, getting a fake passport and suddenly being thrown into a different culture. Different language, different way of life, different money (very annoying the money thing! What are we supposed to do with this change after we buy some water?! Argh. Guess it's going in my sketchbook...). Immediately one can feel the difference. Even though it is the continuation of the pedestrian street from the Greek side, the street feels smaller and more crowded. We went from a modern city street advertising fancy make up, shoes and a T.G.I. Friday's restaurant to a more market street, complete with kitschy souvenirs and crowded kiosks.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBcCmJaMqZVwwdjRSUzzeQsyF8cibWmdAeIbXbLdEZQGL5MdzBpbVoGXHfkKDLh28anfa38mFdCN3-V9y1QjTGXBZnuV10s0n4FyfRctIUWeo9JFONKvuiaOQbVnv0zkKh2s-eBHbnfJy/s1600/typ+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBcCmJaMqZVwwdjRSUzzeQsyF8cibWmdAeIbXbLdEZQGL5MdzBpbVoGXHfkKDLh28anfa38mFdCN3-V9y1QjTGXBZnuV10s0n4FyfRctIUWeo9JFONKvuiaOQbVnv0zkKh2s-eBHbnfJy/s320/typ+street.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>If one walks one block of the main pedestrian thoroughfare immediately she is thrown into dilapidated buildings, dirt streets and old cars lining the side of the road. On the Greek side there two or three streets running along the Green Line are in this condition, but once one passes a bit further into the city, the contemporary city takes shape again. Here this ramshackle state consumes the whole area. I am not sure if it is poverty, the lack of an official governmental funds, or just that this side was hit harder in the fighting, but it feels much more like a "war zone", one that is still active, even though there hasn't been a killing since the late 1990s.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpJcMg6s1XiNLteVDLIaoT_7qQKb_cFOGb_m5hMCcuxiaN4Brp3im4a-dFslkZS-0rynv53VEOuYeDO07XixYk0T7XTp1i4LpP9kNb1QkxOo1g-YpOpyQ53GK9eDiskvVOFjixo2Ij5Lh/s1600/green+line_turkish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpJcMg6s1XiNLteVDLIaoT_7qQKb_cFOGb_m5hMCcuxiaN4Brp3im4a-dFslkZS-0rynv53VEOuYeDO07XixYk0T7XTp1i4LpP9kNb1QkxOo1g-YpOpyQ53GK9eDiskvVOFjixo2Ij5Lh/s320/green+line_turkish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of line: turkish flags and greek sandbags</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Green Line is well documented in modern day charts and even the city maps they give tourists. It shows the thickness of the zone that only the UN soldiers can access. My intention for this research was in part to document how broad the Green Line becomes when you include the streets and other areas that have been deserted because of the Line. How thick does that zone become? While on the Turkish side it was very evident that most of this side of the city can be included in that "zone", the Greek side has a clear end to the physicality of the Line.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5aL1hy_QJKRe67jsGrnwyL3raaP6KcsBT-UjiWFM4a5ztt8eDPHd-b8t0gt8ygm9FFYY7oRvCeXB3Srprh0HJWkQs5X_bYtUzMOIvUgEiZNLrrGBd12-2nKzMbej8zX9w-DN3nuoLmSf/s1600/empty+lot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5aL1hy_QJKRe67jsGrnwyL3raaP6KcsBT-UjiWFM4a5ztt8eDPHd-b8t0gt8ygm9FFYY7oRvCeXB3Srprh0HJWkQs5X_bYtUzMOIvUgEiZNLrrGBd12-2nKzMbej8zX9w-DN3nuoLmSf/s320/empty+lot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Turkish people are very concerned with their image. I'm not sure if it is that they recognize that the rest of the world doesn't approve of their actions, or if they are embarrassed by the fact that the Green Line even exists, either way they do <i>not</i> like any photographs taken of anything other than historic monuments or mosques. I was caught a few times snapping a picture of the Line and was shouted at by regular civilians who did not appreciate my attention to the zone of contention.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXiX-4nkLkyeRQza7ixi7mFEdXsTwJy0s4gSprc5-IMAwNetmEhT10eFuPBkz-ugg6sD_ZnxtMBX5sDsS4gDJE3MDcpdOVrkXCV7dDKvkiv5DtAwKNkJwV6LC8hKYZFEP14UwpZRAY9giX/s1600/neighborhood+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXiX-4nkLkyeRQza7ixi7mFEdXsTwJy0s4gSprc5-IMAwNetmEhT10eFuPBkz-ugg6sD_ZnxtMBX5sDsS4gDJE3MDcpdOVrkXCV7dDKvkiv5DtAwKNkJwV6LC8hKYZFEP14UwpZRAY9giX/s320/neighborhood+street.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>When we first passed through the "passport checkpoint" we were told by a Turkish soldier to stay on the blue line that was painted on the roads, marking the way that tourists can go throughout the area. This "blue line" was more of a hidden brown line of street paint, covered in dirt and missing in most places; however, here again the citizens of the area insisted that you stay <i>directly</i> on it. We were told several times to get back on the line or had someone frantically come up and point emphatically at the line if we stepped off of it. Being 5 million degrees outside we were walking on the shaded side of the street (as any <i>normal</i> person would do) but had a store owner run out to us, cross the street and forcefully point down at the line that was right across the road. Literally 3 meters away. Until that point we couldn't decide if people were just trying to be helpful in identifying the blue line or if they were offended that we take a single step off of it. That pretty much blew away our optimistic outlook of their helpfulness...<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW67r9B2ryq-SzV1W_uIT6XPuuk2aciVEhkKALXLrlkh4rrcB7qZU3vSeWqyNmXlzcDPoPSH98ID-YKgLs8cvylPjEpPTjdhW0OgW0e6RbJyKiwFwsnapIg1AiZdGHP3azPEf4wQJAsLRa/s1600/modern+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW67r9B2ryq-SzV1W_uIT6XPuuk2aciVEhkKALXLrlkh4rrcB7qZU3vSeWqyNmXlzcDPoPSH98ID-YKgLs8cvylPjEpPTjdhW0OgW0e6RbJyKiwFwsnapIg1AiZdGHP3azPEf4wQJAsLRa/s320/modern+street.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">commercial street</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Turkish north side of Nicosia does have a commercial street running through it. It is busy with cars and trucks going to the center part of the city (of course stopped by the pedestrian street and then the Green Line), but it again is only one street wide. If one ventures of a block over on either side, she is immediately back on a street of crumbling buildings, dusty roads and homes with out common amenities. The commercial street is not new and would be considered shabby on most standards, but it does sport stores for cell phones, insurance and contemporary coffee shops. We stopped in for an iced tea (thankful to finally be off the stupid blue street line!) and ended up spending 10 euros ($15!!!) on drinks just because we couldn't use the cash they handed back to us. I hate spending extra money. Seriously. I might be the cheapest traveler ever. Grrrr!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We headed back over to the Greek side, thankful to see clean streets, signs in English and a generally optimistic outlook on reclaiming and renovating the city. I'm not sure how the transition would go if the Green Line were ever to be taken down. The two sides are in such a different state (seemingly such a different time period as well!) that the integration would be difficult to say the least. Unfortunately, I don't think anyone has to worry about that any time in the near future.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLnpwQDkWj0NutG5biNFdcv0OqWVcfFndgQVWoCBGB2I9t9XCDdHFXQRW0qI530btYqd7SKJlACY9vD14wBv7UxwojnolIlidl63Zv6VgGHkljWmNJdUhP-Bng4P42cdCTLvQxMNNKHGc/s1600/mosque+neighborhood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLnpwQDkWj0NutG5biNFdcv0OqWVcfFndgQVWoCBGB2I9t9XCDdHFXQRW0qI530btYqd7SKJlACY9vD14wBv7UxwojnolIlidl63Zv6VgGHkljWmNJdUhP-Bng4P42cdCTLvQxMNNKHGc/s640/mosque+neighborhood.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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Tomorrow it's mapping and diagraming the Greek side and then off to Lebanon. I can't believe how quickly this part of the trip is going. We've definitely had to embrace the afternoon siesta, both because of the severe heat and also the store closings with lack of afternoon electricity and internet, but I still feel like I'm getting a lot done. It's nice to finally be able to see what I've been researching for so long. I love feeling productive!</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-39177652335808682822011-08-05T10:42:00.000-07:002011-08-05T10:42:17.770-07:00three hour tour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnw7icqy5tp_2b7tgYS4deEZhm9WfsYOUoxzm4pH489HxaZblp1cIDoZIc-Mwe3BOpXX9VQaZmNIgFvmLQdlmBfUFZ83nbEKDjtJY5Uk1IebJOtoTCrmPjYLENnemtG1gIhJURo7D0QE_/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnw7icqy5tp_2b7tgYS4deEZhm9WfsYOUoxzm4pH489HxaZblp1cIDoZIc-Mwe3BOpXX9VQaZmNIgFvmLQdlmBfUFZ83nbEKDjtJY5Uk1IebJOtoTCrmPjYLENnemtG1gIhJURo7D0QE_/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A free breakfast is a great thing. Honestly. Every hotel should do it. It is a brilliant idea! I must say, this whole being in a hotel thing has it's perks. New towels everyday. Instant coffee in your room (yuuum....) and this great free breakfast. Of course, in order to spare my budget which perished days ago, I booked our room as a <i>single</i> instead of a double (over 100 euros difference!). Mom therefore is locked away upstairs while I <i>caaaas-u-ally</i> walk into the dining room, smiling, fill my plate, and slip back up the stairway to feed my illegal roommate who has been busy hiding from the maids. Still, breakfast is delicious.<br />
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We tiptoed out the stairwell and met a tour guide a few twisting streets away. Nicosia has several free tours throughout the week as well as numerous free museums, memorials and cultural centers. As I said yesterday, they are working hard to revitalize what they can of their split city and each building they renovate seems to be turned into another monument.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZR1Ds8ir6MBZFVGIrXIJq0OhPysrCKfoBnEk3CFyf1PnRPSF5CAmtki7zWCsv6A9xn7qon7fYKjZVzp1r28CQgauAq-V6cACah9Ca3m-UsbhxtnIq0cPPIRilOpxfn_hORzGrdP7VFxj/s1600/wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZR1Ds8ir6MBZFVGIrXIJq0OhPysrCKfoBnEk3CFyf1PnRPSF5CAmtki7zWCsv6A9xn7qon7fYKjZVzp1r28CQgauAq-V6cACah9Ca3m-UsbhxtnIq0cPPIRilOpxfn_hORzGrdP7VFxj/s320/wall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It was a <i>three</i> hour tour (insert Gilligan musical ditty here) and let me one again reiterate that it is hot here. Hot! We were promised a coffee break at some point but construction hindered the plan and it was three continuous hours in the sun for these two ladies! We were joined by two Russian couples who I am <i>hoping</i> were on their honeymoon (together?!) because if the one pair touch each other that much normally... good lord. I wanted to smack the gushy duo on behalf of myself and all other anti-PDA-ers or <i>people in general</i> who want to puke when a couple put their heads together whenever they stand still as if they were two swans posing for some trite postcard, but I was too hot to want to touch either of them. My hand might have literally gotten stuck to their skin. Seriously. We were all sticky to say the least.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3DbA0PDRbpEJ5Tjiy4T6HjVYG9h3lra-v2fLXvjGzTMrCCf9iGuN8hmUNF1WltdRwkQ-oQNZxhTFgZKb9TdqL2OMGMYxs55S6ViPLY2CGP2wrIPNn6vIEfZeE-BMwyaKVrkQvvDes5Xu/s1600/memorial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3DbA0PDRbpEJ5Tjiy4T6HjVYG9h3lra-v2fLXvjGzTMrCCf9iGuN8hmUNF1WltdRwkQ-oQNZxhTFgZKb9TdqL2OMGMYxs55S6ViPLY2CGP2wrIPNn6vIEfZeE-BMwyaKVrkQvvDes5Xu/s320/memorial.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>The tour took us all over the Greek side of the city. Lydras street, which bustles with shoppers ambling in and out of contemporary stores and restaurants, to the ancient churches and mosques left over from the 3rd and 4th centuries and then, of course since it runs the length of the city, along the Green Line. It is surreal to see the Starbucks, a armed UN soldier and barbed wire surrounding dilapidated buildings all in the same view.<br />
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Life around here pretty similar to that of an American city. The old city contains the history and small shopping and cultural districts while the outer portion has the high-rises, industry and business centers. Most of the time you wouldn't even know the Green Line was there, which I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uBHPvlg_QJZ8g-TEs1DzGP4iWhlcPIjGdhArabK5_yesG7ph4dglcw4jeN7QPFc6l3zodbKAN6K6KiNYhdTc_UMStYtRZva7pJm41I7i4beXTpX0GGy46BQ7-BhtTft8620jO9esyhRZ/s1600/starbucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uBHPvlg_QJZ8g-TEs1DzGP4iWhlcPIjGdhArabK5_yesG7ph4dglcw4jeN7QPFc6l3zodbKAN6K6KiNYhdTc_UMStYtRZva7pJm41I7i4beXTpX0GGy46BQ7-BhtTft8620jO9esyhRZ/s320/starbucks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Line has been around for so long that everyone is relatively unbothered by it as they go about their daily routine; however, it is a very sore subject with all residences as one can imagine. Historic churches that once were a major players in the Greek Orthodox Church have now been turned into mosques, sporting Turkish flags and beckoning worshipers with the call to prayer, literally sitting only <i>meters</i> from the Greek side of the Line. The most lively part of the city was literally extinguished during the 1974 Turkish Invasion and while they have done a valiant job at recently reviving the area, there is still a large scar running through the city, abruptly stopping each perpendicular street and devaluing the surrounding real estate.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFIz6fWNdVa7fvhyphenhyphen_Dh1Fc_eLmM5jvu65Zr6S85LzioCSttbEWsNT2EnHKw3tyZlCSdju0IVOosQzYcpylpzVkrSi9RL5EWFMZfoLPCw_PaVSYlEAwM3QjSex3hxldemqNyVaUSr0wolM/s1600/gate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFIz6fWNdVa7fvhyphenhyphen_Dh1Fc_eLmM5jvu65Zr6S85LzioCSttbEWsNT2EnHKw3tyZlCSdju0IVOosQzYcpylpzVkrSi9RL5EWFMZfoLPCw_PaVSYlEAwM3QjSex3hxldemqNyVaUSr0wolM/s320/gate.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As an architecture students we study city planning as well as architectural history. We look at how to resuscitate failing parts of a city, discuss what makes a successful and pleasant urban street, and study the relationship between traffic patterns, pedestrian movement and the needs of commerce. However, in a situation like this, the only <i>sustaining</i> resolution is going to be politically based. The UN and other organizations can renovate buildings and preserve historic sites and will most likely be able to bring commercial business back to the city center, but until diplomatic compromises are made, no matter the monetary contributions, the research, the reconstruction, there will be a indignant blemish stopping the city from becoming what it could have been. It's a heavy thing to realize and and even harder thing to see.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGND3gfIIFfogSUn8Sg9le6KuNmgVQ0XbtJ9MLomHFTyterjPeASXc_ax-PNgJ790KGWh6EeSnCfPmhQrK0jLWAEPbLX4itDEXLcOtfMGs-q8uAT5kmNfJ8XDbtAqNKgQTZDxilhS-1GHG/s1600/meze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGND3gfIIFfogSUn8Sg9le6KuNmgVQ0XbtJ9MLomHFTyterjPeASXc_ax-PNgJ790KGWh6EeSnCfPmhQrK0jLWAEPbLX4itDEXLcOtfMGs-q8uAT5kmNfJ8XDbtAqNKgQTZDxilhS-1GHG/s320/meze.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>We finished the tour and found a cafe for some <i>much needed</i> water. Electricity goes out here from 2-4 every day so the goal is to find someplace in the shade to survive the time without lights, AC or internet. We made it through the afternoon, took a shower and headed back out to find some great Cypriot food. We found a place that serves <i>meze</i>, an assortment of small plates, each featuring a traditional dish. We were brought about seven plates to start with. Then came the second round of another seven plates. Then the third. We were stuffed. Then the <i>fourth</i>!? Are you kidding? (We pushed most of the food from these plates underneath the others we had finished or gave it to the cats that were swarming under our table.) We were about to puke when they brought out the dessert: delicious doughnuts drenched in honey, followed by watermelon. We were lucky to find room to fit those in (I think the extra room can still be seen around our waist lines. Seems to be where we are storing most food these days...).<br />
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Back to the hotel. Back into the shower. Back into bed.<br />
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We are exploring the Turkish side of the line tomorrow. I wonder if I'll be able to be diplomatic in my diagraming. </div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-12389776104797355822011-08-04T08:39:00.000-07:002011-08-04T08:39:45.332-07:00turmoil at last<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa9nVEeL0pkREy1pKFDq3aCrEOmKaNHWn2Xwzee4yZJPkylHhi9gjoKbRs87k_vsOucld2QtSsHzHPQU3_6MA-cT4FaSaO4T0M_3nv_T0KSLENjRvIguH0bheLaZlstLJCdLsWAb9IOCN/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa9nVEeL0pkREy1pKFDq3aCrEOmKaNHWn2Xwzee4yZJPkylHhi9gjoKbRs87k_vsOucld2QtSsHzHPQU3_6MA-cT4FaSaO4T0M_3nv_T0KSLENjRvIguH0bheLaZlstLJCdLsWAb9IOCN/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Finally. Cyprus. Goodbye mellow moped meandering and succulent supper savoring. Hello to a contemporary city with political turmoil remnants from the 1960s.<br />
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We arrived in Nicosia, the capital and only inland city of Cyprus. Since the island was at one point owned by the British, all the cars drive on the wrong side of the road and traces of an English accent are common. We are actually staying in a <i>hotel</i> for the rest of the trip since the airbnb options were looking a little sketchy... let's just say their locations would not be on my family's "safe" list. We are staying in the old part of the city, walled in by the Venetians back when they owned the place. The Green Line cuts not only through the fortified part of the city, but through the entire island itself!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwroSB9rtESmSNlo1QdMpZv-1tXju7GapG7bWngg_jRhCXBRkmFVD6l94RsVf0HN85Wh8jdJNch_MywixTHK9xPZLI01y_48Pa36HQbZh_EY5kC5eU728PbNyYtjI_zjHtkodXyp8QmCy/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-04+at+4.53.13+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwroSB9rtESmSNlo1QdMpZv-1tXju7GapG7bWngg_jRhCXBRkmFVD6l94RsVf0HN85Wh8jdJNch_MywixTHK9xPZLI01y_48Pa36HQbZh_EY5kC5eU728PbNyYtjI_zjHtkodXyp8QmCy/s320/Screen+shot+2011-08-04+at+4.53.13+PM.png" width="257" /></a></div><br />
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Here is a short history of the Green Line (also included in graphic form below):<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><li>late 1800s: Brits gain control of the island</li>
<li>1955: Cypriots start wanting their own country</li>
<li>1960: Cyprus becomes a nation</li>
<li>1963: Green Line established when Turkey started wanting Cyprus to be divided into two countries</li>
<li>1974: Turkish Invasion (they captured 30% of the island) and UN controls the buffer zone</li>
