Randomness on the Road

 This post is dedicated to pointing out some of the little incidents I’ve witnessed in my almost two months of travel that didn’t make it into any of the other posts. In no particular order …

In Ponta do Pongo, I was at a restaurant and this woman and her child walked by my table.  The little girl looked at me then lowered her head.  The mom explained that she wanted to wave, but was too shy.  That was adorable.  I don’t even like kids, but that got to me and made my day.  I waved to the kid and she just shyly walked away.  So cute.

These are the bathroom stalls at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam.  I’ve never seen stalls like this, but the Dutch are known for being way ahead of the curve in practical (and private) design.  This was also the first time I saw these Dyson hand dryers.  Now, why doesn’t America have these?  They’re more sanitary and save on paper waste.

Waiting in line for the bathroom at Barcelona Airport, I overheard two black women mentioning that Hartsfield has more stalls.  I asked if they were from Atlanta.  Turns out they were and were coming back from a cruise.  I do love seeing other black women on the road.

I was sitting in a restaurant on Naxos and a couple of ladies came in with gift bags.  They approached one of the waiters saying that they had these three eggs and didn’t know what to do with them.  I have no idea where they got the eggs but … Dude looked a little confused as well but took the eggs in the back.  I wonder if he put them to use.

Speaking of restaurants, a couple of observations.  Both Greece and Portugal are fond of the small, handheld machines for taking payments by card.  They punch in the amount and then you, the customer, just tap your card to the top or middle of the machine until it beeps.  The machine prints out a receipt and you are on your way.  In Portugal, these machines didn’t have a tipping option.  I was not happy to see that form of extortion reappear in parts of Greece.  The employee is holding the machine and can clearly see whether you opt to tip 0, 10 or 20 percent – no pressure there at all.  Still, even when paying cash, I usually leave a couple of bucks out of habit. I like that to be my choice, though, not establishments capitalizing on the American tipping habit just looking to suck out as much cash as they can get.

Technology has also advanced in how the waitstaff take orders.  Everything is on the phone now.  Most people are staring at their phones 24/7 anyway; might as well incorporate them into their work.

Two sounds have been consistent in both countries; church bells and owls.  The bells can be kind of annoying.  A bell for every new hour is one thing, but some of them will play entire tunes in the morning.  Most of the hotels I’ve stayed in have serious noise issues, so I really don’t need the bells on top of that.  The owls, however, have been a strange yet welcome sound.  I thought it unusual that there was an owl in Woodstock, but now it seems they are everywhere.  Or maybe that owl from Georgia is just following me around Europe.  A sweet, yet creepy thought.

I’ve been through 4 countries since March; The Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, and Greece.  Yet I have only one stamp in my passport from The Netherlands.  Schiphol was the first airport I hit after coming from the U.S. and the only place that had passport control.  Now, I certainly don’t want to stand in anymore lines than I have to, but I would still like some more stamps in my book.

Spot anything weird in this picture?  This random Micky Mouse was wandering around taking pictures with kids in the touristy part of Athens.

The music has been interesting.  Most of the restaurants in both Portugal and Greece will play modern remakes of American music.  The remakes are usually more mellow than the established version, giving every song a dreamy, café feel to them.  It sometimes takes me a minute to identify that song by The Weeknd or this other Ed Sheeran number since it’s being sung at a different speed by a female voice.  It’s been odd but I like it.  When I do hear music by the original artists, though, the songs are uncensored.  It was a real surprise to hear musical f-bombs while eating dinner.

I’ve mentioned how big coffee culture is in both Portugal and Greece.  Something interesting I’ve noticed, though.  After a cup, in either country, I don’t have raging coffee breath.  It was standard practice for me to pop some gum after a cup of coffee in the states to get rid of the aftertaste.  Here in Europe (so far) that aftertaste or foul breath have not been problems.

Santorini -- Perissa

 

One of my goals on this trip was to do it big for my 52^nd birthday.  I wanted to be on Santorini for the day – nothing else really.  Just get myself to the Greek island I’ve wanted to visit for decades.  I didn’t plan on the 13^th to be a travel day and the mishigas that goes with that, but that’s just how it landed. At the very least I got to go by ferry and not have to endure the airport.

I love being on the water.  The Blue Star Ferry was set up like a cruise ship in that it had multiple seating areas/lounges and cafes.  It was nice to be able to sit with my luggage in front of a table so that I could write.  The two hours flew by and, after a stop at the island of Ios, we reached Santorini.