</ul><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlH6qxCD4Nh7nhobCWM4RuEppf9sl8QVjx-NhkKABqjnj85jZJnVZg4vsazcqYzmvGVYnpeb6o5WvW7-KHQkmh5NvPTsDC4gYAi80Is8TnqhWXATkQXje2cuFC3ss7wPC8D0n8vTJWogZG/s1600/dressed+up+greenline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlH6qxCD4Nh7nhobCWM4RuEppf9sl8QVjx-NhkKABqjnj85jZJnVZg4vsazcqYzmvGVYnpeb6o5WvW7-KHQkmh5NvPTsDC4gYAi80Is8TnqhWXATkQXje2cuFC3ss7wPC8D0n8vTJWogZG/s320/dressed+up+greenline.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Green Line is still up today despite efforts of the UN to get each side to come to a compromise. This <i>Line</i> is a physical division with a "no man's land" in between, accessible only by UN soldiers. Sometimes it is as little as 30 meters wide, at other points it is over 14 km. The barriers range from barbed wire and concrete blocks to sandbags covered in green material and hidden by plantation (literally making it a <i>green</i> line...groan. Sorry, couldn't resist).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaydnG-WAlSPe1ubM7Hs089_wUlmNwuGCqpy5vPdx2FKoLiGNJZ3UwBwPkmORdcxBCEappnyrHZRJXP05QxRjAIlW9BdSCzdlwWGxw98tpvyZ8DjWCyj944QncZlTrE6L0-n-LLYCGy6D9/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-04+at+4.54.52+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaydnG-WAlSPe1ubM7Hs089_wUlmNwuGCqpy5vPdx2FKoLiGNJZ3UwBwPkmORdcxBCEappnyrHZRJXP05QxRjAIlW9BdSCzdlwWGxw98tpvyZ8DjWCyj944QncZlTrE6L0-n-LLYCGy6D9/s320/Screen+shot+2011-08-04+at+4.54.52+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>The Green Line runs through the very heart of Nicosia, which used to be the center of commerce, each street lined with shops and studios and customers occupying the area throughout the day. With the fighting in 1974 and the physical presence of the boundary, the streets running along side of the division are now destroyed, dilapidated and void of any pedestrians. For almost thirty years no one was allowed to cross the Line; now there are seven checkpoints at which citizens or visitors can access the other side, each station run by UN soldiers. Today we explored the Greek side. Tomorrow it's the Turks' turn to host us. Lucky them.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzI6hhJWam0MAf_GqHRVDD0Pl0drwGcOkwbNUb8kmNH2noN3Q9dShHRa9V_-TWbm26U9AF6ppxNAce0pk4LQm4-KIzzOBgolzzwTRZwpRZFQFyiAfl0vVD4xufYEx8TZwYV4krrjdhQgf/s1600/freedom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzI6hhJWam0MAf_GqHRVDD0Pl0drwGcOkwbNUb8kmNH2noN3Q9dShHRa9V_-TWbm26U9AF6ppxNAce0pk4LQm4-KIzzOBgolzzwTRZwpRZFQFyiAfl0vVD4xufYEx8TZwYV4krrjdhQgf/s320/freedom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It is crazy the tension one can feel when talking to the residents. The line has been up since the 60s so they are accustomed to its presence, but each local we spoke to felt that it is an <i>invasion</i> of their land (which, of course, it is) and are bitter that no resolution has been reached. Greek flags are on top of each building on this side, sand bags are painted in blue and white, and graffiti calling for the removal of Turkish inhabitants from the northern part of the city are everywhere. When looking out from our second story room, it is very common to see a Greek flag with a Turkish one flying in opposition across the Line, only meters away.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7VU58nCfWJCgI8Rd3wchDLBU4eoXXBDBE657lyxHrJRgY4RtaTNA5-r0i3leLsb3iTN_6uRV8pF1rgkD7fTK6alXWSl__bT1TSldqhNoGUOxeykmJ4akM1L_bqhsrfgUnRPbURlUPtOc/s1600/barbed+wire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7VU58nCfWJCgI8Rd3wchDLBU4eoXXBDBE657lyxHrJRgY4RtaTNA5-r0i3leLsb3iTN_6uRV8pF1rgkD7fTK6alXWSl__bT1TSldqhNoGUOxeykmJ4akM1L_bqhsrfgUnRPbURlUPtOc/s320/barbed+wire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Thanks to my lovely Mother, we stumbled upon a rickety trailer of sorts that housed a display of the Nicosia Master Plan Project just near the Line. The city is tirelessly trying to renovate the historic buildings within the wall and start to restore some of the houses close to the Line in a valiant effort to bring people back to the area. It is, for the most part, unsuccessful. The buildings they have renovated are lovely and are definitely a point of pride for the city; however, in terms of bringing life back to the center of the city, it has not had an overwhelming effect. To be fair, it is hard to convince a restaurant to set up shop next to a ditch lined with barbed wire, spray paint and large signs warning not to get to close (and no photographs! That means <i>you</i>, you visiting architecture student who constantly disregards the obvious signs!)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSXWR86s1dZOeCT-2NXrBbeTRP-XFbb5xdbcuGhiW5ZxZXc1n1Lomrst7xzwpC7ZHIEsGh1qFnV3fH9r3sBqgFDk0j-BGThI3fl4JkRimohyphenhyphen43yFq600mkJPC2_SzgQWYxxAgOw_qLRVw/s1600/flag+in+lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSXWR86s1dZOeCT-2NXrBbeTRP-XFbb5xdbcuGhiW5ZxZXc1n1Lomrst7xzwpC7ZHIEsGh1qFnV3fH9r3sBqgFDk0j-BGThI3fl4JkRimohyphenhyphen43yFq600mkJPC2_SzgQWYxxAgOw_qLRVw/s320/flag+in+lights.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We had a glass of wine on the roof of one of the national museums and were shocked to see the outline of a Turkish flag flashing on the northern mountains just outside the city, just flashing away as if it was sweetly waving at the Greek Cypriots, knowing it was safe from their desired reproach.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAuehNobImbVFIQAJjaEZHWCnMYnsnTHzWgKvPg9a59Y2uI5ju6miIHVouw4sq6xq9WwtEFGNZ6mFQhn1WOkNYiH5qOYHfxjwjIwpm4Ehw1Phlxx1S2rF0AvLrfI38m6GpI4ggd_m2FLD/s1600/dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAuehNobImbVFIQAJjaEZHWCnMYnsnTHzWgKvPg9a59Y2uI5ju6miIHVouw4sq6xq9WwtEFGNZ6mFQhn1WOkNYiH5qOYHfxjwjIwpm4Ehw1Phlxx1S2rF0AvLrfI38m6GpI4ggd_m2FLD/s320/dinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Dinner was a quick stop at an Armenian deli-stand of sorts (Mom figured out for the first time that Armenian food comes from <i>Armenia</i>! Yes, Mother. That is a country...). Sadly it was not quite at the same caliber as our last meal in Athens (I know, I know. We've been spoiled), but it was only 4 euros so can't complain too much. We walked back to our hotel room, past the Starbucks, Cinnabon and McDonalds, past the fancy shops sitting only blocks away from barricades guarded by armed troops, past the crowd of men sitting outside shouting at the local football match, placing bets at one of the many, <i>many</i> gambling bars, and past the disputing Turkish and Greek flags, standing in protest of the other's presence, waving intrepidly and refusing to back down.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I know it's no spectacular beach with views of never ending shades of blue, nor is it the cuisine mecca of the Middle Eastern world, but I'm excited to be here. Real research at last!<br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-8690193297765878952011-08-03T07:23:00.000-07:002011-08-03T07:23:28.854-07:00getting high<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jO_ArU0m7HoL9CH-2JwRqttk4l58CLJCkj4FIO9zjoPe2Kg0xNpt0jdLOdxLnkwDRiyWufUgu24WNLrsFAs_SmB4wX2wntDFQDVxIA7jMG1ETi-t3U7Px9ksNQcLVT2NB90mx2LJALAB/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jO_ArU0m7HoL9CH-2JwRqttk4l58CLJCkj4FIO9zjoPe2Kg0xNpt0jdLOdxLnkwDRiyWufUgu24WNLrsFAs_SmB4wX2wntDFQDVxIA7jMG1ETi-t3U7Px9ksNQcLVT2NB90mx2LJALAB/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Today was the last day in Greece. Last day of the half of the trip that in no way is "war torn". So now the e-mails berating my <i>oh-so-hard</i> trip can stop. From now on it will be different. But that just means that we had to savor today all the more.<br />
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As previously mentioned, the first day in Athens resulted in my purchase of a bus tour to Delphi (yes, I know. I thought it was cheesy while I was doing it as well...), a trip of about a three hour drive, an afternoon spent at the historic site and the drive home. Mom and I enjoyed our dining experience so much last night (and the maitre-de enjoyed <i>us</i> so much!) that we accepted his invite for reservations on Kuzina's rooftop terrace for a second dinner. So, if this tour was a bust, at least we had dinner to save the day!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpnycEkSm87ZbONPjP0GDA_vaVL1_VeH6Las8zYoU3VLUJ3Z6BF1kF5BPol8mr6i2-hhWxdPKDEQ9_Hc06fBgK1oXnmAoOoYDf8bGCzn5rpfxzmBk-UbDWNA9nHseuSIOEXFSqahWxUcjp/s1600/athenian+treasury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpnycEkSm87ZbONPjP0GDA_vaVL1_VeH6Las8zYoU3VLUJ3Z6BF1kF5BPol8mr6i2-hhWxdPKDEQ9_Hc06fBgK1oXnmAoOoYDf8bGCzn5rpfxzmBk-UbDWNA9nHseuSIOEXFSqahWxUcjp/s320/athenian+treasury.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Athenian treasury</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We left the apartment by 7.15 (what a feat!) to head into the city and catch the KeyTour bus to which we were assigned. Of course <i>finding</i> the office for once was simple and we arrived 45 minutes early. Oh well, at least we were able to sit in AC!<br />
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We loaded onto the bus, instantly identifying who was the "Annoying American", "Drunk Aussie", "Question Lady" and "Spoiled Spanish Child". We fought back sleep as we drove through the Greek countryside listening to our tour guide deftly exhibit her vast knowledge of Greek mythology and national history. It was very impressive.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzOFpD3Zow5TtZ94ZsY2FeT65pAaeeGvAcL_o561g5ntTsS9XO0VGOpE0Sio8_htHf1HYQkG8Wq2Fz-75c0ps6ByUcSEpopRu9AVmdYZk9daSK32bk6-_tXIUhCVlqS_f2pg3e18znG6o/s1600/oracle%2527s+temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzOFpD3Zow5TtZ94ZsY2FeT65pAaeeGvAcL_o561g5ntTsS9XO0VGOpE0Sio8_htHf1HYQkG8Wq2Fz-75c0ps6ByUcSEpopRu9AVmdYZk9daSK32bk6-_tXIUhCVlqS_f2pg3e18znG6o/s320/oracle%2527s+temple.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">temple of Apollo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We drove up, up and up some more. From the agricultural fields into the mountains that advertise the skiing season and winter resorts. Our ears started popping before we were even halfway up and yet we continued driving up those rocky mountains.<br />
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We finally reached Delphi, a religious site thousands of years old, originally devoted to Mother Earth and then later to Apollo, god of light and the sun, truth and prophecy, medicine, music, poetry and the arts. Needless to say, he was pretty hard core. Delphi was home of the main oracle in Greek mythology who would speak directly to Apollo, relay his messages to her priests who in turn would tell any pilgrim who made the long journey up the mountain in search for answers to his questions. (It was discovered in the 80s that the Oracle was actually sitting on part of the mountain where hallucinogenic gas seeped through so I'm sure her babbling songs were a joy to hear and most informative.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD50h5c6I2zdTKgH2xqE6NhLWA5n4iYRNjX9myu_nxr8bDbzC1c1D8EIqF4nCc1mcEHOv3ZLksxyJgc8edG0RlsqUKVQH6wBXXUG3YgWpF7TRRSr-99j7aOMrCOaw-j565Zh9vM_6dUnoI/s1600/us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD50h5c6I2zdTKgH2xqE6NhLWA5n4iYRNjX9myu_nxr8bDbzC1c1D8EIqF4nCc1mcEHOv3ZLksxyJgc8edG0RlsqUKVQH6wBXXUG3YgWpF7TRRSr-99j7aOMrCOaw-j565Zh9vM_6dUnoI/s320/us.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The site contained the Temple of Apollo, treasuries for each Greek city-state housing offerings of thanks for the Oracle when she correctly predicted military exploits, a theater, stadium, an altar, Roman agora and a multitude of commemorative statues. Most of these things were preserved and held in the museum next to the site. It was all pretty astounding. The fact that it was all perched on a mountain so steep that most visitors (probably all the Americans!) didn't even hike to the top just made it that much more sensational.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSmlJgx6lS9BnhrOsjIM-kNxtBVRcCcF5-9Uxg4gH2mSk1RR8wytWmtOOHzXIhtyTn0eCljV8t-PCYBVXhDc_hrZzZs6m579L3LZ3rUDqx9RzSA9DOPLgt4bt3P4RWJZgJEhW5V1UZeSX/s1600/olive+trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSmlJgx6lS9BnhrOsjIM-kNxtBVRcCcF5-9Uxg4gH2mSk1RR8wytWmtOOHzXIhtyTn0eCljV8t-PCYBVXhDc_hrZzZs6m579L3LZ3rUDqx9RzSA9DOPLgt4bt3P4RWJZgJEhW5V1UZeSX/s320/olive+trees.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">valley of 3 million olive trees... no joke</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The bus ride home was lively thanks to the Jersey woman and her husband who started yelling at the tour guide for not delivering the lunch experience they were expecting. Mom and I sunk down in our seats, ready to denounce our American citizenship if it meant being associated with Bitchy up there and nodding in agreement with our fellow passengers as they all traded the "Are you kidding me?!" incredulously widened eyes. I wanted to smack her as a sign of protest for all polite tourists, but I was pretty sure she could kill me.<br />
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(Came to find out later that she was friends with the Dean's son. Hmmm, that seems to fit...)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The ride held another shocking event as we discovered the mother and son sitting directly in front of us were not only from the East Coast, not only from Virginia, not only from Fauquier County, but from <i>Hume</i>, a stone's throw away from my parents house. So there we are, discussing the menu of the Orlean Market and the new location of Warrenton gas stations as we drive through millions of olive trees perched on the mountain side of <i>ancient Greece</i> for gracious sakes. Oh, small, small world.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSV4yVMnUkvtGM2-gc5raB_aRbD5gCBMK2YvfC5vngpLdxXUhy-lvfjT36wTLNA8Ajo3RcFIRiCJWsZHPl3_LH6lKIxf-Pw1X9jSJ79jcVxmwE0KxGIbVVLDWzNo_mes9V6DUn7S5Wxu3Y/s1600/_DSC1105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSV4yVMnUkvtGM2-gc5raB_aRbD5gCBMK2YvfC5vngpLdxXUhy-lvfjT36wTLNA8Ajo3RcFIRiCJWsZHPl3_LH6lKIxf-Pw1X9jSJ79jcVxmwE0KxGIbVVLDWzNo_mes9V6DUn7S5Wxu3Y/s320/_DSC1105.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mom racing in the stadium. i think she won</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We disembarked the bus (quickly so Jersey wouldn't follow us and hope for a nice American dinner together) and headed back Kuzina where, as promised, we had a roof top table waiting. Now this is no ordinary roof top terrace. This has the most perfect view of the Acropolis and as we ate another perfect meal, we got to watch as the temples were lit up in all their glory. Pictures don't do it justice. It was truly amazing.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHIn1OniviN4KdBrJ5DBC3I0kTiZAEN6SKfp8bTApSIQ7SMUt9EcP0zhVBQn_7syPEBfw_FUm9lDTeK7XQyrs3uNTuw8T9uL6GrxHaEWjyHSrNDQCJ2RpV0w8Ud33ku3rIzKJPsCEzkwq/s1600/octopus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHIn1OniviN4KdBrJ5DBC3I0kTiZAEN6SKfp8bTApSIQ7SMUt9EcP0zhVBQn_7syPEBfw_FUm9lDTeK7XQyrs3uNTuw8T9uL6GrxHaEWjyHSrNDQCJ2RpV0w8Ud33ku3rIzKJPsCEzkwq/s320/octopus.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">octopus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Dinner was finger-licking as expected. Tonight's menu featured grilled and cured octopus with fennel shavings drizzled with amazing-ness followed by bread-- oh! the bread!-- with olive oil-- oh! the olive oil!-- and olives. All of this was followed by more risotto than four people could eat on top of which sat a lobster that didn't even need melted butter lest one not be able to taste every minuscule flavor screaming out "pure enjoyment! pure pleasure!".<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PYIifx1YEJEgBpyenQZ-w9qA1CEiPWCuvF-y1vz43CYUHmk40HOVw0hy7XS7TuL_aVljf8KVnNeFCmzQQvuycwzZ3rJA-Qy6xbU85_b8eRdO9mVndAeVEnlGHb3UQc4FqhY6niRXL44a/s1600/lobster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PYIifx1YEJEgBpyenQZ-w9qA1CEiPWCuvF-y1vz43CYUHmk40HOVw0hy7XS7TuL_aVljf8KVnNeFCmzQQvuycwzZ3rJA-Qy6xbU85_b8eRdO9mVndAeVEnlGHb3UQc4FqhY6niRXL44a/s320/lobster.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">risotto and lobster</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
In full fatty fashion, we ordered the same delectable dessert from last night: walnut wafers with custard and apricots. A full bottle of wine completed our slip into gluttony. Holding the camera up to take pictures of the illuminated Pantheon seemed suddenly strenuous thanks to our gorged stomachs.<br />
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We came home to no electricity in the apartment (oh the horror of no AC!) and stumbled around in the dark attempting to pack our bags and find computer cords. Luckily the power came back on as we slipped into bed and the air conditioning was revived.<br />
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Four hours sleep and then it's off to the airport where the adventures in war torn cities will truly commence. Great last day: high mountains (with high Oracles), high roof top dinners and high hopes for research in Cyprus. Bring on the post-traumatic!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzhNCdmq2oaBqS7i3rIa_SQbB6HfBNZGt2FO9GVBrLxE5MnHjJey9yyZmlUdj0MDHTseFxe3RdQcV408h6MK1EU8sPiIGUkbE9lEBXbrjupCYvMn4tcvzx6QNrYUFqVih_7e1wlA_5vk3/s1600/pantheon+lit+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzhNCdmq2oaBqS7i3rIa_SQbB6HfBNZGt2FO9GVBrLxE5MnHjJey9yyZmlUdj0MDHTseFxe3RdQcV408h6MK1EU8sPiIGUkbE9lEBXbrjupCYvMn4tcvzx6QNrYUFqVih_7e1wlA_5vk3/s640/pantheon+lit+up.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">acropolis at night</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-15345892081659892362011-08-02T08:16:00.000-07:002011-08-02T08:16:30.402-07:00pure pleasures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILiOWuq3DpCwXl9i7Md-4k-1v4F_bHOvQyk2hZfjDpbFqAQCL8y_Tr1eBfYnQbJoQ3lRd5y-8mLwum5ROPPd0yajMyhGVeXZ9BvW6uSR3uF_Z_H7IQX4yDn7rdNKHDaTt1bdmp46nMWnp/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILiOWuq3DpCwXl9i7Md-4k-1v4F_bHOvQyk2hZfjDpbFqAQCL8y_Tr1eBfYnQbJoQ3lRd5y-8mLwum5ROPPd0yajMyhGVeXZ9BvW6uSR3uF_Z_H7IQX4yDn7rdNKHDaTt1bdmp46nMWnp/s1600/me.jpg" /></a></div>The Akropoli.<br />
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Thousands and thousands of years old. Saturated with history literally oozing out of every crack in every stone. As much as I hate doing "touristy" things, you can't miss this one. If you're in Athens, this is what you're doing. No questions asked.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_SKGMUYZ-W2rhnjYrl6iEJEIHHklJzCc5mcO-K63O6HXPDeGCyytsG-AyNp5LLNjJkMw29U-DaorXB6mS4teqn9SHH7Emop5LMPMFvZEjYxFX_eWcN1b9VOj8bwwWP9EMGTKvlHzfR0u/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-02+at+6.05.11+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_SKGMUYZ-W2rhnjYrl6iEJEIHHklJzCc5mcO-K63O6HXPDeGCyytsG-AyNp5LLNjJkMw29U-DaorXB6mS4teqn9SHH7Emop5LMPMFvZEjYxFX_eWcN1b9VOj8bwwWP9EMGTKvlHzfR0u/s320/Screen+shot+2011-08-02+at+6.05.11+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>We were told to get to the Acropolis around 8.30 am because it gets hot hot hot (which, I feel like is the story of this trip), but according to our usual morning routine, 8.30 was going to come way too quickly. Soooo, we showed up around 10, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to hike to the top and see the city. We find the stairs to the Parthenon (no thanks to the <i>terrible</i> signage that seems to be the theme of Greek life!) and start the slippery trek up. Each step you take is amazing. The view is breathtaking until you realize that if you go up higher even just two more feet it gets even better. Good thing I remembered the camera today!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTM9RVREjTiygk6k25-cmG-jQIViZN7yXiFhTdYAPDbZ_Ha5A93bWmNavy7Kf9adGRAjcfFHiUdZA-Bnc2ZFdkmm5_m9bV-I8w-XeHZIYwiwabc23QJfBIJ_hhbCpODaGMRVkTU1hQ3diz/s1600/theater+panorama.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTM9RVREjTiygk6k25-cmG-jQIViZN7yXiFhTdYAPDbZ_Ha5A93bWmNavy7Kf9adGRAjcfFHiUdZA-Bnc2ZFdkmm5_m9bV-I8w-XeHZIYwiwabc23QJfBIJ_hhbCpODaGMRVkTU1hQ3diz/s640/theater+panorama.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuQIjO_LNoTpcDGywLJr5XTR4Vw5ID9-rzl5NVfnBt9o_K7ZJPmZcEoNN6CAYj0AfXLxsAUrnrkIJrRXfzGOjAohN3_u5jFmbwLE30gsmqB_d88SRRzv_va85zSF3RDCV1HDIlb4UMs9H/s1600/both+of+us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuQIjO_LNoTpcDGywLJr5XTR4Vw5ID9-rzl5NVfnBt9o_K7ZJPmZcEoNN6CAYj0AfXLxsAUrnrkIJrRXfzGOjAohN3_u5jFmbwLE30gsmqB_d88SRRzv_va85zSF3RDCV1HDIlb4UMs9H/s320/both+of+us.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Parthenon is surrounded by the ruins of other buildings in what used to be quite the happening place in ancient times. There were at least a dozen other structures surrounding the area, other temples, theaters, ceremonial gates. The whole thing was pretty staggering. Each column was engraved and sculpted with such detail that no postcard or image in a book could ever reveal. How did they do that with the tools they had then?!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMhXJSrbxU0NH400zpNPsV3je1ZQcNnUU__apLB7oEEmyHw_Mtlsgam4I0tHDyC0MvblZHqucbdlryiWZtKfn9DmJ72ocAlH0upN-WPyrlZutrr9ROufnMUR6uAc7a8nA7MSQy8Pwd4Ge/s1600/acropolis+museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMhXJSrbxU0NH400zpNPsV3je1ZQcNnUU__apLB7oEEmyHw_Mtlsgam4I0tHDyC0MvblZHqucbdlryiWZtKfn9DmJ72ocAlH0upN-WPyrlZutrr9ROufnMUR6uAc7a8nA7MSQy8Pwd4Ge/s320/acropolis+museum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>At the bottom of the great hill is a new museum designed by the contemporary architect Bernard Tschumi. He had the laborious task of placing a modern museum to house and pay homage to all the artifacts from the Acropolis directly <i>on top</i> of ruins from ancient times that they were currently excavating! I must say, he did an amazing job.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEQjn6XF9y6STYf4HLSmieDXY8XJ12SFlpU1E-oWr0axWvI2TjbdVVE50EpCTnG2bRK4eRQomgR5oDiIUhA8bNLPmBG3BYgLmdcO7SdvEC1DM9hYcu8X2OsEtSS_L5Nc9u0qtS3kLtToL/s1600/glass+floor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEQjn6XF9y6STYf4HLSmieDXY8XJ12SFlpU1E-oWr0axWvI2TjbdVVE50EpCTnG2bRK4eRQomgR5oDiIUhA8bNLPmBG3BYgLmdcO7SdvEC1DM9hYcu8X2OsEtSS_L5Nc9u0qtS3kLtToL/s320/glass+floor.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>The columns of the new structure are carefully placed within the ruins and a very graceful and open building rises above. The ground floor platform is open in places so that visitors can look down into the excavation site and watch its progress. Glass floors are throughout the entire building so that you can always see this archeological work. Even the second and third floors have glass so that you <i>conceptually</i> are able to see all the way to the dig (<i>practically</i> all it really allows you to see is up other visitor's dresses, but hey... it was a great idea). The museum brilliantly displays the astounding work of the ancient Greeks and seeing the old being housed by the new so elegantly is phenomenal in itself.<br />
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After cooling off in the museum we ventured back out into the sun to find the Roman Agora and other temples at the bottom of the rising hill. The whole site is very humbling. I think I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of walking through the same structures as the Apostle Paul or priestesses of Athena.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPF2Xg4LWdRY5fnV9r-cMEp4IsSx_7aYVDBaT8fhUipQCPLh0DolGmFZUsl-EFgEEDKDhY1sWGAtjIwDNRU8IvpMUkIdMiYFO881immRkrnqDyL_97eMuh7z1lXungY5FyEiuQTYRJn6O/s1600/cheeseballs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPF2Xg4LWdRY5fnV9r-cMEp4IsSx_7aYVDBaT8fhUipQCPLh0DolGmFZUsl-EFgEEDKDhY1sWGAtjIwDNRU8IvpMUkIdMiYFO881immRkrnqDyL_97eMuh7z1lXungY5FyEiuQTYRJn6O/s320/cheeseballs.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>As the sun went down we went wandering again, this time in search of food... shocking. We remembered that Jon, our favorite person from Rhodes, had suggested a restaurant which we sought with a vengeance. Success! After we sat, the most amazing dinner ensued. Basically, despite my ability to ramble with no end in sight, I do not possess adequate words to describe this meal. Therefore, I will simply regurgitate the descriptions found from the menu since it is taking all my concentration to not salivate on my computer as I am reminiscing the harmony of ingredients and flavors.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqHcVf6HXBiCCHrregISgbhMGnPa0LAoTADjS_cKFSXWCXCwPJglWkEpqeaz_QX0P7zBdzgNMq_OzRm9MCx6PBOZ4m7tJ5yGQSQz8T4PyWTYpAHjhtdEphfUY4PJX-xiiAqYDRvfYgY9d/s1600/fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqHcVf6HXBiCCHrregISgbhMGnPa0LAoTADjS_cKFSXWCXCwPJglWkEpqeaz_QX0P7zBdzgNMq_OzRm9MCx6PBOZ4m7tJ5yGQSQz8T4PyWTYpAHjhtdEphfUY4PJX-xiiAqYDRvfYgY9d/s320/fish.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>First there were dumplings filled with feta cheese mousse, olives, spearmint and topped with pomegranate sauce. Oh, and we can't forget the wine. Oh, the wine...<br />
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Then there was roasted sea bass (the whole fish! head and all) topped with sauce and gently placed on zucchini and wild greens. All this was followed by "Millefeuille of fiorentines, catalana cream and caramelized apricots" (that's basically heavenly almond sugar wafers layered with sublimely smooth custard and succulent apricots that despite being caramelized, managed to keep a tartness that was exquisite as it cut the sweetness of the custard).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgByxnMK7QndCFgVoMp-bsgpc3FB_FtFmGmSIWkvgnVvUFTFs65Fcd98DtUVwF7RvLqQCLoqQ3qWH3N0bNxeS4bmwTWZadOA5z0NJy18C9gHu2Nl9l7IfvOoT9TUSc1EmvPAFgAev4ZPy/s1600/dessert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgByxnMK7QndCFgVoMp-bsgpc3FB_FtFmGmSIWkvgnVvUFTFs65Fcd98DtUVwF7RvLqQCLoqQ3qWH3N0bNxeS4bmwTWZadOA5z0NJy18C9gHu2Nl9l7IfvOoT9TUSc1EmvPAFgAev4ZPy/s320/dessert.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Architect?! Why didn't I choose Chef?!<br />
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Stuffed and happy we walked past the Acropolis lit up in all its glory by soft spotlighting from below. We caught the tram (after just getting a bit lost-- we're getting better!) and found the apartment.<br />
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Ancient Architecture.<br />
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Modern Architecture.<br />
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Delicious Food.<br />
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Are you kidding me? Is this education or what?</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-68737792790039016032011-08-02T07:16:00.000-07:002011-08-02T07:16:15.573-07:00oh, those greeks...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkC5YpX_T8c9eJJu-hb7Qx43NeBUYPo8SW46YxE0cWBLlVYrY7FeFec-UpDk-aPQJaydxg9JPDy0pY97tyze5k38d77b0nk16_wHqsYrmW8svV8v6RKf9QHUis0_ies3CTwq2413rnFrum/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkC5YpX_T8c9eJJu-hb7Qx43NeBUYPo8SW46YxE0cWBLlVYrY7FeFec-UpDk-aPQJaydxg9JPDy0pY97tyze5k38d77b0nk16_wHqsYrmW8svV8v6RKf9QHUis0_ies3CTwq2413rnFrum/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ok, I know this is three days late. Sheesh.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So I'll try to catch up: We arived stumbling into Athens. 6.30 am. All night ferry ride. Boat, train, bus, feet. Lugging suitcases all the way. Whew.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once we got</span> to the apartment we decided to take a two hour nap since ferry sleep is no where near the real thing. Two hours turned into <i>five</i> and we woke up in shock at 1 pm! Not to fear, we are indomitable travel experts and did not let the time set-back ruin our plans. We found the tram after much sweaty wandering through our neighborhood, hopped on only to realize that in our over-sleeping stupor, I had left the camera back in the room. Argh! Go back or not? Go back or not? Nope. Too hot. Unfortunately only iphone pictures for today...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-Hx4yW4g2mYbpyNXi_OTmJb36HP9BdL-rp6Etlq8QqJ9WLPLK4JTRzgFdfFELb9Fyy1CcPXaJgZFv1aSvQkMkbJIRhjcC71_SE6QRqp-zYZPNRms-e7yfoMtv7I1ZzSZF9IAvP-PiRHF/s1600/greek+angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-Hx4yW4g2mYbpyNXi_OTmJb36HP9BdL-rp6Etlq8QqJ9WLPLK4JTRzgFdfFELb9Fyy1CcPXaJgZFv1aSvQkMkbJIRhjcC71_SE6QRqp-zYZPNRms-e7yfoMtv7I1ZzSZF9IAvP-PiRHF/s320/greek+angel.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our Greek angel</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>If I haven't mentioned it before, <i>all</i> of the taxis are on strike here. Yup. ALL. It has made city-navigating very interesting to say the least... We finally did find the tram, but as we were heading downtown it stops. Shouting in the tram abruptly erupts and Greeks with grocery bags, Greeks with walking canes, Greeks with bikes all join in and head out the door. Are we in the Ryainair terminal all over again?! It was like a European<i> flash mob</i>! A sporadic dance complete with a cacophony of foreign language and flying vegetables. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As we shuffled (rather, <i>were</i> shuffled out by running Greeks) from the tram car an older man spoke to us in English saying that the Taxi drivers had somehow gotten to the tram cars and that particular one was no longer running. We'd have to walk. Heat. Sweat. Brilliant. Our "Greek Angel" turned out to be quite the gregarious little tour guide. He said we should follow him to the downtown area and he'd show us where to go after that. Our walk was long and concluded only when he had finished lecturing on subjects to include, but not limited to:</div><div><br />
</div><div>1. Greek politics</div><div>2. His Mercedes (complete story with banged up key around his neck) </div><div>3. Al Capone</div><div>4. What the F.B.I. stands for (Federal Bureau of Interrogation, if you didn't know, but he does yes, yes, yes.)</div><div>5. Jacki Kennedy and her sexual escapades with the Greeks</div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYVsrKH5G9fb_wKyNJJazAZEcZU1t2eEkn7XCHTRcd_7J6j2Uz2BlvjHfbj906pEN_I4ksODUp9w4U_GPi2DHG0EB62JUt5IVAfWIDzvUSWAkED_uzjAxEhl8JLYYc-xs7-Q9n9av6xdT/s1600/olympic+stadium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYVsrKH5G9fb_wKyNJJazAZEcZU1t2eEkn7XCHTRcd_7J6j2Uz2BlvjHfbj906pEN_I4ksODUp9w4U_GPi2DHG0EB62JUt5IVAfWIDzvUSWAkED_uzjAxEhl8JLYYc-xs7-Q9n9av6xdT/s320/olympic+stadium.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">first modern Olympic stadium</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Hmmm. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It was great conversation. The only problem was that it was hot, we didn't know where we were and every time he got good and goin', he would stop to talk. <i>Dead stop</i>. Dead stop with hands waving and wouldn't walk again until we too had stopped, taken a few steps back towards him to make sure we heard every. little. word. and then we would keep plodding slowly forward. We took the "long way" downtown I guess...</div><div><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We made it to the city center and wandered into a tourism office (looking for a bookstore since neither of us had a map of Athens...) and got advice on what to do for the day. We have three (well, now only 2.5) days in Athens and wanted to make sure we saw everything. Armed with maps, suggestions and and an expensive bus tour ticket to Delphi for Monday (it'll be great!), we ventured into the city to find the National Gardens. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH5rhA5-8oaCRaMJAm-mbY0_6aXp5pcRsLbt7ik7td8DFkWNZiQHsxN46IphMZHRwyxKME_LeyYt3mNZQq6isSxHxK7jEqoVOBSdwMDgz75bseZ9zPkjZpzPbsFt_yCrGHya06AElaoMBa/s1600/soldier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH5rhA5-8oaCRaMJAm-mbY0_6aXp5pcRsLbt7ik7td8DFkWNZiQHsxN46IphMZHRwyxKME_LeyYt3mNZQq6isSxHxK7jEqoVOBSdwMDgz75bseZ9zPkjZpzPbsFt_yCrGHya06AElaoMBa/s320/soldier.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">National Gardens didn't hold a candle to those around DC or the US in general (man, am I starting to get homesick or something?!) but we did manage to walk up at the exact moment that the changing of the guards started. Now, it is my opinion that any such ritual is not only some evil scheme plotted by those in authority to mortify their underlings and keep them in line, but also created to somehow establish themselves as key players on the "countries of ultimate silliness" list. These guys take the cake. No question. I've seen the British and the Danish do it, but the <i>Greeks</i>, man, they out-shine them all. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Already decked out in white tights and long sleeved tunics (that came down just long enough to barely cover their rears), these soldiers sported clogs topped with pom-poms the size of grapefruits, carried guns 4' tall guns and donned tidy little hats with 3' long black tassels to complete the ensemble. Each started out in his little house on either side of the palace and at 10 'til the hour began a procession so elaborate that I swear I had to cover my mouth to cover my dumbfounded smiles. One foot out. Clunk goes the clog. One leg raised out in pure yoga position. Clunk goes the gun. Leg down. Clunk the clog. Hand up. Clunk the gun. </div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9fxFtFGlpzGWOn1GWxcu9SVaTCpa2Lm3VLB88rjboYtDEru59aiJv-o2Nu8gytex-eu7DNcbbMQWRqAiB-Lp_nhutTfvSolhXguE_D34sg4P_HUQS8reslBazyJSLnO-HcUgDp8AglhO/s1600/soldiers+touching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9fxFtFGlpzGWOn1GWxcu9SVaTCpa2Lm3VLB88rjboYtDEru59aiJv-o2Nu8gytex-eu7DNcbbMQWRqAiB-Lp_nhutTfvSolhXguE_D34sg4P_HUQS8reslBazyJSLnO-HcUgDp8AglhO/s320/soldiers+touching.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">really?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>This went on until the soldiers were standing two feet from each other. Suddenly (actually this whole thing was <i>literally</i> in slow motion--another added bonus to the ceremony-- so the word "suddenly" does not really apply...) the two soldiers lifted their foot in the yoga like position, touched toes and kept them that way for at least ten seconds (doesn't sound long but when you are watching in pure astonishment and utter unbelief it seems like an eternity). Then without warning, put their feet down and clunked, clank, clunked back to their positions exactly on the hour. They were about 20' from each other at the start of this frolic so you can imagine how slow they were going to make this little dance last a full ten minutes. It was intense. </div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQcWCQcRi7NL6WYOOpotCotVoUrL3glDnY6OBU2b7gr4nHl3Jl326-UcSnuffBRNXnYkb90-JYp-SYMWSFta-rQCvsLxhK1hdss2zOKzL8OhxLAmBYJfP8C3WGccjTY95ZsjRn1Urd-qv/s1600/zeus+temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQcWCQcRi7NL6WYOOpotCotVoUrL3glDnY6OBU2b7gr4nHl3Jl326-UcSnuffBRNXnYkb90-JYp-SYMWSFta-rQCvsLxhK1hdss2zOKzL8OhxLAmBYJfP8C3WGccjTY95ZsjRn1Urd-qv/s320/zeus+temple.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeus' temple</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Went over to Zeus' Chapel located near the Acropolis. It is crazy to be seeing things that were constructed 500 years ago BC. Modern Architects have a lot to live up to. Groan.</div><div><br />
</div><div>We decided to save the Acropolis for tomorrow since it was evening (thanks to our lovely "little" nap). Instead, found a great little cafe (chosen mainly for the fact that it had AC) and grabbed some wine for me (<i>oooobivously</i>...!) and some sort of mocha-coffee-ice cream construction for Mom. (To be fair, she thought she was just ordering an iced latte.) Inspired by the architecture all around, we sat and planned the most perfect barn/studio thoughtfully sited in a lovely pasture in The Plains, Virginia (can I bill for that...? Kidding!).</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0aABzqD2cJYBlnI8FQcK7A30LPswq8aYKJc13Y-tYw9dLJJmWADiRxSgI0baWLwFkBxAx4UfxGo1HDMGpiqO2HRNaVXVf32C7AtILb-aqNHoRENr7ZavdffXC1F_9K_3wsOU-vhlAvceZ/s1600/mom+and+treat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0aABzqD2cJYBlnI8FQcK7A30LPswq8aYKJc13Y-tYw9dLJJmWADiRxSgI0baWLwFkBxAx4UfxGo1HDMGpiqO2HRNaVXVf32C7AtILb-aqNHoRENr7ZavdffXC1F_9K_3wsOU-vhlAvceZ/s320/mom+and+treat.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div>It was an early night for us travel-gals but a great introduction to Athens. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So far so good (well, <i>brilliant</i> actually if you're counting the points for stunning soldier choreography!). </div></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-13255484575423120582011-07-31T14:54:00.000-07:002011-07-31T14:54:01.623-07:00bullet point update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3665ZJ4OJBl64UfHRd9Nk3Q5qLY7RifkeFCEyWLxrgQo2EqoqKIQhZ8lQDCmoL2ntu5x2iETXVyRH8YVxtoxYNPi6OTNzwHawq_4NDdFTETKBymaRHI49gDfuTCAeE0Ls_RdBBu5lpcXz/s1600/me+cropped.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3665ZJ4OJBl64UfHRd9Nk3Q5qLY7RifkeFCEyWLxrgQo2EqoqKIQhZ8lQDCmoL2ntu5x2iETXVyRH8YVxtoxYNPi6OTNzwHawq_4NDdFTETKBymaRHI49gDfuTCAeE0Ls_RdBBu5lpcXz/s320/me+cropped.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
I know. I'm late.<br />
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It's been a little crazy the past few days and things have gone overlooked. Things such as showering, changing clothes and yes, blogging.<br />
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Below is a very brief account of our last day in Paros (warning: this is severely cheating but I am extremely tired...)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKFtj9DBTg6WkrZAtuKA-ibA79oG1ZsoL7WQtzDZqdypbwzH58zyIeB_m3FchEz0b8dQ3NFqe9GWkOp9m8I9OJKAEu8D5tznskQXBf2cTuf9Taz-N2LwweyglzP4NMeFRNepxR9b_gpWA/s1600/market+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKFtj9DBTg6WkrZAtuKA-ibA79oG1ZsoL7WQtzDZqdypbwzH58zyIeB_m3FchEz0b8dQ3NFqe9GWkOp9m8I9OJKAEu8D5tznskQXBf2cTuf9Taz-N2LwweyglzP4NMeFRNepxR9b_gpWA/s320/market+street.jpg" width="214" /></a><br />
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<ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Awoke at Hotel Anna to another lovely breakfast on the balcony. Breakfast included groceries from the day before. Ha!</li>
<li>Spent time getting lost (and loving every second of it!) on Market Street of downtown Parikia, the capitol of Paros where we are staying. Stood and marveled at old church built with round stones. How'd they do that?!</li>
<li>Lunch of 2 euro gyros. Cheap and delicious!</li>
<li>Got back on the moped and, though we had earlier received correspondence from Far-Far <i>shaming</i> us into wearing our helmets, went sans-helmet to view the Paros beaches one last time </li>
<li>Returned moped. Lugged baggage to port. Ate our first terrible meal waiting for our 1.30 am ferry to arrive.</li>
<li>Boarded ferry after waiting amongst sweaty fellow travelers (why do Europeans <i>insist</i> on foregoing deodorant?!) for 1 1/2 hours</li>
<li>Settled into ferry seats, hoping to catch some "sleep" on our 4 hour ride to Athens</li>
</ol><div><br />
</div><div>The following is a list of things that <i><u>may</u></i> have happened. Who knows...</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheymnqfen9y92GmjmmjFQBpWAoRDuTPI-qlarIKNARgTvkKPluc4T9lxgG0cwT6U3iTv_8gSgbat1zc7k9M7U5FSk0bK9cFLUnC1Tk3W-3hjPHkeYb4AmXuqztJ99vw8evI8uk9-es4_cY/s1600/round+church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheymnqfen9y92GmjmmjFQBpWAoRDuTPI-qlarIKNARgTvkKPluc4T9lxgG0cwT6U3iTv_8gSgbat1zc7k9M7U5FSk0bK9cFLUnC1Tk3W-3hjPHkeYb4AmXuqztJ99vw8evI8uk9-es4_cY/s320/round+church.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><blockquote class="">Arousing suspicion from distrustful moped owner who was sure we stole 15 euros or a free day of scooter scooting</blockquote></li>
<li><blockquote class="">Texting friends at home whilst drinking a cold beer. Text <i>may</i> have read: "It's 5 o'clock somewhere...cheers girlfriends!" (10 am state-side) Return text <i>may</i> have read: "War-torn cities?! Yea right!"</blockquote></li>
<li>Attempting to carry fully-loaded luggage on a small moped, perhaps with the possibility of rolling one behind us? </li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6VdhAxOPORd8ukOOzfCcwdi0LVwrcrvmclwWKBkyInPVfJ7Zg3yGpLoQBgguQ4ZzSfYrdhOpq24W2Agoo6CocLUUo5bKSETGOlkAfPNs6u4biH2X4121uKV-hEqD9w-b2g4QAqa-qun0Q/s1600/coffee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6VdhAxOPORd8ukOOzfCcwdi0LVwrcrvmclwWKBkyInPVfJ7Zg3yGpLoQBgguQ4ZzSfYrdhOpq24W2Agoo6CocLUUo5bKSETGOlkAfPNs6u4biH2X4121uKV-hEqD9w-b2g4QAqa-qun0Q/s320/coffee.JPG" width="214" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><blockquote>Sitting behind woman who thought it necessary to pack <i>both</i> a bird <i>and</i> a cat while ferry-ing. Brilliant.</blockquote></li>
<li><blockquote>Losing one very important bracelet while in line amongst sitting, standing, leaning, whining tourists only to board the ship, drop off luggage, jump back off ship, ignoring security guards shouting at the transgression, searching on hands and knees for said bracelet, <i>FINDING IT</i>, and re-boarding ship as the car platform is cranked up and ship departs. Whew. </blockquote><br />
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What a day. Bullet Point Update completed. </li>
</ul></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIlz3lfnoi762sH1PODSETnoQUbYyLP-It_JAn5sk7uU1Mbljnw5vMc0bYpaVzC6ayeai1tFA5BBDKs52kz1YsuZTNedacVQDPgH0uwdiEdsXFevlu_-tu7sNfva6VELqH2BRG9Lxt4Wy/s1600/mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIlz3lfnoi762sH1PODSETnoQUbYyLP-It_JAn5sk7uU1Mbljnw5vMc0bYpaVzC6ayeai1tFA5BBDKs52kz1YsuZTNedacVQDPgH0uwdiEdsXFevlu_-tu7sNfva6VELqH2BRG9Lxt4Wy/s320/mountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrhWpI6gzOwqERsYK9zbQu2ZpLaPJBvkxXjQvnGNdE0IkJb8NT6gZ4bLsxDGkh3C2TbRjbvuaW3-cyX357Gl2ftqpBFZE78hT2SHExR7WwCgetGvwdogkH6wd5onEwamCRuAYPTjb9eNY/s1600/paros+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrhWpI6gzOwqERsYK9zbQu2ZpLaPJBvkxXjQvnGNdE0IkJb8NT6gZ4bLsxDGkh3C2TbRjbvuaW3-cyX357Gl2ftqpBFZE78hT2SHExR7WwCgetGvwdogkH6wd5onEwamCRuAYPTjb9eNY/s320/paros+beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><ol style="text-align: left;"></ol></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-53418187247642322072011-07-29T01:19:00.000-07:002011-07-29T01:19:40.275-07:00biker babes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYbv7Wd_L3ve_P0GR5h2myNo9iOI7HILZLMfNRrF-P4e3b7wuYFfNmNXw_uXonFZmiqIjp4UYKcusNt2hbrlYX-YicFUtTaxIWn9vnsgIHZkqZc4z65Gw-GUv3_j2wO9OjqNwMHE-wWWw/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYbv7Wd_L3ve_P0GR5h2myNo9iOI7HILZLMfNRrF-P4e3b7wuYFfNmNXw_uXonFZmiqIjp4UYKcusNt2hbrlYX-YicFUtTaxIWn9vnsgIHZkqZc4z65Gw-GUv3_j2wO9OjqNwMHE-wWWw/s320/me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We have officially arrived in Paros, one of the smaller islands a bit closer to Athens. After spending the last 6 hours we had in Santorini frantically trying to call places to see if they had room openings and obsessively checking our airbnb account for requests we had sent in, we finally got a room <i>literally</i> as we were standing on the ferry's deck pulling out of the harbor. Whew. That was close.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZurwtOXmX_fh8WNS3jBO4Ld2EfjHMenIElurZthsARvcCFuXgTT0FkK4xY_3Cf6WdMIG2EJ8eEc6HeM_YVEoyt75lfP8No_04pVYIbX9KiapWiRzLn5q80U4fQeFXpq3SHdVY1C_YbDA/s1600/hotel+anna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZurwtOXmX_fh8WNS3jBO4Ld2EfjHMenIElurZthsARvcCFuXgTT0FkK4xY_3Cf6WdMIG2EJ8eEc6HeM_YVEoyt75lfP8No_04pVYIbX9KiapWiRzLn5q80U4fQeFXpq3SHdVY1C_YbDA/s320/hotel+anna.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So now that we are here it is all about figuring out what to do. I wanted to come to this island because the architect/city planner from my original research proposal did work reconstructing the Greek islands after WWII. However, since my proposal was altered (many times! argh!) by the school, it is less about him and his work these days, yet the trip destinations still remain. Oh well, guess we'll just have to make do on this beautiful island surrounded by water that redefines the word "blue". However will we entertain ourselves?<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAizhnGY_7juWcMbWFuJKufMRLdY_NiEArcFHTt4Oq0BxEFv2q7xQsfnKSXeRAhGomNherAbAMf7PYP5lkZysJZ-ib2s6oF_UkmH724znorbe33bsfuVShWc_2Wg7EixkwUAW1V_U63mv/s1600/backseat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAizhnGY_7juWcMbWFuJKufMRLdY_NiEArcFHTt4Oq0BxEFv2q7xQsfnKSXeRAhGomNherAbAMf7PYP5lkZysJZ-ib2s6oF_UkmH724znorbe33bsfuVShWc_2Wg7EixkwUAW1V_U63mv/s320/backseat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We had a breakfast of yogurt, peaches and honey on our little hotel balcony and set off in search of yet another moped. Honestly, it's the only way to see the island in style. However, on Santorini the roads were small but filled with mopeds. The island was small so scooter-ing was quick (unless of course you were driving without a headlight on a dark road with no name!). Here the roads traverse much greater distances and are not as frequently travelled by mopeds. Most tourist here pick a beach, bring their family, and stay for a few weeks in one place.<br />