The first thing you see when you reach the port is this huge wall of rock.  Not the most welcoming sight which only got worse when I realized that there is a road winding up the mountain.  I gawked.  Is that the only way to get out of the port?  Unless I were to get back on the boat, yes, I would have to go up that thing.  Now how would I do it?

At the base of the mountain are all the stalls full of people trying to take your money.  I stood there with my bags just a bit overwhelmed.  There were buses and taxis everywhere, transfer services with people out front hawking their prices, and plenty of cars on offer for rental.  I already knew I had no interest in driving anywhere in Greece (and certainly not up that beast) so I would have to hire someone. But who?

A gentleman had noticed my confused tourist vibe and crossed the street to get my attention.  He was with a transfer service and said that he’d have no problem getting me to my hotel. I followed him, paid him 30 euros and then waited.  We went back across the street to the buses, but there was some confusion among the drivers.  I just stood there for 5 minutes until they figured out who was driving which bus.  Turns out none of the buses were going.  Instead, this darkly handsome dude (think Oded Fehr from the Mummy movies) took me to a car and we were on our way.

The road out of Santorini port is just awful.  Both Portugal and Greece have their share of scary roads but this one takes the cake.  We’re in bumper-to-bumper traffic, including some buses, along this narrow, windy, barely paved road that’s way too close to the edge of a cliff.  The curves are particularly ugly as they are even more narrow and a hazard if someone was coming from the opposite direction.  I gritted my teeth and wondered at just how often I’ve put my life in the hands of complete strangers on this trip.

After a silent 20-minute journey, we miraculously made it to the hotel.  I gotta admit The Best!!! hotel looked kinda dodgy from the outside.  Kitschy and weird and not in a good way.  The reception office was empty of people, but full of stuff.  The area behind the desk was shrewn with mismatched furniture while the tiny area in front of it had shelves on my right crammed with books in multiple languages. A bell went off as soon as I entered and continued to sound until a friendly man showed up and turned it off.  He introduced himself as Mr. Vassilis, the owner, then quickly handed me off to a woman named Maria.  I got the impression that this is the person who really runs the place and I’d find out later that I was right.

Maria processed my paperwork and explained how the island worked.  She grabbed one of my bags and showed me to my room.  She let me know that while it was okay to put toilet paper in the toilet (yay) the water was undrinkable from the tap.  I learned that the hard way when I went to brush my teeth that night and, out of habit, ran the toothbrush under the tap.  Yeah.  Never did that again.  That water may look clear, but the taste is beyond foul.

One of the reasons I chose this place was its proximity to the beach.  Upon first sight of the black sand beach, I was a little … disappointed is not the word.  It was simply that I missed Naxos and its golden beach.  I was a little upset that I hadn’t given myself more time to really explore the island.  It was only on my last day that I discovered my new favorite café.  It was only as I was boarding the ferry that I saw the arch of Aphrodite’s temple for which the island is famous.  I didn’t even get a chance to go up there.  I thought, as I laid eyes on Perissa’s dark sands, that the beach was nicer on Naxos.

                            (I do love this shot.  There's a whole man-against-the-world vibe to it.)

It took a few days, but I came to love that beach.  The sand wasn’t as fine as on Naxos, being made of volcanic rocks, which meant that you could easily brush off the sand when getting up.  No finding silt on you for the rest of the day.  There weren’t too many tourists around (the water was still cold), so there were times where it felt like the entire beach was mine.  My favorite restaurant on the island had killer views of the ocean.  Watching the sun glint off the water in the morning while feeling the sea breeze was the best way to start the day. 

There isn’t much to the city of Perissa.  A bunch of white houses scattered among the restaurants, hotels, and souvenir shops.  Still being the off-season, a lot of places were closed or preparing for the summer.  I saw a lot of construction and painting of the buildings along the strip that borders the beach. 

Leaving my room one day, I ran into Maria.  She was cleaning the room next to mine and mentioned that there was going to be a ceremony that night and to not be alarmed if I heard a lot of noise.  The day was Good Friday and locals would walk through the streets, banging drums and letting off firecrackers.  The local establishments would set out a table of small treats and shots of booze for the participants.  I was initially confused as Easter had already passed in the states.  But in Greece, a very religious country, 4/16/23 is Orthodox Easter and a big deal for everyone.  I was glad for the heads-up otherwise I would have been really confused.

I’d planned to take the bus into Oia after breakfast on Sunday, but then remembered that it was Easter.  A pit had been dug in the sand in front of one of the restaurants and there were 3 lambs grilling on it.  The smoke smelled delicious as I enjoyed my breakfast.  Then, in walking back along the beach, I saw two more grills.  It wasn’t just the restaurants, but private homes had grills on their patios as well.  The air is filled with the smells of roasted lamb while Greek music plays from the centers of family gatherings.  Realizing just how seriously folks take this holiday, I figured it would be a very different day in Greece.