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Oh no no no, brother! Not us!<br />
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We demand to see the island in all its glory in one-go-round!<br />
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On our moped!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWFuHrmUE3UETxfj_GkHAYQL8EO4gmCw3o_Us_ncvOjPfxIhD_0foN9PIr549oQQuRaaskgdruyMUnr68wfUeVS6tPalhxxVWBec4Pt6fIgi2UzmzIJ52fSIRESEEus7z2ke_U3DvnRAe/s1600/view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWFuHrmUE3UETxfj_GkHAYQL8EO4gmCw3o_Us_ncvOjPfxIhD_0foN9PIr549oQQuRaaskgdruyMUnr68wfUeVS6tPalhxxVWBec4Pt6fIgi2UzmzIJ52fSIRESEEus7z2ke_U3DvnRAe/s320/view.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>We were given helmets with enough padding to sustain a plane crash and handed a map of the island. What do you know?! No road names. We put on our helmets (which I immediately took off again and strapped to the back of the bike-- how the heck are you supposed to wear these ridiculous padded monstrosities <i>and</i> sunglasses?! I opted for risking crashing but guaranteed headache avoidance.) We drove for about 45 minutes before reaching something that we thought we'd like to see on the map. Here you can always see the water, but the roads are a bit further up the mountain so you can't see the beaches in front of them. It is very easy to pass the town you wanted to visit without actually realizing you had already gone through it!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcoZkComh1rXrZiNOmtDVL3sOmqLIAOpqvDJzN-_FPce3YlbiI0vgdzQ8t2RD62GYn4pse5TEwjdgLjSEpTECJUUPXuuxvThhTuvMayQ28JpNvb1faTkf9EgW2bzBD_oLJxXmhqhihO08/s1600/golden+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcoZkComh1rXrZiNOmtDVL3sOmqLIAOpqvDJzN-_FPce3YlbiI0vgdzQ8t2RD62GYn4pse5TEwjdgLjSEpTECJUUPXuuxvThhTuvMayQ28JpNvb1faTkf9EgW2bzBD_oLJxXmhqhihO08/s320/golden+beach.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>We took a break at an area called Golden Beach that had beautiful waters, families on the beach and more wind surfers than I have ever seen in my life. They were all going top speed on the water-- literally it was frighting to watch because I was <i>sure</i> they were going to run straight into each other. They would start out near the beach, <i>race</i> to an island further out, turn around and <i>race</i> back in, turn around <i>race</i> back out, turn around <i>race</i> back in... Sounds repetitive but with the speeds they were reaching, I'm sure it was not tedious in the least!<br />
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We had lunch and when we were sure we were full enough to float, crept down the side of the rock and slid into the water. The water was amazing. Amazing doesn't cover it actually. Not sure what to say about it other than I knew I didn't want to get out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWdHhFmJYFzsLqDW0cjqE96map4IvAr1bu4JKtm5l-pDi2OgvQs4kS_ljb8mCAobek5pFpSR5awxpMW9eqLPUTP_UkXOzikNyP1gNHdkoaT7Q_YdrTTArXqiYgUrHX5K1OoCE3dYrdoD7/s1600/lost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWdHhFmJYFzsLqDW0cjqE96map4IvAr1bu4JKtm5l-pDi2OgvQs4kS_ljb8mCAobek5pFpSR5awxpMW9eqLPUTP_UkXOzikNyP1gNHdkoaT7Q_YdrTTArXqiYgUrHX5K1OoCE3dYrdoD7/s320/lost.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lost again!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We finally pulled ourselves out of the splendor with the promise that we'd stop again further down the road. We had roughly sketched out our trip around the island and decided that there were a few towns in the middle that we would save until tomorrow. Today's ride was all about the beaches.<br />
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We rode and rode. Somewhere into the trip I took out my camera and took pictures from my back seat (mainly because Mom almost tipped the moped over every time we stopped and it was just easier-- and safer!-- to have the camera readily available). At one point or another we stopped to see where we were and figured out that we had already <i>passed</i> through every town we had "saved" for tomorrow. Stupid no name roads. Weeeeeeell, guess we can check those off our list!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIPNgjmXWHGz52ic7-RXjJEjXY2BC7ilD6-Qvb4EcBQnvbisgmhXZM-dT9a8F1J7eCKehfy3leWsBvEljPo8_bg8V0LP64ssB0VnoSEEDQriX_5SmpFTOQ9EL79vAgrlC1PdAT7uOpP7q/s1600/island.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIPNgjmXWHGz52ic7-RXjJEjXY2BC7ilD6-Qvb4EcBQnvbisgmhXZM-dT9a8F1J7eCKehfy3leWsBvEljPo8_bg8V0LP64ssB0VnoSEEDQriX_5SmpFTOQ9EL79vAgrlC1PdAT7uOpP7q/s320/island.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We passed by a few more beaches. Hopped off to get wet and then got back on. Mom finally succumbed to the inevitable headache and gave up on her helmet, resulting in two strapped behind me on the seat, leaving me with one cheek on the seat, one cheek on a helmet. Very comfortable.<br />
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We made it home with a thick new skin comprised of road dust and sweat and quickly headed to the shower to rinse off. Did some research of where to eat dinner (while eating Pringles in our hotel room) and decided to wander around the town a bit looking for one of the restaurants we found in our guide book. That turned out to be the best decision of the day. Delicious!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUUuHyoPRQQvkmjQEfvvRQnP5_P4EhmObF-ndh4aWAkUuPS3yuLXu0qP-7XQtWXol480qIohETUoN4rWYXLuVXDCe9boMdyVz_BRkiPvuFL5YbjkgiFwBqfEicW3Ioowkv3LCZbE7fZpc/s1600/dinner+table2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUUuHyoPRQQvkmjQEfvvRQnP5_P4EhmObF-ndh4aWAkUuPS3yuLXu0qP-7XQtWXol480qIohETUoN4rWYXLuVXDCe9boMdyVz_BRkiPvuFL5YbjkgiFwBqfEicW3Ioowkv3LCZbE7fZpc/s320/dinner+table2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The place was an outdoor garden terrace but felt like an inside room because a 100+ year old grape vine not only sprouted from the flagstone patio but covered the entire place with grape leaves so thick that I'm sure you could sit out there even if it was raining. The food was just as sensational as the vine that sheltered it.<br />
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We started with beetroot salad that was lightly covered in a yogurt sauce, drizzled with orange juice and sprinkled with raisins and walnuts. Mom had the lightest fish ever cooked and my leek and orange risotto and herb crusted prawns were definitely Top 3 meal material. Of course I forgot the camera so records of these feast are a bit grainy thanks to the poor quality of the iphone 3G.... A piping hot chocolate mocha souffle (more like a bubbling lava cake!) completed the menu just in case we weren't yet ready to burst.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSmTwoDtraRxAnjJuhZlqlU4Wrbh-atRp8rHs30JTBKweEkyfo9ERQacerYwVFsFitTu3IvGeeub9GT76DlUasJi2z7O4EUxRWXUmHirNY2H0FJss1sq-CJkqvsJ5kRrQumtC0ldIbR8g/s1600/dinner+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSmTwoDtraRxAnjJuhZlqlU4Wrbh-atRp8rHs30JTBKweEkyfo9ERQacerYwVFsFitTu3IvGeeub9GT76DlUasJi2z7O4EUxRWXUmHirNY2H0FJss1sq-CJkqvsJ5kRrQumtC0ldIbR8g/s320/dinner+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>A walk along the harbor resettled our stomachs and then it was off to bed to sleep to catch as much shuteye as we could. Tomorrow's an all-night ferry ride starting at 1.30 am. Too bad we can't moped over to Athens...</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-7685609881719990412011-07-27T23:26:00.000-07:002011-07-27T23:26:33.422-07:00a note from Mom...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaoHuv5PPds6KKoVZT8fhFrxNc9t3jxua4xAIQnlKCon-bn8BpbI0lCwUOVf511zo6ONLyeROglDoLthB9pE1Sa9t68p6rQzqpftXzB_15Z422zONbqIgDCr1M9WtUMdUWw0AT_nqyMJ5/s1600/mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaoHuv5PPds6KKoVZT8fhFrxNc9t3jxua4xAIQnlKCon-bn8BpbI0lCwUOVf511zo6ONLyeROglDoLthB9pE1Sa9t68p6rQzqpftXzB_15Z422zONbqIgDCr1M9WtUMdUWw0AT_nqyMJ5/s320/mom.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Ok…several people have told me that I need to make an entry on the blog… maybe to prove that I really am here with Ash and that she isn't just Photoshopping me into all the pictures…. (the Ozburn's have a reputation for doing that, ie Uncle Freddie!) But anyway I thought that I would write one and I will see if ends up making the editing cut or not!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am sitting here taking in the beauty the black sand beach and Aegean blue waters of Santorini, Greece and it occurred to me that only 10 days ago I was taking in the beauty of the white sand beach and clear Lake Michigan water on Bethany Beach, with the rest of my family, and getting settled into my normal summer routine. Boy! How quickly things can take a turn in our lives. Who would have thunk?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbmMLpf_bKqwfNDrhZoyq8HVXUkqO1X2iHM4NoOpoWOitYuUejjHAumROAYu8V5g9TwqL8hbgZCdci00K6m8za5hYoqlpofz3k5b8pqLypKxklK9ec9-pN1rzeez1n0DSP1VL9dZ6EzGoX/s1600/IMG_2255.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbmMLpf_bKqwfNDrhZoyq8HVXUkqO1X2iHM4NoOpoWOitYuUejjHAumROAYu8V5g9TwqL8hbgZCdci00K6m8za5hYoqlpofz3k5b8pqLypKxklK9ec9-pN1rzeez1n0DSP1VL9dZ6EzGoX/s1600/IMG_2255.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">First, I would like to put a disclaimer to all the silly things that Ashley has said about me! All you mothers out there just remember as your read these blogs how your daughters refer to YOU in front of their friends and you will know where I am coming from! (granted I am a little "goofy" but I'm sure it's not as bad as she portrays in these blogs!) Needless to say I did have a bug fly into my ear and settle there! Actually this is not the first time this has happened in my life—back when I was a kid I had another critter do the same...never came out… so maybe I am forming a colony in there! Could this be the cause of my memory lost? They are sucking it all out of me??!! (I think I just might go with this theory!)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9IkbwNLj7tQ1nl0w2XjL27sgHsIfUJ3BWM-RUFR6DTJ-ko1woLy-dWWeBuskieGCZkcXbikWyl0BTT8UpZgXm24Pc_ro4zJGslKcHufWXLnDsYizgMC9hDok5wk0gGHJrSUpjUgbHQr9/s1600/IMG_2262.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9IkbwNLj7tQ1nl0w2XjL27sgHsIfUJ3BWM-RUFR6DTJ-ko1woLy-dWWeBuskieGCZkcXbikWyl0BTT8UpZgXm24Pc_ro4zJGslKcHufWXLnDsYizgMC9hDok5wk0gGHJrSUpjUgbHQr9/s1600/IMG_2262.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">This trip so far has been an adventure for sure but it has not so stressful that we are not able to enjoy each other and take in all of our beautiful surroundings. It has been great and I have loved every place we have been! I feel like Ash has kept you all pretty informed of all our "happenings" and so I won't rehash them. I just want to let Katie know that we are going on day 10 together and we have not killed each other yet so that is a good thing—only 14 more days to go! Ha! Just want to say that I do miss the shores of Bethany Beach and all of my family and especially my wonderful hubby who is special beyond words. But I would not have passed up on this opportunity to spend with my wonderful daughter! She is absolutely the best and a great travel partner to boot!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeh7stALc5bbEho2g9KZ6e64XPzGqoT_kMEjFUJdBgK7TUmWioqNvPBOwaDn1dksHuRrBITqLM5LuIOfL0YHn7yWPm9iVx5wmuMzSFoAvyXL5brjtc3uaxEnsv8kMqJV0pWWXy1pt2LpI/s1600/IMG_2269.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeh7stALc5bbEho2g9KZ6e64XPzGqoT_kMEjFUJdBgK7TUmWioqNvPBOwaDn1dksHuRrBITqLM5LuIOfL0YHn7yWPm9iVx5wmuMzSFoAvyXL5brjtc3uaxEnsv8kMqJV0pWWXy1pt2LpI/s1600/IMG_2269.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">We just left Santorini and are headed for Paros, another island further north. We have once again boarded our Blue Star Ferry and are on our way!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thanks for your prayers—keep them coming cause I'm sure we will have more fun adventures ahead…War Torn is yet to come!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Note to self: Ashley can blog much better than me so don't do it again. I am much better at doing annoying things to my daughter(s)<o:p></o:p></div></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-21229045615956344732011-07-27T01:03:00.000-07:002011-07-27T01:03:57.422-07:00wine roads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZARM7nzMJ3UBwlWdkfs92sOZarVYCEjzIwDvZYNasU_RvuCIucO1aiZ0Sc75gHve6w7jYveBW09hs-8LkHxoaRA2ZGAsS7GNqY7TEcK6zQoYKepL9eJJ3aXX6O99dutf54tT2ge-SYDd/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZARM7nzMJ3UBwlWdkfs92sOZarVYCEjzIwDvZYNasU_RvuCIucO1aiZ0Sc75gHve6w7jYveBW09hs-8LkHxoaRA2ZGAsS7GNqY7TEcK6zQoYKepL9eJJ3aXX6O99dutf54tT2ge-SYDd/s320/me.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Another horrible day in Greece. Perfectly sunny. Not a cloud to be seen. Mid 70s with a breeze throughout the day. Scooter. Other than the Back Street Boys being blared from most of the cafes on the boardwalk, it is perfection.<br />
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We woke up today and decided we hadn't had enough fun on the moped yet. We had passed by numerous local vineyards on our adventures last night and chose to visit them-- this time in the daylight! We hit the usual cafe for internet service (cappuccinos are expensive around here but the only way to get internet!), stuffed my camera in the moped seat, found our sophisticated helmets and off we went.<br />
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We didn't get too far before we pulled over at a couple ceramic studios. They were all fantastic, well at least the contemporary ones were... Why is it that some "artists" insist on replicating ancient stuff over and over again. Honestly, who are the people that buy this fake Greek pottery, painted black and red with prehistoric goddesses being fed grapes while lounging amongst Greek background patterns? Are they fooled into thinking that maybe, just maybe, they have found a primeval vase that doesn't cost a fortune? Or do they have friends that are stupid enough to believe them when they come home and tell them that the pot is genuine? Either way, lots of stupidity is involved. Argh.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmft3xhVLVaslYVKYrlOHcxZR_SlRDomHsciXWYc19nZMAEtmaHto2v9WVAAvzhmYZvv84d66vVAXpi1HFRK29OzQ8VzKm-PRKYUIcc2ihyphenhyphenoktzslvAmGDAzNoZeWUfgLJcp6cg7A0_zsc/s1600/vines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmft3xhVLVaslYVKYrlOHcxZR_SlRDomHsciXWYc19nZMAEtmaHto2v9WVAAvzhmYZvv84d66vVAXpi1HFRK29OzQ8VzKm-PRKYUIcc2ihyphenhyphenoktzslvAmGDAzNoZeWUfgLJcp6cg7A0_zsc/s320/vines.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The studios that we found were owned by interesting people to say the least-- you could definitely tell that they were true artists. Covered in volcanic dust used in the distinct techniques here, all had aprons and loose clothing on, some had wild beards and others had wild hair. All were very amiable and enjoyed talking about how their pieces were made. Their kilns were right in front of us-- fire roaring at temperatures over 1,000 celsius. We bought a few gifts, wished we were artists, and loaded them onto the moped.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AgC3mTDYGjiQBZPYFwoInXJ1KLz0MJatOb23s0MGDu4IWi9mNP6-HN2Vb_k1EmJX1D8Z6lxLqZ1YepWI2zWSFx-kkqw7w6XICHNYzI3QQIIw-GqwtmZLsoIzrBDcIfavKM6THXqSU9N6/s1600/vault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AgC3mTDYGjiQBZPYFwoInXJ1KLz0MJatOb23s0MGDu4IWi9mNP6-HN2Vb_k1EmJX1D8Z6lxLqZ1YepWI2zWSFx-kkqw7w6XICHNYzI3QQIIw-GqwtmZLsoIzrBDcIfavKM6THXqSU9N6/s320/vault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Next was a stop at a winery. The grapes on Santorini are cut and bound in the spring so that they stay low to the ground even though they naturally would grow up the way grape vines do in the States. The winds are so strong around here and the soil so dry, that they need to keep them on the ground in order to protect the precious fruit from the elements. The plants line the roads around the island but look more like struggling shrubbery than grapes that produce excellent wine.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0d6UJ7e_au0DXXFe8CwtwNnzU_dUnKgi7QLb-FDSbW4y96HjC03uXMaVgu_bVGoz_LXU5d8miZhtvSapVg_xVsQwVEmUCGuXYObw-1q8TIs3Y3LTgYyWwJ8ljDPZh56aLwC6BSjmVQ42i/s1600/wine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0d6UJ7e_au0DXXFe8CwtwNnzU_dUnKgi7QLb-FDSbW4y96HjC03uXMaVgu_bVGoz_LXU5d8miZhtvSapVg_xVsQwVEmUCGuXYObw-1q8TIs3Y3LTgYyWwJ8ljDPZh56aLwC6BSjmVQ42i/s320/wine.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>The tasting room was as I had hoped. Open, filled with light, and simple materials. Sigh, natural light and wine. Couldn't get better. We tasted 4 of their white wines but the gregarious server couldn't help but give us a free sample of the dessert wine they produce. I must say, in general, I don't enjoy things that are sweet. A small dish of ice cream after dinner, fine. But <i>sugar</i> in my coffee (shame on you Bradley)?! <i>Fruity</i> beer?! People that say things like "<i>d'harlin</i>'"?! Not for me. No thanks. No way.<br />
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Buuuuuut, I must admit that I didn't <i>hate</i> this wine. Even though it was created from solely white grapes, it was brown from being aged in the sun and stored in wood barrels for 3 years. There were no sugars added, the sweetness just came from being fermented for so long in such a way. If we had a way to get it home, I think we might have been seduced into buy a bottle.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUiCkBjZv_QMeHiacjQFOPZX3xUpYIaAYkp4vlc2gZcTLdaGNgfD67smvJ0QKosdjnacvuoEanLvxjFlbIp2VVR63iuYYJ1Pmo9DCaLNWkoQdpzh2zgH8nIJtZR6viAEiYS_kyvAtEgj6/s1600/restaurant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUiCkBjZv_QMeHiacjQFOPZX3xUpYIaAYkp4vlc2gZcTLdaGNgfD67smvJ0QKosdjnacvuoEanLvxjFlbIp2VVR63iuYYJ1Pmo9DCaLNWkoQdpzh2zgH8nIJtZR6viAEiYS_kyvAtEgj6/s320/restaurant.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>We left the vineyard and scooted along up the road. (Being on this moped makes me miss the motorcycle. Every <i>single</i> <i>part</i> of it. I love that motorcycle. Love it.) The only way to know where we are going is by small guideposts along the side of the road. Whenever there is a vineyard there will be a small tag that says "Wine Roads" but that's it. No direction, no name of the vineyard. Just "Wine Roads". We pulled off on a "street" with an arrowed marker (yes! a arrow! no <i>name</i>, but hey, at this point we'd take anything!) that read "Traditional Settlings". Little did we know that we were pulling off a typical road into a sweet little cobble stoned drive that lead us around and into a picturesque little village. It had two amazing restaurants, a few little churches, and the typical white with blue door houses, all crammed onto a street that was about 200m long.<br />
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We had a lovely 5 pm lunch, having decided that we'd eat the rest of our groceries as snacks later that night. The restaurant we visited advertised cooking classes which would have been amazing! I wish we had known about them earlier in our stay.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgfgA94rneO9nFHLKS-Csf4yG0ploQbuvbfEa6wyw5ewxNCwzzCdEGU45p3ZW8P81BeGUgL77FrByrqMXbtcyQwKl7lefCZDlZtU7zpBTaxENPO_0SfQx7uI7CcEtKpKTMqIzd6mCkXRh/s1600/food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgfgA94rneO9nFHLKS-Csf4yG0ploQbuvbfEa6wyw5ewxNCwzzCdEGU45p3ZW8P81BeGUgL77FrByrqMXbtcyQwKl7lefCZDlZtU7zpBTaxENPO_0SfQx7uI7CcEtKpKTMqIzd6mCkXRh/s320/food.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The food was amazing. Staggering. Delectable. Muscles in white wine and leeks, Santorini tomato fritters (they're famous for them on the island) and finished off with a crepe/pita drizzled with honey and walnuts. Sitting under the restaurant's vine covered terrace and enjoying food like this made me start to think that Yale might not be <i>that</i> evil...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEius0tzN4dU68JsnCBR2FCfBezqGrgPmund9ovVDIiCI3nJBU19P_BL7Y4Xg_de2KFl_EjAEHFMyKWjxnlTZ8pKtb1GFHbd3vYshW_adHFX0q8MnBJrvXvyXEeN2shDfkIgwHdgSE6KSqBk/s1600/mom+in+helmet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEius0tzN4dU68JsnCBR2FCfBezqGrgPmund9ovVDIiCI3nJBU19P_BL7Y4Xg_de2KFl_EjAEHFMyKWjxnlTZ8pKtb1GFHbd3vYshW_adHFX0q8MnBJrvXvyXEeN2shDfkIgwHdgSE6KSqBk/s320/mom+in+helmet.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Time to turn in the moped, which I swear I heard sigh a breath of relief as we unloaded ourselves--fattened from a lovely lunch, our pottery, our cameras, and our newly bought bottle of wine off its seat. We walked back to the apartment for showers and playing with Bethany architecture plans, hoping to bottle the inspiration we've seen here and keep it for when it's time to redo the place.<br />
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Tomorrow it's off to another island. So far we have no where to stay since our plans keep falling through, but hey, that sort of minutia hasn't seemed to have derailed us yet...</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-24029165855941806312011-07-26T03:10:00.000-07:002011-07-26T03:13:08.261-07:00night riders<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7YPnyWPN82a1TjbbwvqFskQRzVkhT9HsTaSwCj2zUfP2CygEbyFIYwsZcemfReqBIC7gBnXpUtN3lR1kbHRQtUtrHns1FGnjPggpntg0d88O8mQkOlwnKeuY0sTG1nSi9R2a6ku-mZ6s/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7YPnyWPN82a1TjbbwvqFskQRzVkhT9HsTaSwCj2zUfP2CygEbyFIYwsZcemfReqBIC7gBnXpUtN3lR1kbHRQtUtrHns1FGnjPggpntg0d88O8mQkOlwnKeuY0sTG1nSi9R2a6ku-mZ6s/s320/me.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Oh, the beauty of this trip. We thought it couldn't get any better. After Rome and the beaches in Lindos, things couldn't possibly get more magnificent, right?! How wrong we were...<br />
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After a lazy morning of coffee at the beach cafe, blog posting and day planning, we decided to moped up to Oia, the town on north western side of Santorini that is famous for it's white houses delved into the cliffs. The trip was going to be about 15 miles and we were sure we could do it on our awesome ride. We were hot mamas, right?!<br />
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We put on our chic silver helmets that screamed "I'm a tourist! I don't belong! Beware of my driving skills!", stuffed them with toilet paper to make them stay on our heads, and began the journey. It went relatively smoothly, that is after I insisted that Mom stop pointing stuff out and turing around to talk to me and keep both hands on the wheel...good lord.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitG0k-Ht5uqApO31mVOZWmbkZgFWuPL_9mFvKv9Gat1YkNFSVvqHtpTsUoFP7bHimgZ5dPew6hgZtUjwS4vApg5GwgOBvL2vCbgR7IN9tMrm08NpfLT5g05yx4Z7paoyoyuYTRhEl3SFCj/s1600/overlook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitG0k-Ht5uqApO31mVOZWmbkZgFWuPL_9mFvKv9Gat1YkNFSVvqHtpTsUoFP7bHimgZ5dPew6hgZtUjwS4vApg5GwgOBvL2vCbgR7IN9tMrm08NpfLT5g05yx4Z7paoyoyuYTRhEl3SFCj/s320/overlook.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Needless to say we got completely lost since like Rhodes, this island refuses to name it's streets and hopes that you are a good enough guesser to go in the correct direction. We are not good guessers. Thankfully the round-about road we were on was beautiful and took us around the other side of the island, which we would have not otherwise seen.<br />
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We arrived at Oia and instantly were stunned at its views that reduced us to obsessive picture taking as if we would miss some vista, some white house with staggering terrace teetering off the cliff or mini stone path leading to a bright blue door. (Unfortunately, I wore a blue dress which made Mom want to put me in each shot since I matched the sky, doors, water, etc. and contrasted with the white plaster houses. Bad choice on my part.)<br />
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We had the consistently delicious Greek salad and hummus for lunch on a restaurant terrace, shaded by a canvas awning that literally hung over the water. The shops here are sensational (not touristy!) and within 15 minutes of arrival, Mom had purchased a lovely dress and we both possessed matching bracelets with the good luck symbol of Greece on their delicate chains. (We are, like, <i>totally</i> best-ies.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3u9SRgH-zcE2_0uraRLBMz8GbBhbQOOW9feKfIXRA-VfdlkcwO2PJYKhEMvc08cCKV7Bltv9BoUdwOgdBsImje_bKxltMKtCvG4RAQAETcUANG7bELizyMana3WKeKs3aVgla2Mztpvy6/s1600/greek+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3u9SRgH-zcE2_0uraRLBMz8GbBhbQOOW9feKfIXRA-VfdlkcwO2PJYKhEMvc08cCKV7Bltv9BoUdwOgdBsImje_bKxltMKtCvG4RAQAETcUANG7bELizyMana3WKeKs3aVgla2Mztpvy6/s320/greek+flag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>After climbing the <i>one</i> pedestrian road that ran through the city we arrived at the ruins of the castle that had once stood on the climax of the cliff. We had read that this side of the island faced the famous Oia sunset and rushed to get dinner reservations at a nearby restaurant. (Definitely would be proven a good call later that evening after the tourist buses filled the small town.)<br />
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We spent time wandering through the jewelry and clothing shops and were more successful in resisting temptation than earlier that morning. We stopped for an iced frappe at cafe with yet another breathtaking terrace-- mainly an excuse to sit in the shade and watch the white sailboats pass on the shockingly blue water. Seriously, the pictures don't do it justice.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXKiwPS2nZ_aoLF8knEGMRPz4mFNLknoZwLMo3nIJ2YDWcyOTpTnAWoT2hu5zsXjXI09yP_nS_xru1sYOl_AmCV55YA2UqSJDznUiui6tq7HAwBL2iB1n_f581m232O5xCOqJYtTLYC9W/s1600/dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXKiwPS2nZ_aoLF8knEGMRPz4mFNLknoZwLMo3nIJ2YDWcyOTpTnAWoT2hu5zsXjXI09yP_nS_xru1sYOl_AmCV55YA2UqSJDznUiui6tq7HAwBL2iB1n_f581m232O5xCOqJYtTLYC9W/s320/dinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Dinner (yup, eating <i>again</i>...) was beer battered fried olives (are you kidding?! brilliant!) and chicken souvlaki and yogurt sauce that literally fell apart when your fork touched it, it was so tender. The restaurant faced the sunset and we sat watching the sun sink into the water as it reflected pink and orange on the white buildings. The tourists (I love how even though we are also visitors on the island, they are surely the "Other" in our minds...) sat on the castle ruins, roofs of houses and the many steps all around us and applauded when the sun finally sunk into oblivion. I must say that, though the scene was beautiful, it did not hold a candle to Bethany sunsets. Not even close. We ordered baklava while the <i>tourists</i> (ugh, yucky tooourists) filed out en masse and found our moped just as the last light of evening disappeared.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQbQ4XKsdVfe_3S89elMPVPgv1Oh2IdgM0zH1U1WEUZhHA0IAXwOaZ3LjTRkPfqjYEV1XRbVFGH5PYyA-8RaAUB_0UQKJI0FiIW1sfOTi9pnj8qKl81BMSsF972nfnUsVs9zt2sWtcqps-/s1600/people+at+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQbQ4XKsdVfe_3S89elMPVPgv1Oh2IdgM0zH1U1WEUZhHA0IAXwOaZ3LjTRkPfqjYEV1XRbVFGH5PYyA-8RaAUB_0UQKJI0FiIW1sfOTi9pnj8qKl81BMSsF972nfnUsVs9zt2sWtcqps-/s320/people+at+sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In keeping with our vehicle experience on the trip, as we turned on the moped we discovered that it only had one pathetic working headlight-- all the rest were irrevocably dead. This one pitiful beam barely lit 2 feet in front of us so much so that I considered strapping our iphones to the front of the moped. (Side note: Anyone who owns a rental business it seems to me that it should be your responsibility to check the battery and the headlights <i>before</i> renting vehicles to unsuspecting clueless women. That just seems to be good practice to me, but who knows... I'm just a simple student.) There was nothing for us to do but continue on with our plan of driving home, hopefully this time staying on the "large" road.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7qtn1gHxpXFDGNNmJu0FEFxcO8W7iH3ptzHMV4p1AIFccWtaCLTUYifNh5IZbVUiXA4fl7peR0h92eKhmv9jN9x5sc7fpR0ZWpAi57S0FHmwNLkgUtOqG6xkSHGqmJkiW6QqDV_eOhvP/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7qtn1gHxpXFDGNNmJu0FEFxcO8W7iH3ptzHMV4p1AIFccWtaCLTUYifNh5IZbVUiXA4fl7peR0h92eKhmv9jN9x5sc7fpR0ZWpAi57S0FHmwNLkgUtOqG6xkSHGqmJkiW6QqDV_eOhvP/s320/sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We started out cautiously creeping along, attempting to stay in the wake of other mopeds with effective headlights. Unfortunately they were much more confident since they were actually <i>able</i> to see the lane ahead of them. We wished for cars to come toward us or drive behind us so that some light would be thrown in our path, at the same time dreaded their presence since we weren't sure that they could actually <i>see</i> us.<br />
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I haven't yet mentioned that the "highway" we were taking back to Perissa is a two lane road (that's actually a generous claim) that wound around the island's cliffs-- sharp turns followed by U-turns followed by turns only seen in Nascar races and road lines that were barely visible even if you had accurate lighting-- basically the worst terrain for scootering, night or day. I'm not sure if we were laughing in incredulous disbelief at the situation, crying from fear or if it was the dirt being blown in our eyes, but our faces were definitely streaked with tears the whole ride, tightly clinging to the moped as we putted along at 5 miles an hour.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxDeN229vR47PV7V5JKqxrqv8pCpgqt-3MjgFMx1r2X8645V9VOX-LpWcdndT2EcQ0Z6dRaWlUL1TO6XJCee4Yc3fLwiCs7d9Q5QwjZ_fL8hg_fTgQwYKRrGfH1NhUBG6vTLC-tcD6ce0/s1600/night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxDeN229vR47PV7V5JKqxrqv8pCpgqt-3MjgFMx1r2X8645V9VOX-LpWcdndT2EcQ0Z6dRaWlUL1TO6XJCee4Yc3fLwiCs7d9Q5QwjZ_fL8hg_fTgQwYKRrGfH1NhUBG6vTLC-tcD6ce0/s320/night.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I was leaning to the side, willing my eyes to find signs in the pitch black (Seriously Greece. What is up with your road names and signage?!) while Mom concentrated on staying on the road. Newspaper headlines of <i>"Two Women Flattened by Bus"</i> lodged themselves into our minds and refused to leave. (It is good that I had 2 glasses of wine during the sunset because I'm pretty sure I would have had a total meltdown had been as sober as our fearless driver.) We shivered our way home in the absolute murkiness of the night, not having had the foresight to bring sweaters for the windy ride home, and finally found our small town. Our inevitable death by darkness, poor navigation, bus or cliff miraculously evaded. We might have peed our skirts.<br />
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A meager apartment has never been so beautiful. A salt-water shower has never felt so good. Stiff mattress and dinky sheets have never been more appreciated. Sleep has never been more refreshing.<br />
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We lived! We have conquered your obstacles! Fearless and Mighty! Watch out Santorini! We. Are. Woman!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0v1X3-y5vxuR2oevF8U_vbULmpK7lHDxppl3n_1itwSqa3P90oegW8OQMynqEgsZtpuZYPMdPo38o-eGoHpIS-wTUaSkYp9ydlSFAXIZ8meKVADvqtXJy_xcc8gXuH7-oB7wC-zVB2-jD/s1600/maybe+not.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0v1X3-y5vxuR2oevF8U_vbULmpK7lHDxppl3n_1itwSqa3P90oegW8OQMynqEgsZtpuZYPMdPo38o-eGoHpIS-wTUaSkYp9ydlSFAXIZ8meKVADvqtXJy_xcc8gXuH7-oB7wC-zVB2-jD/s320/maybe+not.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br />
</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-85360916802091974202011-07-26T01:36:00.000-07:002011-07-26T01:36:10.656-07:00beach bum beauties<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7TifuC0UZ8egpyuiT9Mmz8WeyPEWfzCdEpwgaUpBxq4npHVPiUJUe0x9QNiEkNix3suhrcJYsRihu-WXNGoma_aetnrTbIsdryfERZKEtR-KYDOyIIhJ1UjxFrbGRl4t3CtvEXdEqEW1/s1600/moped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7TifuC0UZ8egpyuiT9Mmz8WeyPEWfzCdEpwgaUpBxq4npHVPiUJUe0x9QNiEkNix3suhrcJYsRihu-WXNGoma_aetnrTbIsdryfERZKEtR-KYDOyIIhJ1UjxFrbGRl4t3CtvEXdEqEW1/s320/moped.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Today's up front WARNING: we rent a moped. </span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Woke up at 7 am to the phone ringing. The phone in our little ship cabin was clanging and flashing it's pathetic little light to let us know that we would be arriving at the port in Santorini within 30 minutes. Groggy after a surprisingly good night's sleep on nautical bunk beds, we stumbled into shower (one at a time of course) and packed up our things. We loaded up and headed to the boat's outer deck to look at the island's northern side as we passed by to the southern dock. <div><br />
</div><div>We saw the white houses on top of the monumental cliffs-- very dramatic with the sun rising behind, silhouetting them against the morning sky. The wind was blustering by, as we were on the "high speed ferry", so sorry-- no photos of us. They all came out terrible (had Hollywood potential with our hair blowing in the breeze, but alas, they turned out clumsy and humiliating. Yikes!).</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpAuW_5bNWdon7Bauf9t9LKbp47q1CLWtqsVVvNfs1oUhZMFmvaAGdWVue3AbjAhv_jLfp2blcDd4vow1rVhx4VMaRvjb87vWmFtV5TFLHHCuJT_hfEXMKeSgnJ9NJr3BbXAyZHNSZ-aMB/s1600/coastline+am.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpAuW_5bNWdon7Bauf9t9LKbp47q1CLWtqsVVvNfs1oUhZMFmvaAGdWVue3AbjAhv_jLfp2blcDd4vow1rVhx4VMaRvjb87vWmFtV5TFLHHCuJT_hfEXMKeSgnJ9NJr3BbXAyZHNSZ-aMB/s320/coastline+am.JPG" width="214" /></a></div><div>We arrived at the port and were rapidly shuttled off. Seriously efficient. When they talk about naval organization and everything being in "ship shape" they aren't kidding around. We hailed a cab (they aren't on strike here, what a treat!) and began the trek up the steep and curvy mountain pass to our beach apartment on the south-east side of the island, the town of Perissa. We marveled at how timely our arrival was. Almost to the minute. Ah, those sailors....</div><div><br />
</div><div>The new apartment (booked on airbnb) is sparse but sleeps 6 people, has a large kitchen (whose appliances unfortunately easily catch fire and coffee machine tastes like metal), a sizable bathroom and AC. Very suitable for a 3-day stay. We unloaded our luggage and went out in search of groceries with the intention of saving money on breakfasts and evening snacks, attempting to soothe my bleeding budget. </div></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGixEu73l8LkUqDfNY8QZTgOEmOgDuNTCXrndgvlLx-lDFuq70lMXnqID2Gr0CDuOzi2DjLwQowXv6Mb4OR5SmbM5FOISXmWH9e41WJVuP90lviCuSGNGcMB7TCK47zhXH0fpliug61Uxh/s1600/bedroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGixEu73l8LkUqDfNY8QZTgOEmOgDuNTCXrndgvlLx-lDFuq70lMXnqID2Gr0CDuOzi2DjLwQowXv6Mb4OR5SmbM5FOISXmWH9e41WJVuP90lviCuSGNGcMB7TCK47zhXH0fpliug61Uxh/s320/bedroom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We had instructions to a mini mart (basically the equivalent of a gas station "quickie mart"), but of course had turned in the wrong direction. Never fear, we saved the trip by passing by one of the many moped rental shops. We need a moped! Surely transportation along the island was necessary! We signed liability documents, Mom answering each question the exact opposite way the woman inquiring about her moped experience wanted. Oh confused mother... how entertaining (and frustrating!) you are. I translated the woman's questions in to those understandable to Mom and, even though we eventually ended up with the correct answers, I'm pretty sure the owner was convinced that we were 100% lying to her. She let us have the vehicle anyway. Hmm, questionable judgement. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUpDaZl88nlP9_dNFdDwz78K9a1zp1swwkU8D-ZFfNG93ocWfbSr2jttgV2hkhfdhdmQH2gsNgxXEgbdwM3aZz2fHB8E4cdf7H3q2MM_imUh4l51fZ-3aGXWSzn7bMPnEEI77rbgZpLdk/s1600/drink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUpDaZl88nlP9_dNFdDwz78K9a1zp1swwkU8D-ZFfNG93ocWfbSr2jttgV2hkhfdhdmQH2gsNgxXEgbdwM3aZz2fHB8E4cdf7H3q2MM_imUh4l51fZ-3aGXWSzn7bMPnEEI77rbgZpLdk/s320/drink.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We hopped on the moped, found the larger grocery store (the Super Coop) and loaded up on peaches, yogurt, granola, bread, water (the water that comes from the sink and the shower in the apartment is straight from the ocean and filled with salt), vino, cheese and olives. Getting everything home was quite the trip: stuffing some items in the cavity under the seat, but mostly being balanced on either side by me as I teetered like a human scale on the back of the moped while Mom cautiously avoided the numerous potholes and sand traps. As proven numerous times on this trip, Katie seems to have taken any allotment of grace that I was due, leaving me lacking. It was interesting to say the least...</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Unpacked groceries. Donned bathing suits, grabbed books and set out for the beach. The coastline is bordered by restaurants that sit on one side of the street and who claim the beach directly in front of their establishment with lounge chairs and tropical umbrellas. The deal is the chairs and shade are free, have full service and are open to anyone as long as you order drinks throughout the day. We selected an umbrella and ran across the course <i>black</i> sand (the color of this sand, stained black from the island's volcano, causes it to heat up to a searing temperature, sending visitors bolting and hilariously hopping across its blistering surface. Very good tool for people watching). </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguLYuLyPITWG6psfMY_S96ooNYkxW8kGlj6E4bovCCKsXCM8UHEZZFsS_-sIZ8QhTOB7odXo7on688rt2OvOhZoGONFqCnarWKcygN3EBRtk-8kLAh7928Fg4Y6poLlVS1QGkH6pNMFFvo/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguLYuLyPITWG6psfMY_S96ooNYkxW8kGlj6E4bovCCKsXCM8UHEZZFsS_-sIZ8QhTOB7odXo7on688rt2OvOhZoGONFqCnarWKcygN3EBRtk-8kLAh7928Fg4Y6poLlVS1QGkH6pNMFFvo/s320/beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We read and relaxed for the rest of the day, stopping only to moped home for wine and cheese, a shower and change of clothes, then the short drive back to the "boardwalk" for dinner in the perfect night climate. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Hard day. Thankfully no moped incidents. (Not today anyway...) </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">...Glad my research is coming along so well. Sheesh.</div></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-33197039431047349392011-07-25T02:09:00.000-07:002011-07-25T02:09:40.837-07:00free pet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahekHTRc3AIWP5XkpO9YsqK2C9HTdSFoZHDQpvcL_q0W-_eQMHzZNeQwjzFp41CK2A6y2IIb6kn2wE0OaLO7ykqf_nuvW29dRtQWopEQfPw5rUBwnVudBDlaZ9VtFv7-Qkz6pbJCfSaIb/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahekHTRc3AIWP5XkpO9YsqK2C9HTdSFoZHDQpvcL_q0W-_eQMHzZNeQwjzFp41CK2A6y2IIb6kn2wE0OaLO7ykqf_nuvW29dRtQWopEQfPw5rUBwnVudBDlaZ9VtFv7-Qkz6pbJCfSaIb/s320/me.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Silverware clinking every so often against breakfast dishes and every few words of cheerful morning conversation-- this is the way we woke up on Saturday morning. Wrapped up in our big 4 poster bed, blankets on top to keep us from being too cold (imagine that! cold!), we got out of bed to look down below at the amazing breakfast spread that Jon, owner of Zacosta, the villa where we were staying, had laid out for his 6 guests. </span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">So, when I said we scored the other day, that was an understatement. Cereals, yogurts, croissants, muffins, fruit and honey lined the table. He brought out an over-flowing cup of fresh squeezed orange juice for each of us. Coffee and espresso (my two favorite buddies) were also in attendance. As if all this wasn't enough, he brought out cold cuts, cheese, jams and three different type of pastry things, one with spinach, one with cheese and one with the goodness of the world wrapped up and then baked over and covered with pure happiness. What a delightfully indulgent morning!</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPNMZ_bdYrEDGG7SaUwmO2iyBXOjyL5YMUWxX6LaPQIQrZ1wTdZmMeGUMsxvECxLq5wtK-29KUtr4APgWK3qxl5USjDZhYe2x9dW24HcuI4qq98Wb_H5n6i54s0Vw4q1SSIrJgm3jn7Fr/s1600/breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPNMZ_bdYrEDGG7SaUwmO2iyBXOjyL5YMUWxX6LaPQIQrZ1wTdZmMeGUMsxvECxLq5wtK-29KUtr4APgWK3qxl5USjDZhYe2x9dW24HcuI4qq98Wb_H5n6i54s0Vw4q1SSIrJgm3jn7Fr/s320/breakfast.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">breakfast spread</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Our original plan had been to only stay in Rhodes for one day before heading over to the surrounding islands. After our first hotel debacle, we knew we'd be spending at least two-- one to see the southern part of the island on which we were unexpectedly dropped, and another to go back up north and visit Rhodes Town. This is now our <i>third</i> day, another unforeseen surprise. Since the only boat off the island is an overnight ship and does not leave the dock until midnight, we now have secured ourselves another day. In keeping with our lazy morning, we decided to find the beaches bordering the city and "chill". </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj_CaZHkyU03f4iGDNd8ZFFntLDV4SzzMzB24CJ4aWL_meQBVSMWc138Ql4FjsWCnvdNjrWziRfKh-xhRYOf8KLu-eQ-2pMiqQ_nTUUAreHWVkDX4OfTQPAXkv4Aoc7SzJ7NqQqec1N0g/s1600/beach+relaxing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj_CaZHkyU03f4iGDNd8ZFFntLDV4SzzMzB24CJ4aWL_meQBVSMWc138Ql4FjsWCnvdNjrWziRfKh-xhRYOf8KLu-eQ-2pMiqQ_nTUUAreHWVkDX4OfTQPAXkv4Aoc7SzJ7NqQqec1N0g/s320/beach+relaxing.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">rhodes beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Jon graciously let us keep our luggage and computers at his place as well as offered to take us to the ship later that night. (Maybe we should rename <i>Jon</i> as "Doctor Love". Either that or "Doctor We Love You!") We stuffed some remaining breakfast items in our purses (you know, we might get hungry in 45 minutes or so...) and walked through the winding streets, over the large moat now filled with shockingly green grass, and out of the large stone walls surrounding the Old City. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">The new part of Rhodes Town is a mixture of modern furniture stores, big name clothing stores and sketchy stores selling random items. We found the beach with minimal trouble but don't get <i>too</i> impressed-- we <i>are</i> on an island. We pretty much just had to pick a direction and would have found water eventually. The water here is unbelievable. Three different color blues come together to form a band running along the shore. We plopped down on lounge chairs under an umbrella, one of many that spread up and down the beach, paid the Man 8 euros for the privilege, and read our books next to the crashing water, fully loving this gift of an unplanned day. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjNyJhdTzHU6gpVy3hNS0VtHyLt8QZvTp-AJobCdBYrVmuDRnvXKEVPpqUQKWKX2FLvAGv9MYxaDLgDthE_j1meu1PE5dVnl-buiJB3hpojd1t3S0UCmLplMrfPInz_sO1iClNoXGfCL3/s1600/mom+on+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjNyJhdTzHU6gpVy3hNS0VtHyLt8QZvTp-AJobCdBYrVmuDRnvXKEVPpqUQKWKX2FLvAGv9MYxaDLgDthE_j1meu1PE5dVnl-buiJB3hpojd1t3S0UCmLplMrfPInz_sO1iClNoXGfCL3/s320/mom+on+street.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">When we had finished our books/had enough of the scantily clad bodies around us (note: Americans may be fat, but at least they know when to NOT wear at two piece. Here, not so much...) we navigated our way back into the Old City. It was around 3 o'clock so we figured we should eat something. We sat down at a restaurant Jon had recommended, took turns washing the beach off of us as best we could in their small restroom (good ole sink bathing!) and ordered some grilled veggies and Tatziki. Suddenly Mom, in a spasm-like fashion, starts shaking her head. Really really shaking it. Confused look on her face. Finger in her ear. What is going on?!</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">-- I think a bug just flew in my ear. I hear him moving in there.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Awesome. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-X2rP7O5UmGEcNc5iVFJ7ok2lQaxBbbkspm8oKH5_sLCPmzWmuuwYHXBEdM1MHBh6OaicCb9Ms0t49GvF7Ug3joxy3ws7ghbHvlVoGfXP7GeoNhHUojTiadPgpazmWcjFNbjlUOpz1bW/s1600/gyro+eating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-X2rP7O5UmGEcNc5iVFJ7ok2lQaxBbbkspm8oKH5_sLCPmzWmuuwYHXBEdM1MHBh6OaicCb9Ms0t49GvF7Ug3joxy3ws7ghbHvlVoGfXP7GeoNhHUojTiadPgpazmWcjFNbjlUOpz1bW/s320/gyro+eating.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">No amount of prying seemed to be able to dislodge the invader who was clearly content with staying warm and comfortable right where he was. (It was great watching her stick a cloth napkin in her ear to see if it could get down farther than her finger, though. Especially when the waiter glanced over and was unsure if it was a signal to bring more water.)</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Mom, our new ear pet, and I paid for lunch and wandered around more in the ancient fortified city. We spent the rest of the day just wandering, well, wandering and watching Mom suddenly convulse as if she abruptly got violently cold, shouting at her unwelcome guest to just leave! </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Seriously? How does this stuff happen?</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YquPVlkYrmGTuNX7XBXGajwmemROLYLCXZa_IrHarBHSIc7qbyQF4uwWjsTAO4rfGQdk2eQjn1fUKpSXNtW_WEVg85Ke27KF0QE86llx9FfnKVsadbQ8xE8KJKb_-vnex85ibd-WwIXV/s1600/gyro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YquPVlkYrmGTuNX7XBXGajwmemROLYLCXZa_IrHarBHSIc7qbyQF4uwWjsTAO4rfGQdk2eQjn1fUKpSXNtW_WEVg85Ke27KF0QE86llx9FfnKVsadbQ8xE8KJKb_-vnex85ibd-WwIXV/s320/gyro.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We found some delectable gyros for dinner and topped the meal off with crepes slathered with nutella. As the sun set, we dawdled back to Zacosta to collect our things and tell Jon goodbye. We must have sat out there with him in the courtyard for at least an hour. We saw pictures of how he turned his place into the magnificent villa from ruins, <i>literally</i> ancient Old City Greek ruins. He had some crazy stories of the joys of dealing with the Greek construction permitting police and Armenian stone workers. He should have been an architect. Oh yea, and did I mention that he <i>personally</i> ran the Olympic torch for the country at the opening ceremony in the Athens Olympics? Yea. He's that cool. Goodbye "Doctor We Love You". </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30sK5exydQ9eKvSAxHXyqc2e9t9RjA3NeHDE_9pjdxB_aKZjoY-QGhhrORiZNJ0WgmSoHy8pAehrhGG0h-vRPOqO3gNPcCs4z2gIsZTO7yyoL6TA3zpQVnjzE1Sb9Qh6Tgd_Ovngwm0t8/s1600/reception+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30sK5exydQ9eKvSAxHXyqc2e9t9RjA3NeHDE_9pjdxB_aKZjoY-QGhhrORiZNJ0WgmSoHy8pAehrhGG0h-vRPOqO3gNPcCs4z2gIsZTO7yyoL6TA3zpQVnjzE1Sb9Qh6Tgd_Ovngwm0t8/s320/reception+desk.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lobby on ship</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Jon dropped us at the port and we loaded on to the Blue Star Ferry for our over-night ride to Santorini. We had no idea what to expect from an over-night ferry but let's just say, with its hardwood floors, four restaurants, movie theaters and cabin showers that are bigger than the one we had in Rome, we were pretty comfortable. Even Mom's ear pet seemed to calm down for the night.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Farewell Rhodes. It was an inadvertent visit but lovely just the same.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</div></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-86881841267138823542011-07-23T02:53:00.000-07:002011-07-23T02:54:23.571-07:00big score<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Finally we hit the jackpot! I'm not going to say that we deserved it, buuuuut....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj544Q0ooGDQmUwLYTnA9oUjDYxS3rkVgpTk3iUMaT_504Yt3kiTHcoNDSVYF7rj-jfYzkaDlVwJ3pBVNfkZbOkWvLL9956MbrkasxiLVjXpLYRnpvVU2Hgje0WuG_zVCsEYDm9XnJ_mzE_/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj544Q0ooGDQmUwLYTnA9oUjDYxS3rkVgpTk3iUMaT_504Yt3kiTHcoNDSVYF7rj-jfYzkaDlVwJ3pBVNfkZbOkWvLL9956MbrkasxiLVjXpLYRnpvVU2Hgje0WuG_zVCsEYDm9XnJ_mzE_/s320/me.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>To entertain ourselves on our dubious Ryanair flight to Rhodes, we happened to look in one of those in-flight magazines that are always so thrilling with their life-changing articles spotlighting where Julia Roberts shopped while in Madrid. Flipping through we found a small section on Rhodes in which there was a feature on a charming little place to stay in the heart of Old Town. After our catastrophe of hotels in southern Rhodes, we decided to go for it and yes! they did have an opening. The only room left cost 250 euros (not a chance!) but since the owner wanted to fill the room he knocked the price down to half. Still a splurge but at least I won't have to sacrifice food later this semester.<br />
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We had a lovely breakfast with "Doctor Love" before hopping onto the ONE bus the island has and going to the "last stop", which seems to be the <i>only</i> stop since it is all anyone mentions. Thankfully after a hot and cramped ride we arrived in the New Town and the owner of the villa, Jon, picked us up. Luggage in tow, we drove around the castle that encompasses the medieval city and its bustling streets. The place we stayed is in the heart of Old Town and without our trusty guide there is no way we would have found it. Twisting roads (actually, more like paths) paved in the tiny stones led us to a wooden gate that opened onto a beautiful courtyard complete with table, umbrella, cushioned lounge chairs and a stone fireplace.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrtu-HTvK-5wFEfzMVbFHDlRkWcEI-slmfBEcoASco-rfZXpZh7MptrS2NQ3Lt4Fd4fSEp9BWDiiZlElJricIq21qGlkDuJelH18Y1NKz-MG8Ve1PNU-MGaNNfsqB0KHl53DtFYL2ixXA/s1600/room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrtu-HTvK-5wFEfzMVbFHDlRkWcEI-slmfBEcoASco-rfZXpZh7MptrS2NQ3Lt4Fd4fSEp9BWDiiZlElJricIq21qGlkDuJelH18Y1NKz-MG8Ve1PNU-MGaNNfsqB0KHl53DtFYL2ixXA/s320/room.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Our room (discounted beyond belief) was the suite of the villa and featured a 4 post bed, couch, large bathroom, desk, espresso machine (that alone was enough to make me fall in love!) and wifi. The room was covered in courtesy items: soaps, water bottles, Greek candies, bath robes and slippers (though I don't think those were to take...) and maps galore. Needless to say our bags a at least a kilo heavier after we stuffed all our goodies into our already bulging luggage. Seriously, what are we? 12-year-olds on Christmas morning? Sheesh.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fTI6jGTEqDaJDUnJnnZMGl-S-KG7ttWTlHkbL-yLq18xNbzRzBRpc9k_0PcyAqaR_jPlaQq8EXbWe_YOtFGXdCSAKvjotm0et6VKezZ3dR_PqvHlPk4I1DubxT78LEpfdFhOssNSdkk_/s1600/room+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fTI6jGTEqDaJDUnJnnZMGl-S-KG7ttWTlHkbL-yLq18xNbzRzBRpc9k_0PcyAqaR_jPlaQq8EXbWe_YOtFGXdCSAKvjotm0et6VKezZ3dR_PqvHlPk4I1DubxT78LEpfdFhOssNSdkk_/s320/room+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Old Town was hustling with tourists photographing the castle, day-trippers wandering through the paved streets into art stores, jewelry shops and restaurants, each shaded with umbrellas or ancient trees and decorated with wooden chairs fit for the tropics on which lay decadent cushions that awaited an exhausted traveler. It was very inviting. Jon gave us a phenominal place to grab lunch and once again we were enchanted by the freshness of something as simple as tomatoes, brilliant feta and cucumbers that literally dripped their juice.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguELXMwCg0P9JvU3rHbvqTjHrkZ-TVjx-i8B9tzlF7ILswEJMmHbhixwosY4rZL8dSfU_JlP24vTqjOiIpthZCUHN1d3XvlP9vRlA_F-xABHyW9JddDSxRd3nC2PKOvLe5CRuGonu13Vsd/s1600/lemon+smoothie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguELXMwCg0P9JvU3rHbvqTjHrkZ-TVjx-i8B9tzlF7ILswEJMmHbhixwosY4rZL8dSfU_JlP24vTqjOiIpthZCUHN1d3XvlP9vRlA_F-xABHyW9JddDSxRd3nC2PKOvLe5CRuGonu13Vsd/s320/lemon+smoothie.jpg" width="254" /></a></div> This was the first place we ordered dessert (surprising since we are both obsessed with baklava) but it was completely unnecessary. Not because we were full from our salad and grilled eggplant, nor because the ceramic wine vessel that never seemed to quite empty, but because they brought a lemon smoothie out as a finisher along with the bill, which of course, was tucked away in a small wooden box painted with gold swirls.<br />
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We left the shade under our large tree and wandered through the streets, abandoning our unnamed map entirely. The stone walls of the city's perimeter stood tall and supported Greek flags flapping in the wind. The castle had been built by the Knights (the Knights of what was never really clarified), taken over by the Turks, the Italians, the British and finally given back to the Greeks. The churches went from Catholic to Muslim to Catholic throughout history.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySmGRlLPuo2vi_GjeWx5wBzNXEm6a4ykZAwQsZkhZGt_s_BUeaxzT_awRDo5FZYiDECz5c0aONKDvfjsiLWpvVtesMGDzBLuspwlHnvNIxIOgazAcL3OLUptAL9qHsQ4EwPUXLta2qexo/s1600/costa+fortuna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySmGRlLPuo2vi_GjeWx5wBzNXEm6a4ykZAwQsZkhZGt_s_BUeaxzT_awRDo5FZYiDECz5c0aONKDvfjsiLWpvVtesMGDzBLuspwlHnvNIxIOgazAcL3OLUptAL9qHsQ4EwPUXLta2qexo/s320/costa+fortuna.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We found a great jewelry store that made anything one could imagine from local coral in which we spent so much time deciding what to buy for gifts that the store girls thought they might need to pay us hourly. We browsed through other shops that had original glass, ceramic plates and natural stone pieces. The main road (who knows the name-- as per Rhodes only a few were actually <i>named</i> on the map) ended at the harbor where several yachts were docked waiting to take people to the surrounding islands. It was tremendously helpful of them to advertise the cost of the ride directly on the side of the ship.<br />
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Very informative.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyqzPo11HBFIGr4007-iEAiQpvSTFkUcsbcsts1380WGAde_ZvJ1u1qIbzHLk1ETVMaFcdgERt8ocf4gF9VpJ8xZ8GfpSCd389-qGChiYOsGRNTymz8-Gnt0c8DxzSlPN-vmmpjDuBL-b/s1600/castle+road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyqzPo11HBFIGr4007-iEAiQpvSTFkUcsbcsts1380WGAde_ZvJ1u1qIbzHLk1ETVMaFcdgERt8ocf4gF9VpJ8xZ8GfpSCd389-qGChiYOsGRNTymz8-Gnt0c8DxzSlPN-vmmpjDuBL-b/s320/castle+road.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>We were sweating (shocker!) by early evening and decided to retreat back to our room for showers and leisurely time since, obviously walking around, completely enjoying ourselves was too strenuous a task. We dressed and ventured out to find dinner, which took some convincing because it was so lovely in our room that moving sounded like an excessively arduous undertaking, but we hadn't eaten in about 2 hours-- an unthinkable interval that must be remedied immediately. <br />
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Dinner was at a place boasting of "top chefs from around the world" and held up to its grand declaration. We started with bread stuffed with feta and spinach dipped in spicy cheese or olive tapenade. Next was the most tender octopus that ever was cooked followed by grilled squid stuffed with the national cheese--feta-- a few other herbs and drizzled with olive oil that was more golden than any I've ever seen. This could have been the best dish we've had so far, which is saying a lot. Tender doesn't even come close to what this meat was. Sinful is a better word.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRfXAwIIvGWvBcm33qxPiWUw4w4EpNNC2b_IwmPXNwRvBCl_ejvcOqt8zlXKsfLnhdrvdsD5IwElyi2kFN4VBZ5Z_FRfAW9NDOb4ocVb0Ht2jAcyiXBeb7FVDqEijavbIoaunrRoQx5go/s1600/octopus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRfXAwIIvGWvBcm33qxPiWUw4w4EpNNC2b_IwmPXNwRvBCl_ejvcOqt8zlXKsfLnhdrvdsD5IwElyi2kFN4VBZ5Z_FRfAW9NDOb4ocVb0Ht2jAcyiXBeb7FVDqEijavbIoaunrRoQx5go/s320/octopus.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mom and octopus </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Dessert was ordered but, again, it was thoroughly gratuitous since they brought out not one but <i>two</i> complimentary treats: a mousse made from nougat and cherries cooked and fried like a doughnut only to be rolled in cinnamon sugar. I mean, beach doughnuts are good but they don't even <i>compare</i>... these Greeks don't mess around. Cherry dessert wine was brought gratis by the waiter but we couldn't even think of sipping it since we had just eaten Heaven and could imagine nothing more magnificent.<br />
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Back to our own Greek hamlet to sit outside in the perfect temperature, watching the sky and the candles flicker in the light breeze.<br />
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Warning: we might not come back home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6koWOvuDUCRomEDK2LMZx4Ez1FOosTD3niIHMo3NfyK8XZrWpLC4nOsuZEmDEYYejB5miuwgTwQezRCt492MhvsjT_ruvI2I7Mq7q8oBoSR9NPvthhqc6izge_mtGqUDjGgK4YBxsheB/s1600/zacosta+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6koWOvuDUCRomEDK2LMZx4Ez1FOosTD3niIHMo3NfyK8XZrWpLC4nOsuZEmDEYYejB5miuwgTwQezRCt492MhvsjT_ruvI2I7Mq7q8oBoSR9NPvthhqc6izge_mtGqUDjGgK4YBxsheB/s640/zacosta+panorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zacosta Villa's entry court</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-26463521151818863762011-07-22T15:16:00.000-07:002011-07-22T15:27:13.792-07:00battery power<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Second day in Rhodes, first day being able to actually see it. Alright, this one's going to be great. We got our travel kinks out yesterday-- this one's going to be smooth riding. In fact, yesterday was so ridiculous the rest of the trip is going to be a breeze.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLauS0Yn_mAejj34Pw01MFoqN4Ab0UBaVPu00H1uWA3W8MnDMoUwl1Cgi-WZrrlBSePbIUxC8pZjE_ASLV0sEZkAcK3WaaMwR-eHQK4c_oRoK4KIiqUjPEVucSfJ51N3vlq5Ve2vo1ZI_/s1600/1+me+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLauS0Yn_mAejj34Pw01MFoqN4Ab0UBaVPu00H1uWA3W8MnDMoUwl1Cgi-WZrrlBSePbIUxC8pZjE_ASLV0sEZkAcK3WaaMwR-eHQK4c_oRoK4KIiqUjPEVucSfJ51N3vlq5Ve2vo1ZI_/s320/1+me+small.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>After arriving late last night (let's not get started about that day again...) we stayed up deciding just what there was to do on the island of Rhodes. We had planned to arrive in the city center, stay one night, tour the city during the next day and take an overnight ferry to a nearby island. As has already been covered, we never exactly ended up in the city of Rhodes. In fact, we were what we lovingly now refer to as "the country". So, in Ozburn-mishap-tradition, we looked at the map, figured out where we were (not an easy task on an island that apparently only names its streets when it feels like it and seldom actually puts those names on a map), and decided to spend the day exploring the south of the island and voyage to the capitol city the next day.<br />
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We consulted with "Doctor Love", who was pleased to find me in a better mood, and he agreed to find us a car and allow us to stay an extra day. Within an hour the Jeep pulled up, we paid the fare, and were off. Off to a gas station that is. We were told that the tank was 9 liters. Or at least that's what we thought we heard.<br />
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Ok. So, if the tank is 9 liters and this island's not so big, there's no way we need to fill it all the way up, right? Let's fill it 4 liters and that should do. (For any other Stupid Americans, 4 liters is just over 1 gallon. Yup, we didn't know that either...) Actually, as we come to find out, the Greek-speaking man was telling us that we'd need at least 9 liters to <i>get to</i> Lindos, the smaller town in southern Rhodes. Woops... let's chalk that up to accent trouble rather than selective listening.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oV3lHj0qwxiUNFk333_I2l8KMDdq2vR_DB1BfThyphenhyphen0Q8K97WbY1uDItItNYH2nqm2TTiKk1pBjObh0E20ggiRRPbpwfuUHBnwIx6qZjzhw9Ji6qUgCFJqrAVOVhNUMD6nKNOmUM6iIt4_/s1600/8+lindos+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oV3lHj0qwxiUNFk333_I2l8KMDdq2vR_DB1BfThyphenhyphen0Q8K97WbY1uDItItNYH2nqm2TTiKk1pBjObh0E20ggiRRPbpwfuUHBnwIx6qZjzhw9Ji6qUgCFJqrAVOVhNUMD6nKNOmUM6iIt4_/s320/8+lindos+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And we're off. No international drivers licenses, no idea how to read the signs, no idea how much <i>gas</i> to put in the car, just two fun-loving American gals off to see the beautiful beaches. (Side note: knowing how to drive stick is a must. Anyone--Katie!!!-- who refuses to learn is one day going to miss out on an acclaimed Greek adventure and will never realize just how great a Honda Fit is with a manual transmission, which might be an even more considerable tragedy. Sermon over.) The ride was enchanting but being the driver, I was the one that had to stare at the gas gauge getting lower... lower... lower. We pull over at a Shell station to fill up but of course they don't take credit cards and we were fresh out of Euros. We hop back in the car, off to find an ATM, turn the key... turn the key... <i>turn the key</i>! Start you gosh darn Jeep! Start! (The Fit would never have this problem. Just saying.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-RMMd4uy5K9UtQvHzi_ESMI050QCNYmL7U7KwPWb-4NSdjpB4IJz9m4ge40HcPVnllGJuUI3BZkUJxhK6r-RFE7dHlyvpaY6BaOzx-G335UjHUV9mNx-vIBLwxPbPxUrvAEUC0DeXSC4/s1600/7+lindos+gas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-RMMd4uy5K9UtQvHzi_ESMI050QCNYmL7U7KwPWb-4NSdjpB4IJz9m4ge40HcPVnllGJuUI3BZkUJxhK6r-RFE7dHlyvpaY6BaOzx-G335UjHUV9mNx-vIBLwxPbPxUrvAEUC0DeXSC4/s320/7+lindos+gas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Needless to say, our battery was dead. Middle of a gas station. Boiling sun blaring down on our bare shoulders. It would be 2 hours and a few Coca-Colas later before our little Greek man came to our rescue. (Is it actually considered a rescue when he was in fact the one to not give us a car with a working battery?!) We explained to him that he should fill up the gas tank, after all, we had sat in the heat of the day for 2 hours.<br />
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-- Two hours? What is two hours?<br />
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Vivid flashbacks of the "One night? What is one night?" conversation came surging back and we decided that these Greeks must have way too much time on their hands. Clearly Americans know how to pack our days enough that missing two hours is a complete and utter tragedy. What? Waste time?! Psshh.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkA0DTD6qNIoE4oZUtUfzsjSdKEL05adtMmhbsdHJt9KtuHugMZxJaRDEBKtUMEd7Ac53SF78w6KVx_RytKUELCn0qxnbU_NRE5ksEvpH0Ha-OTR25uy4lV5phBJEFKI38iyLCXHO12_e/s1600/9+lindos+mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkA0DTD6qNIoE4oZUtUfzsjSdKEL05adtMmhbsdHJt9KtuHugMZxJaRDEBKtUMEd7Ac53SF78w6KVx_RytKUELCn0qxnbU_NRE5ksEvpH0Ha-OTR25uy4lV5phBJEFKI38iyLCXHO12_e/s320/9+lindos+mountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lindos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Finally, 11 km up the road was the stunning town of Lindos. Quintessential Greek village: white residences, stone castle looming above and inconceivable blue sky overhead. Ok, the Jeep debacle was worth this. This is pretty amazing.<br />
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We wandered around streets made from tiny stones expertly laid, but slick from years of use. (It has already been established that I am not the most graceful of people so that was interesting.) The 4' wide streets were crowded with jewelry stores, tourists and donkeys whose owners were attempting to grab anyone, place in the saddle and lead them up these slippery stones to the rising castle at the height of the mountain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_6PstgE_0SlWR6oHGR7ttQj0a52QYdHzMqsv99oMlQZLoJMjMcpePqkaCeNko8jiPeZ5JtHG1sMxXBZYOt9Oug4i_D75tmTnwDCFL_oSS3fsyrqYdQ_FYs6jFEdcTjiQ-zPHjG-f2wr8/s1600/6+lindos+food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_6PstgE_0SlWR6oHGR7ttQj0a52QYdHzMqsv99oMlQZLoJMjMcpePqkaCeNko8jiPeZ5JtHG1sMxXBZYOt9Oug4i_D75tmTnwDCFL_oSS3fsyrqYdQ_FYs6jFEdcTjiQ-zPHjG-f2wr8/s320/6+lindos+food.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">prosciutto, melon, greek salad, prawns and avacados</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We had a fabulous lunch on a rooftop terrace. In fact, the only un-fabulous thing about all of Lindos was their choice of table napkin. Who buys these little dinky paper excuses for a napkin anyway? They most certainly do not hold up for to a traveler who, despite her courteous upbringing, can not seem to keep fresh tomatoes off her skirt. Nor do they hold up to tucking into one's shirt and stuffing behind one's knees to mop up the incomprehensible amount of perspiration that seems to have no end. Lindos chose <i>these</i> napkins? Honestly, the nerve.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5VpxGQEH7zWZYqynRumCfOEp8QHExKz1FYzsuBxT35y4iKndn2bgDd8Jk4MJf5YKIERC8KY7MsquegAYuSeTbYd4q9n-5QtF6y-UJZPQr9ZXRUas5j_sJjWAcU-4rT7fpUxkKw3_8hG_/s1600/5+lindos+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm5VpxGQEH7zWZYqynRumCfOEp8QHExKz1FYzsuBxT35y4iKndn2bgDd8Jk4MJf5YKIERC8KY7MsquegAYuSeTbYd4q9n-5QtF6y-UJZPQr9ZXRUas5j_sJjWAcU-4rT7fpUxkKw3_8hG_/s320/5+lindos+flag.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>We decided to trade sweat with clear water and made our way down to the beach, peeled off our shoes and slipped our legs into the sparkling Lindos water. Later we discovered that we once again would be covered in sweat after we hiked back <i>up</i> the mountain to our Jeep in the afternoon sun. Luckily, this time, our gas-guzzler started.<br />
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The drive back to our accidental hotel was uneventful compared to the morning's thrills. "Doctor Love" was there to greet us with white wine, tatziki and the most succulent stuffed mushrooms imaginable. We finished the day by showering off the Jeep grime in the curtain-less shower and watching the sun go down over the water from our balcony. The breeze was perfect and together with the wine and long drives in the sun, the whispering ocean water was having no trouble lulling us to sleep. Just when we thought we could complain about a hard day...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vA7U2Ei7sME68TIggtJMTzt7tBjk8dkp7Zd_HO-zJVB43_vvNzyDhJxg52h7ZhhQM59IH9ZejLu6ECOZRfYsFPLb8hUf-gU4SORDT_nl9JOAOsLUn6w-M4kmCcZhLGUxUcCYLkkU8kWq/s1600/2+lindos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vA7U2Ei7sME68TIggtJMTzt7tBjk8dkp7Zd_HO-zJVB43_vvNzyDhJxg52h7ZhhQM59IH9ZejLu6ECOZRfYsFPLb8hUf-gU4SORDT_nl9JOAOsLUn6w-M4kmCcZhLGUxUcCYLkkU8kWq/s640/2+lindos.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-55992850386530805132011-07-21T23:47:00.000-07:002011-07-21T23:47:30.503-07:00planes, trains and thoughts of homocide<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I'm actually not even sure how to start this one off. I'd say that our travel here to Rhodes is probably the most ridiculous "adventure" I've had so far. Good lord. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dVQNfZ3sbAhhT4Psp0sRTrZSz-nRiueKrByIYO2Bcfv-jsBoNLcrzszJa53RoJTlNawm9sGwGO0176IfVnhyKpAWzku6PSwblq-Jp-c6ffrUO79CmenMzEgO_KLq2hiwLA2UU-rU1VbD/s1600/cafe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dVQNfZ3sbAhhT4Psp0sRTrZSz-nRiueKrByIYO2Bcfv-jsBoNLcrzszJa53RoJTlNawm9sGwGO0176IfVnhyKpAWzku6PSwblq-Jp-c6ffrUO79CmenMzEgO_KLq2hiwLA2UU-rU1VbD/s320/cafe.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cafe at our last airbnb room</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">So we started off great. A slow morning in our ghetto neighborhood, which only had the stress of trying to find a printer that would hook up to my computer in order to print off our boarding passes (apparently Ryanair does not have the capability of printing passes when you check in). So after wandering, finding a place, not having wifi, having to go back to the room to email myself the pdfs, and going back in order to print off my email, we finally found ourselves having cappuccinos, boarding passes in hand, at a nice little cafe by the farmers market. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">We found the tram to the airport with minimal anxiety and even were able to get on the shuttle bus to the airport with only a few embarrassing moments. (Mom had a definite "chemo brain" incident but that's typical these days...right?) </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">We get to the airport 2.5 hours early thanks to our paranoia of security lines and missing flights (having Dulles be our local airport has definitely taken its toll). After waiting in a line that queued up to a desk with no clerk, no clerk...no clerk (where are the workers?!) we found another line in another part of the tiny airport that actually did have a clerk. Checked our bags, had some lunch and headed through security. (As a side note: you don't have to strip down in a European airport. If you take off your shoes--or even take out your computer from its case-- you will get looks like you are crazy. Glad we're used to getting those looks at this point of the trip.)</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Apparently we had missed the memo that with Ryanair you line up in order to get on the plane hours before the flight takes off. We waited 45 minutes at the back of the line, a line that twisted so far around the waiting area that we weren't sure if we were in the line for Paris, Madrid or Rhodes. Again, not a clerk in sight. Does Ryanair even </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">have</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> employees?! Suddenly the mob we were standing behind took off like a school of fish to another gate. Seriously. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Running</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> with bags, children and these darn boarding passes. This thing moved so fast we of course couldn't keep up and found ourselves at the end of the line again, this time at a different gate. The funny thing was, yup hard not to guess, no clerk, no announcement, not an employee in sight. What the ___?! How did these crazy Europeans know to abandon ship and work up a sweat to another line?!</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsc6WzuS7WJWK28uIFc2Tb3QlJc7vpaLbHtfBOx0VGT2irperbn3KoigUWULYGU6Qk4Xga5CVl_7uV-yO3X0XkbGeoSvpxEfZ15vC9MTwDc3vqxFQ46nRdleatYSQ-SElIBmJakp87YSOA/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-22+at+9.36.57+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsc6WzuS7WJWK28uIFc2Tb3QlJc7vpaLbHtfBOx0VGT2irperbn3KoigUWULYGU6Qk4Xga5CVl_7uV-yO3X0XkbGeoSvpxEfZ15vC9MTwDc3vqxFQ46nRdleatYSQ-SElIBmJakp87YSOA/s320/Screen+shot+2011-07-22+at+9.36.57+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ryanair... stupid.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Waited another 30 minutes to have a couple of buses pull up. The line funneled through another boarding pass check point (an employee at last!) where they simply ripped your infamous piece of paper of a pass, not checking passports, and letting you run (again) across the tarmac to the bus. As the bus pulled up to the plane (again just sitting somewhere on the runway) people, apparently just dying to show their athletic abilities as often as possible, ran to the doors of the plane. The back door was open and a huge procession formed there and suddenly, in keeping with Ryanair tradition, another door opened at the front of the plan and there was a scramble to get in that new line. No explanation. No directions to the second door. I just...I just... what?!</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A bumpy ride ensued. Applause when we landed (literally). We get out, find our bags and find out that the cab we were going to spring for was no where in sight because of course every taxi on the island is on strike. I called the hotel where the following helpful conversation conspired:</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70f-I6cIsBg9JokeF6ihSvRTLce38asCMhNJFCXD2puqiFLJoREHKeuzdfF3VpGbJJ5Vc1mTiZt-QDvo4Z0bUqe19RS2yGGhsQChUkB9W7eooRYWD3GNOsTKwVehV3LOUogRVeF_Ex4v8/s1600/hotel+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70f-I6cIsBg9JokeF6ihSvRTLce38asCMhNJFCXD2puqiFLJoREHKeuzdfF3VpGbJJ5Vc1mTiZt-QDvo4Z0bUqe19RS2yGGhsQChUkB9W7eooRYWD3GNOsTKwVehV3LOUogRVeF_Ex4v8/s320/hotel+room.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new room</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- Hi, we are staying there tonight. What's the best way to get there without a taxi?</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- The bus. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- Which bus?</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- Only one bus. Take the bus, get off (no stop name given) and turn at the gas station.</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- Okaaaaay... So where are you?</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- On the road. End of the road. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Alright, so I'm thinking this is a whole island. Are you telling me there's ONE bus for the WHOLE island and that we will find this unnamed "road" at which we will turn down it and arrive at our hotel. I'm thinking there's a 100% chance we will not get there tonight. Just to add to any confusion we might still be having, the Kayak website on which I booked our hotel the night before, boasted of a hotel located in the center of Rhodes Town, the capitol of the island and where we wanted to be. Whenever I google the location of this said hotel (again because I am completely certain "the road" will be an adventure in itself" says that no, we are NOT in the center of the city, located north of the airport, but in fact 6 km south of the airport in the middle of no where. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgD0itjCogV9WEJKdaQ5XOQmN8hWp5UWGJzpVOSfVSDaYz3HMoblyFkOKr_Yq-IMPUiRzAqam3IS9lgPZzOuqSqWkKsUqHyaMEzUoNn7vULAtDkhJemTS4sC8yioZxEhVHIJpx0Xf1JA7t/s1600/hotel+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgD0itjCogV9WEJKdaQ5XOQmN8hWp5UWGJzpVOSfVSDaYz3HMoblyFkOKr_Yq-IMPUiRzAqam3IS9lgPZzOuqSqWkKsUqHyaMEzUoNn7vULAtDkhJemTS4sC8yioZxEhVHIJpx0Xf1JA7t/s320/hotel+view.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from new room</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Now, as has been well established in the past, I am not a person that does well when I am lost. My blood boils, I start making threats and any polite and flexible part of my personality completely disappears only to be replaced with a snappy, inconsolable and obstinate one. Lovely. My poor mom is trying to be cheerful but it's not happening. The clerk at the tour-bus desk (think of it-- a clerk! Novel idea!) thankfully had heard of the hotel and put us on a mini-bus with a driver who would take us there. At this point it is 10.30. Our plan landed, with much acclamation, at 8 pm. The driver keeps going, and going and going. Drops us off at a hotel that looks nice enough but remember that "road", yea, definitely barely paved and probably AT LEAST a mile long. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Finally! We've arrived at the hotel! Our travel calamities are over!</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqB-2BVz-UxnGD6dPOwkpyhyTZq2mOlO5UUxcnGNA0psn78HVLobfiNr6RrTJBUJJ6pvmJhoESegGmnuO-WndzQBzH1oXfZMkz6ZhZykW4xj6cDmdUa5ewrx_WSo2RoEExgJWBs928-31/s1600/hotel+shower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqB-2BVz-UxnGD6dPOwkpyhyTZq2mOlO5UUxcnGNA0psn78HVLobfiNr6RrTJBUJJ6pvmJhoESegGmnuO-WndzQBzH1oXfZMkz6ZhZykW4xj6cDmdUa5ewrx_WSo2RoEExgJWBs928-31/s320/hotel+shower.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">shower... hmmm</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- Ashley who? You have a reservation?</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- Yup (says my unyielding self, looking for someone to murder)</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- You're staying only one night? Not more? No one stays one night.</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- Yup. Only one night. We have the confirmation right here. Already paid you and everything.</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- One night?</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- YEEEEEES. (thoughts of how exactly I could kill this guy without getting caught were filling my brain)</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-- In that case, we are over booked. It is only one night-- it is ok if you stay somewhere else. I will take you. It is only one night. It will not be bad for only one night. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">They literally had to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">drag</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> me to another mini bus. At this point I am not only not being polite but actively (and visibly) rolling my eyes, huffing like a pro and in general showing my wrinkled tail feathers. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXk_IFmHgNmq6Nb43u-UGvwydKFB3zvcSA9xhp8mBHMJhTEaA6vaov0Lz_f_UQG0hf3DQiJ8XR49PuDcnk0mz2WW9KuKnox-YdJ78UP6dGMY_wrJWhtDsk91sNmTGnXX8xPmXtZ0PxlhuI/s1600/hotel+pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXk_IFmHgNmq6Nb43u-UGvwydKFB3zvcSA9xhp8mBHMJhTEaA6vaov0Lz_f_UQG0hf3DQiJ8XR49PuDcnk0mz2WW9KuKnox-YdJ78UP6dGMY_wrJWhtDsk91sNmTGnXX8xPmXtZ0PxlhuI/s320/hotel+pool.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pool view from our room</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">To sum it up, we get to a much smaller hotel. Three single bedrooms, shower with no curtain and no doors. The owner of the hotel is a little family that has run it for 15+. The owner's son called himself "Doctor Love" because he was determined to turn me back into a nice person. We had great stuffed veggies for dinner and generally began to chill out and enjoy the island. </span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">No internet in our rooms though, so sorry this is a day late. I'll enter in our adventures from <i>yesterday</i> later today when we get to Rhodes Town. Traveling can't get any more difficult than this... riiiiiiiight?!</span></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-81772330332869930312011-07-20T04:14:00.000-07:002011-07-20T04:14:53.384-07:00travel partner<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">So, today's entry is two days in one. Oops. Thanks for all the emails calling me a slacker, though. Appreciated. (ha!)</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB5gs3AqKRfuOK92qcH75V3FqIBH65_QWsq7u2dBi_41e34nT1c2MbU0eHFUbOCaZsyK1kVP5Zg30tDOb0QxRLGhQWZVYVFOs-3EiMSxAgRHPiEuNhaG0-6-0eamaeX62kjB92RHRItF_/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB5gs3AqKRfuOK92qcH75V3FqIBH65_QWsq7u2dBi_41e34nT1c2MbU0eHFUbOCaZsyK1kVP5Zg30tDOb0QxRLGhQWZVYVFOs-3EiMSxAgRHPiEuNhaG0-6-0eamaeX62kjB92RHRItF_/s320/me.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">My fabulous mother flew in yesterday after an all-night flight. Thankfully it was direct so she was able to sleep on her way over-- as much as you can sleep in the middle of 5 seats in the "steerage" class. She got in around 8.30 am and took the train to the new part of the city I am staying. Alas, I had to leave my wonderful airbnb room located so perfectly near the sights and move to a charming studio apartment in the lower east side of the city. Believe, me "lower east side" is exactly what it is. Very charming little room (Dwell Magazine would salivate seeing it) and there is a awesome farmers market near by, but other than that its main features are a 20 minute walk to the metro, buildings covered in graffiti and the main sights of traffic overpasses. Definitely a different experience of the city. Of course, if I was ever to live in Rome this is most likely the area I would choose since I seem to have a predisposition to gravitate towards "ghetto" areas...</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNHk0QKiWPVfBkeCQ1l_iCvo0PfU9PhpKH1QdPL01qOth_8v14nGsmPJ2l8cjAx0srfjFCY8UuYyvKiOQ3x5fz_ENgDK8wEvLVAP1V75XgEpgjxydqpYrv0l12fSWMVVpZLz6L8e2CuaX/s1600/colosseo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNHk0QKiWPVfBkeCQ1l_iCvo0PfU9PhpKH1QdPL01qOth_8v14nGsmPJ2l8cjAx0srfjFCY8UuYyvKiOQ3x5fz_ENgDK8wEvLVAP1V75XgEpgjxydqpYrv0l12fSWMVVpZLz6L8e2CuaX/s320/colosseo+3.JPG" width="214" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">The day before Mom got here I headed over to the Colosseum. Actually, "headed over" is a little bit misleading. I was sitting in my usual cafe writing and enjoying the morning and decided to walk in the other direction on my way back to the apartment. Typical of this trip, I walked about 5 blocks and saw the ancient monumental structure just down the street. Yup. No idea it was anywhere near where I had been spending 2 hours each morning. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Awesome, Ash. Way to be on top of things. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx50QtPZJqLuZn_HX7liPFUL5TS6OStnq0C2It5TyqhsrPerAWbq6ugTIVOxWt4m39zcXbSOC4MsVMJeMotFIApciF_MkS-dRIorMpRRvmD8l1PpKbK7Behrh4bhC_1bhYx1lP1_6HhBTl/s1600/colosseo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx50QtPZJqLuZn_HX7liPFUL5TS6OStnq0C2It5TyqhsrPerAWbq6ugTIVOxWt4m39zcXbSOC4MsVMJeMotFIApciF_MkS-dRIorMpRRvmD8l1PpKbK7Behrh4bhC_1bhYx1lP1_6HhBTl/s200/colosseo.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">The place was great-- just as you'd expect but extremely humbling to actually see its size and realize you're standing literally in the spot where so much history happened. In keeping with true tourist tradition, the line to get in was about two hours long and filled with sweaty adults trying to keep a group of twenty teenagers in line or confused sightseers desperately looking in a translation book trying to decide which line they needed to be in. Being cheap and impatient, I opted to walk around the place, take pictures and just to pretend to have seen everything. I'll come back someday, right?</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnx2uY94y8xkL6-hKZTC1gRMzqHmbaSp7GORJhRpG_VcQNSgobnu_JLRMXw8S9Zqj_9ikPYCm3yBKoz51ahhPiyzUjGBUdsC_JGj8eDr1PlFJQZppHPMiRhsoXiuYBZ4751KD09fcfJO3W/s1600/farmers+market.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnx2uY94y8xkL6-hKZTC1gRMzqHmbaSp7GORJhRpG_VcQNSgobnu_JLRMXw8S9Zqj_9ikPYCm3yBKoz51ahhPiyzUjGBUdsC_JGj8eDr1PlFJQZppHPMiRhsoXiuYBZ4751KD09fcfJO3W/s320/farmers+market.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">redeeming farmers market</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Then it was off to the great adventure of finding my new place. Once again too cheap to hail a cab, I opted to walk the 3 miles--suitcases in tow-- and just hope I was headed in the right direction. According to iMaps, the route looked do-able. Unfortunately, the lovely app did not account for the fact that there are not actual places for <i>pedestrians</i> to walk on the busy thoroughfares. There I am, phone in hand, scared to take my eyes off the bobbing blue dot, scrambling to keep my suitcase on its wheels, lugging a bookbag that is as heavy as I am (well, probably not any more thanks to Italian pastries...) and waving an "I'm-sorry-I'm-in-the-middle-of-the-street-while-you're-driving-like-a-maniac" wave in a very clueless traveler way. It's actually impressive I'm still alive. Might now hold the record for most honked at within 30 minutes. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Stupid American.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Thankfully I found the train station a bit easier when I went to go pick up my mom the next morning and we even used the BUS to get back to the apartment! After unloading her stuff it was off to the Vatican. Once again tourist lines (as well as bare summer shoulders and breezy skirts) we decided not to go in but hopefully we'll be back with a guide next summer during the Ozburn Graduation Trip (sorry Ross, you'll graduate at some point...teasing). The piazza in front of the Vatican was impressive as were the buildings and river surrounding it. Very Catholic. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMpCSQvFG24CIPOvLettIlEqtN8a5P1et3SwctM2QHcDmhhxo5nJOe0subAqZFosLEJHFqO_L-oZZUFadS5-YtzG0tquyCP2MQXf5pS0vPMonVQoznK5VqjQmV-T7iUOoNXlLj1uAC4z2/s1600/vatican+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="104" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMpCSQvFG24CIPOvLettIlEqtN8a5P1et3SwctM2QHcDmhhxo5nJOe0subAqZFosLEJHFqO_L-oZZUFadS5-YtzG0tquyCP2MQXf5pS0vPMonVQoznK5VqjQmV-T7iUOoNXlLj1uAC4z2/s640/vatican+panorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">vatican piazza</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHbqG_eosWro9YfLTMw12yj86sfKv9GjixLzjTHg7fKa1ptgCOv5T1vf7J3h-7TGKJOFIKzBZ7dvbltW8YrpF_y5qf-6P3SOzPslSZyOFYo8WXuPqv8KDyvnvjVHMXziyUsXYiEOms5OuP/s1600/laundry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHbqG_eosWro9YfLTMw12yj86sfKv9GjixLzjTHg7fKa1ptgCOv5T1vf7J3h-7TGKJOFIKzBZ7dvbltW8YrpF_y5qf-6P3SOzPslSZyOFYo8WXuPqv8KDyvnvjVHMXziyUsXYiEOms5OuP/s320/laundry.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mom with new purse</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We wandered across the river and through the fantastic winding streets around that portion of the city. We promptly (literally the first store we went into!) bought two leather purses, both orange and both unnecessary. I haven't bought a single thing since I've been here (alright, one architecture book at the Maxxi, but that's academic and doesn't count, right?) so needless to say, having a partner in crime here with me who loves shopping more than myself (who is also very convincing with her great arguments about the benefits of practical souvenirs) is going to be interesting. I must say, they are both very chic. We are so hot right now. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3buWRsjMo0uJ_-kuvdBrKitAsIPYelv9SPfQ8-jRF_TtkwKniRVCckFFGP4Nt4yaaCS4TVqhWuDzOItojmCO8Nv3-fJLJ5yI8XFXtlNVwoPp4NGwSAtiJk4FOGrAoavh9KJjMMgFqmyH/s1600/bruchetta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3buWRsjMo0uJ_-kuvdBrKitAsIPYelv9SPfQ8-jRF_TtkwKniRVCckFFGP4Nt4yaaCS4TVqhWuDzOItojmCO8Nv3-fJLJ5yI8XFXtlNVwoPp4NGwSAtiJk4FOGrAoavh9KJjMMgFqmyH/s200/bruchetta.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 types of bruschetta</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We found a tiny restaurant with a 10 euro special that included bruschetta, a pasta, water (which is crazy expensive here) and vino. Probably the best deal I've seen since I've been here. I'm used to spending 6 euros on a glass of wine alone, let alone dinner. I guess being with her and finding these deals is going to balance out my purse after all. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoz7GIA2diIsOf80PeynupUKCk-JCkwjIgUr5aN7Ca4TEQ40j9tECChunKEIcA__N0aZa9w990t4HKrLPMZrISaTiB1DhQLq_55u-MdUAPNWLy3Ne_HFr19Q5cb8jeuH4l4dYlbeOAZHZ/s1600/drawing+and+vino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEoz7GIA2diIsOf80PeynupUKCk-JCkwjIgUr5aN7Ca4TEQ40j9tECChunKEIcA__N0aZa9w990t4HKrLPMZrISaTiB1DhQLq_55u-MdUAPNWLy3Ne_HFr19Q5cb8jeuH4l4dYlbeOAZHZ/s200/drawing+and+vino.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">watercolor kit. love it.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We walked and chatted, sat and chatted, drank wine and chatted. It was a lovely day. Ended it off sitting outside at a restaurant sketching (while chatting!), listening to live music in the piazza while it turned to dusk. Definitely a great day and definitely nice to see such beautiful things with someone else there. Didn't realize how much I missed traveling with another person. Makes it much more fun. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Now it's off to Rhodes. Hopefully trying to find the CIA airport is not going to be as much as an adventure as trying to find the apartment and we'll make our 17.45 flight. Can't believe I've been in Rome for 5 days and tomorrow I'll be in Greece. Surreal. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">(Update on shoe saga: wore different sandals yesterday. Horrible for the soles of my feet. Back to my vindictive shoes today but thankfully Mom brought a refill of blister bandaids. Just in case you were wondering...I know the concern for my feet is overwhelming.)</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-92126316694224988462011-07-18T02:16:00.000-07:002011-07-18T02:23:33.876-07:00old vs. new<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglB8XRu8-ejghh4sH5eXL9njR6B1eV_SfsQkESrWYSKWVhE__3Mx2BgPIvsIWGNPnyPxsRmnUm6LcyfJjnBbVRlEKUrdMiGFwyKgw69Fy4dZ1pPuEpEYubLfMPngukKFsMqPxdo0aEBUuv/s1600/spanish+steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglB8XRu8-ejghh4sH5eXL9njR6B1eV_SfsQkESrWYSKWVhE__3Mx2BgPIvsIWGNPnyPxsRmnUm6LcyfJjnBbVRlEKUrdMiGFwyKgw69Fy4dZ1pPuEpEYubLfMPngukKFsMqPxdo0aEBUuv/s320/spanish+steps.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spanish Steps</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
What a bummer to wake up to another brilliant day in Italy. Mid 80s and dazzlingly sunny. I could come up with tons of cliches about sun coming through the leaves, the vibrance of the streets and the smells of cappuccinos and pastries but I will refrain because I might actually gag myself from the cheesiness. Still, it's wonderful and deserves the platitude.<br />
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Once again at my morning cafe (where there is free internet!) trying and failing to have a legitimate conversation with the barista (did you know this title applies to a male as well as female? Just looked it up so I'm sure.). It is funny. Having everyone I encounter speak to me in Italian I find myself attempting to use it myself in my reply. However, unfortunately for some reason it keeps coming out in Danish. Yup. I could hardly speak the language while I studied there, yet much to my embarrassment, it has apparently come back to me and pops out whenever I am trying to be suave.<br />
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-- <i>Un alto cappuccino, bella?</i> (Another cappuccio?)<br />
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-- <i>Nej tak. Tak for mad og drikke.</i> (No thanks. Thanks for the food and drink.)<br />
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I mean, seriously?!<br />
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At least, even though the attempt to blend in linguistically has failed miserably, I am starting to get my bearings. Walking all around the city makes you realize how close everything is. However, lovely map I purchased is still an necessity. Of course, the simple <i>purchasing</i> of this said map was an experience in itself. I sauntered into the bookstore (which I found on my own!) and found a great fold-out map book with a map specific to each neighborhood. (Little did I know-- thanks to my keen observation skills-- that I was purchasing a book written only in Italian. Keeps way-finding interesting...) I paid for it with my brand new euros and promptly turned around to leave and ran straight into the glass door. Bang.<br />
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<i>-- Aye! Aye! Senorita, attenzione! Sta bene? Attenzione!</i><br />
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Needless to say, my flattened nose and I got out of there asap. Stupid American.<br />
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This language barrier is not always a problem. The younger waiters seem to love to start up a conversation using their Italian charisma to try to charm the unknowing American girl eating alone. It seems that eating alone is something completely unseen in this gregarious country.<br />
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-- <i>Aye, bella. Why you eating alone?</i><br />
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</i><br />
<i>-- Oh, just traveling around by myself. </i><br />
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<i>-- You married, bella?</i><br />
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<i>-- No.</i><br />
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-- <i>Boyfriend?</i><br />
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(smile and suddenly am very interested in my <i>insalada</i>.)<br />
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-- <i>My name is Massimo. I take you after work? We meet at the club? You have beautiful eyes.</i><br />
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(I'm wearing sunglasses.)<br />
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Alright, enough with Italian "culture" and more on adventures. Took my brilliant and perplexing map book and headed to the Spanish steps. Talk about tourists! There were so many people there I felt like taking a shower afterward. A girl came up to me asking me to take her picture. She too was very concerned I was traveling alone and insisted on taking a picture of me as well. It is an very "Where's Waldo" image but the first to prove that I'm actually here and not finding pictures on the internet. So, there ya go.<br />
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Right across from the Spanish steps is what can only be described as the "Magnificent Mile" of Rome. Gucci, Prada, and so many other names that even someone like me could recognize. To make my sister proud I did go into Prada. The woman at the door gave a look of disapproval at my sad attempt to dress like an Italian but let me in anyway. It was difficult to pass up the 478 euro shoes ($672 in US dollars!), especially since they were 30% off, but somehow I managed. Sorry, Kate.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIgLWdGVxV7DtC0OomBpDBe_OG0L2deN8RoGJwgCh8egTzrYicu2t9RJ8SGwa2yGGVFgj9mFSBKRJgGh-bLkODddrA62WNzVWa5eQOwCyOl8wbiAaOR5RNy8gxxon9jjmgGIYdRR360Gq/s1600/umbrellas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIgLWdGVxV7DtC0OomBpDBe_OG0L2deN8RoGJwgCh8egTzrYicu2t9RJ8SGwa2yGGVFgj9mFSBKRJgGh-bLkODddrA62WNzVWa5eQOwCyOl8wbiAaOR5RNy8gxxon9jjmgGIYdRR360Gq/s320/umbrellas.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piazza del Popolo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anyway, I finally made it to the Piazza del Popolo yesterday afternoon. This plaza has twin churches designed by Bernini. Despite the piazza's name, the churches were closed to the public, but I think I could draw their floor plans by heart (thank you Peter Eisenman) and made me starting considering a new tattoo (kidding Mom). It was cool seeing something that you have studied so intently close enough to actually touch it (maybe that's why they don't let people inside... hmm).<br />
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Then it was off to the Maxxi modern art museum designed by Zaha Hadid. Now, I must stay that I categorically don't like Ms. Hadid. I think she is a terrible lecturer and her theories on architecture seem to disregard the common human experience of urban space; however, every museum of hers I have visited I have thoroughly enjoyed. The space was crazy but definitely created open galleries that featured the art very well. The courtyard was left undesigned and is being used for the YAP (Young Architects Program) as a similar design space to the MOMA's PS1. Up and coming architects submit proposals for what to do with the space each year and the winning design is installed. It was really cool and a great contrast to the nearby piazzas of the 1800s.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsuBhmKrytzZ-Ht8-BDZNBkHBT6HuYXRsRicGR-LV5Du4KF8uD2twPjItF0ee3YkkLxkN41M3EZXU1Wwwjo9M0YU5Pt_pqVapenGVuPDARNTjX4vWqLipBiRuoyoO8TYTfvL_VyQ2xHAF/s1600/maxxi+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsuBhmKrytzZ-Ht8-BDZNBkHBT6HuYXRsRicGR-LV5Du4KF8uD2twPjItF0ee3YkkLxkN41M3EZXU1Wwwjo9M0YU5Pt_pqVapenGVuPDARNTjX4vWqLipBiRuoyoO8TYTfvL_VyQ2xHAF/s320/maxxi+1.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maxxi lobby</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alright, I am heading out since this nosey barista keeps reading over my shoulder trying to see if I am writing about him, which of course, I now am. I was kind at first but now I am about to punch him in the face. Dude, stop sitting down at my table and trying to "conversation me" and go make me another cappuccino!<br />
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PS- pleased to report only 2 blisters yesterday. Think I might win the shoe battle after all.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maxxi reception desk</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfsAWoasw58XQd5phnAxjcSLR1PgVL71QMjZiipl0T-pm9pBWJb5y0hdPGt8RdjkGBr3KZo4ptOXQ7KFHQoEnhfruM61p1q6unLH4RCu7HRoyIanTheIPsJGAFDT6mooqSyWf9LuziGUpQ/s1600/maxxi+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfsAWoasw58XQd5phnAxjcSLR1PgVL71QMjZiipl0T-pm9pBWJb5y0hdPGt8RdjkGBr3KZo4ptOXQ7KFHQoEnhfruM61p1q6unLH4RCu7HRoyIanTheIPsJGAFDT6mooqSyWf9LuziGUpQ/s320/maxxi+3.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtyard by stARTT</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_aHOO330JHmAZXMYy7db9LlH-KoqnuFvCW84VaD70W6V083gSQ7xfCiO5rgN6iLB9rk-am-eHk3EgwwefjFeQhhaDD2CO2HyOFtn300c7Qn-8QK7j497s6WCTUV86JlGufsc9Z5P9zsD/s1600/maxxi+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_aHOO330JHmAZXMYy7db9LlH-KoqnuFvCW84VaD70W6V083gSQ7xfCiO5rgN6iLB9rk-am-eHk3EgwwefjFeQhhaDD2CO2HyOFtn300c7Qn-8QK7j497s6WCTUV86JlGufsc9Z5P9zsD/s640/maxxi+panorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Maxxi</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VWVAs9i5yqKBQV176hpYom4AW_M2hWDw3URapAAvQaF2oj8t2yPac28nka8Q3Dl4sq1nQn8A7xdZ5W5GVk0fMCmKNatKgQbk4cO0oNbYph2Aru8u0evoD7LS49fMSfnKdG5er_KsQNO2/s1600/piazza+del+popolo_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VWVAs9i5yqKBQV176hpYom4AW_M2hWDw3URapAAvQaF2oj8t2yPac28nka8Q3Dl4sq1nQn8A7xdZ5W5GVk0fMCmKNatKgQbk4cO0oNbYph2Aru8u0evoD7LS49fMSfnKdG5er_KsQNO2/s640/piazza+del+popolo_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piazza del Popolo</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784478007204339340noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036044490600528622.post-5526521144394675132011-07-17T02:33:00.000-07:002011-07-17T02:39:09.672-07:00clueless travelerItaly.<br />
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I mean, I've heard about it but you think that a place cannot possibly live up to its reputation. I must say, this does.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58lPo596UdSD5BhaF3gn_OWJSWkwp80JZTv0EhGvWo3JhsedCX3Q5MIlNb4n6j7KNjJ1pPXEsJKDseI-RAQsEtefAaBq2DlgwpW6elirV0eMrjHmUcEjmxd6u141_hl3J_s2AplaSHgfY/s1600/airbnb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58lPo596UdSD5BhaF3gn_OWJSWkwp80JZTv0EhGvWo3JhsedCX3Q5MIlNb4n6j7KNjJ1pPXEsJKDseI-RAQsEtefAaBq2DlgwpW6elirV0eMrjHmUcEjmxd6u141_hl3J_s2AplaSHgfY/s320/airbnb1.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">first airbnb experience</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Ever since my arrival at the airport, I have tried my best to make this experience stressful. Definitely almost lost my luggage. Arrived and had no cell service, no map on how to get to the place I'm staying, a calling card that cost a fortune and had 10 minutes on it, no Euros, no idea which train to get on and pretty much had no plan whatsoever. Luckily I jumped on the correct train at the last second and by the time I arrived at the stop I had international texting which allowed me to find the great room I had booked on airbnb.com (if you have never used this site it is absolutely fabulous-- sorry for the plug). The room is decked out in bright red IKEA (yes, the Swedes have infiltrated every country, those Scandinavian geniuses) and is air conditioned-- a definite plus. The bathroom is similar to that on a sailboat, complete with a 2'x2' shower and toilet so close to the side wall that turing around to reach for the toilet paper is definitely not happening. (I am very intrigued by the corner-door shower, though. I have to remember this for future architectural planning.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl5-KKT55egVmFoOOAuXPOi4xViihvaG2yXLbIXayiX6W67EBfJccia25Rsu3APQNiXpFNmZddmqnbBuiQ1zo7m_oFhCtHNWm7-5v942GrCmyvqCjyVeC-PGoYl-j6JEo0ApDWmjLHpn4/s1600/airbnb1+shower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl5-KKT55egVmFoOOAuXPOi4xViihvaG2yXLbIXayiX6W67EBfJccia25Rsu3APQNiXpFNmZddmqnbBuiQ1zo7m_oFhCtHNWm7-5v942GrCmyvqCjyVeC-PGoYl-j6JEo0ApDWmjLHpn4/s320/airbnb1+shower.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">awesome corner door</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A late night pizza at a pizzeria I found by accident definitely melted any remaining travel tension. By the way, that plate was definitely FULL of pizza. Yup. Ate that much. Just remember: 24 hours of traveling earns you the right to pig out.<br />
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Yesterday I got up and putzed around Rome. It is crazy how intense and relaxing this city is at the same time. The drivers live up to their reputation of being fast and ruthless. A stop sign is merely a suggestion. Of course I loudly advertise my American citizenship by smiling and waving a "thank you" every time a car stops for me. The Italians saunter in front of the oncoming cars with complete cool-ness and disregard. They would <i>never</i> belittle themselves and wave. Stupid Americans.<br />
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The thing about Rome is that it is crawling with tourists. From the clearly Asian with typical umbrellas and fanny-packs to more Swedes than you can imagine (just what Italy needs- more beautiful people...), the tourists are easily identified. The locals are very patient and seem to enjoy showing off their English. It helps that I whip out a watercolor kit every time I sit down at a restaurant. So far I have gotten free gelato, free local cherries and the card of a obscure artist who wanted me to go online and check him out right away. It seems that restaurant owners like the idea of forever being recorded in someone's sketchbook.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1EdwKVFcGigZOGtLBc1GjOJeTFyboZcTZJ86ZAxiv4jrBzNf29P7x3qcZMPtrnmpOG7vSso6PEABrFK-zyP0h5K03s84Q9e1a-3tRMLCe2lqq9dzfwew_aIBq9U6H3uwziiGS9qttoAx/s1600/aribnb1+entry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1EdwKVFcGigZOGtLBc1GjOJeTFyboZcTZJ86ZAxiv4jrBzNf29P7x3qcZMPtrnmpOG7vSso6PEABrFK-zyP0h5K03s84Q9e1a-3tRMLCe2lqq9dzfwew_aIBq9U6H3uwziiGS9qttoAx/s320/aribnb1+entry.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">entry into my room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I have found that I much prefer escaping the masses of disoriented "globetrotters" by stumbling down the smaller streets that lead to shops tucked away between apartments, yards paved with cobblestones and moped parking. I love the paper shops the most. It has been challenging to resist the temptation of a finely-crafted new sketchbook, but my first one is barely started. That and I'm pretty sure my rapidly depleting budget does not allow for such liberal spending. They are beautiful though and I should be congratulated for my restraint, just for the record.<br />
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It is crazy how, even when aimlessly dawdling down hidden streets, you turn a corner and find a building you have had crammed down your throat in architectural history courses. I am embarrassed to say that I was roaming around a piazza taking pictures of the tops of buildings that had sun on them making the colors irresistible (I'm serious! It was lovely) that it took me a good 20 minutes before I realized that the <i>Pantheon</i> was right behind me. Thankfully no one from Yale knows about this blog otherwise I would be ousted immediately.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVDrXxqLKe9EwEUL1kEjIllVy2b_2qE1no3Stzqs23HepnFWkj2nlii4-aD1nvV5p1iUXWL_WG08se5p9LI_L8iPsAXnj52Z8_dHYmuQ44s9rmtj-Q1Y1dXtan2Pb3BOWyqQJWal8n0cK/s1600/pizza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVDrXxqLKe9EwEUL1kEjIllVy2b_2qE1no3Stzqs23HepnFWkj2nlii4-aD1nvV5p1iUXWL_WG08se5p9LI_L8iPsAXnj52Z8_dHYmuQ44s9rmtj-Q1Y1dXtan2Pb3BOWyqQJWal8n0cK/s320/pizza.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>So far the only unfortunate circumstance has been my shoes, which I thoughtfully purchased for the sole purpose of walking long hours during my travels. Despite constantly wearing them pre-trip in order to break them in, and the ignoring the 20 blisters I got each time I did--trying to convince myself that eventually they would learn to love my feet and stop punishing them so harshly-- they seem to be dedicated to laugh at me as I limp around attempting to get my foot in a position so the leather stops rubbing open foot flesh. I think I might have beat them though! This morning I cut off the offending leather straps with a travel x-acto blade and now have shoes that, if they fail, will have the last word by forcing me to buy new ones in this expensive city. Good lord.<br />
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Alright, now that I've finished my second cappuccino (did you know that lattes here have no espresso?! What is the point of that?!) it is off to another day. Hopefully this one will include fewer blisters.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKfKYeNcGdjyO8taCNIozhAoiOtP5sjCTMhlStmpcd6tcuhOn14TfvBgwB4h6-B-KkHHZcf-V3ZuADsI7jGtvFazN7NCJuwo4KE2YLuNnaehFZPmsc4yTLZ12ed_XXVekA1F8jrh48qqZ/s1600/pantheon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKfKYeNcGdjyO8taCNIozhAoiOtP5sjCTMhlStmpcd6tcuhOn14TfvBgwB4h6-B-KkHHZcf-V3ZuADsI7jGtvFazN7NCJuwo4KE2YLuNnaehFZPmsc4yTLZ12ed_XXVekA1F8jrh48qqZ/s640/pantheon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pantheon and plaza<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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