I ran into Maria cleaning my room and asked her if the busses were even running today.  She said it was something like Russian Roulette – the bus might make a stop, it might not.  We got to chatting and she told me that she’d been a teacher in Bulgaria.  When new policies made teaching unappealing to her, she packed a backpack and, like me, set off by herself to Greece.  She quickly found a job and had been living on the island since 2009.  She said it was very easy back then but new government regulations were making it ever more difficult to just pick up and move to another country.  When she first arrived, there were people from all over the world working in Santorini.  Over the years, most of those people had to leave because the laws changed.  The required permits and bureaucracy were just getting worse every year.  That news just made me more anxious about relocating to Portugal.  I might be cutting my year of travel down somewhat just to get the paperwork in motion.

Packing up to leave made me a little sad.  My time in Perissa wasn’t exactly action packed – usually just me on the beach with a book – but I really enjoyed my time there. I had scheduled another ferry trip for the 19^th and needed to find Maria to make the transfer.  Check out was at 11 so I cleared the room and went to wait outside reception.  It took a while for Maria to show up and when she did, she was still wet from the shower.  After arranging for my pick-up, she told me I could leave my luggage in the office and go enjoy the day instead of waiting at the port for the next couple of hours.  Have I mentioned that I freaking love Maria? I went to do just that until my pick-up at 2.

After saying my last goodbyes to the beach, I met Maria again at reception to get my bags.  She helped me to the curb to wait for the driver.  As she sank into a chair, she mentioned that she had been assisting her boss in painting the place and was tired.  I commented that that she really does do everything around here.  Did she ever get any time to just relax and enjoy her gorgeous surroundings?  She said she took her time when she needed it.  Her boss was pretty laid back (he was also grilling on the property on Sunday) so they had developed a good relationship over the last 15 years. 

The driver showed up and she handed me off.  She gave me a hug and wished me the best.  And, yeah, I have to say that The Best !!! hotel really was the best.

The Pleasant Surprise of Naxos

 

After another restless night in the noisy Hotel Victory, I woke up around 6.  I packed up as quickly as I could and got downstairs to checkout.  I had the desk clerk call me a cab and was thrilled when it arrived.  “How are you?” he asked.  “Happy to get out of here.”  That was the end of the conversation.

I can’t explain the relief I felt once we got out of that city.  At one point of the cabbie weaving in and out of the alleys/streets, he veered into oncoming traffic in order to make a left turn.  I just closed my eyes and prayed for a safe trip.  Besides, closing my eyes meant I didn’t have to look out the window.

At the airport, I continued to look for a flight to Santorini.  The only things I could find were either leaving at 11 at night or were outrageously priced ‘business class’ tickets.  Three hundred euros for a 1 -hour flight on a little pond-jumper.  You must be mad.  I wandered over to a help desk and explained my plight.  The dude couldn’t get me on anything either.  “Just get me out of Athens,” I said, “any island will do”.  After several minutes of waiting, he said he could get me on a flight to Naxos (pronounced like nachos) in a couple of hours for 150 euros.  From there I could catch the ferry to Santorini.  Book it.

I know nothing about Naxos, don’t even know what’s around.  While I waited for the flight, I decided to stay at least one night.  This might not be on the list of islands I wanted to visit, but since I’m going there anyway, might as well take a look around.  Booking.com to the rescue again and I found a place near the beach for 36 euros a night.  I just hoped it wasn’t a dump.

Thirty minutes after boarding should have started, we were herded onto a bus that took us to the tarmac.  The plane was indeed tiny and we climbed the narrow staircase through a door in the back.  It wasn’t the most comfortable flight (does anyone who designs plane seats have a height of more than five feet two?) but at least I had the two-seat row to myself.  Thank goodness it was only a 30-minute flight.

Caught a cab and was deposited outside a pretty, white stone building in sight of the beach, the Infinity Apartments.  My arrival was set at 2 p.m., but since I was a couple of hours early, I sat on the porch and waited.  Eventually, an older blonde lady in a quilted black jacket wandered by.  Her name was Maria.  She and her husband, Mike, ran the place.  She led me around to the stairs in the back, and showed me to lucky number room 13.  The place was small and clean (with a functioning toilet) and had a decent feel to it.  I immediately asked if I could extend my stay a couple of days.  She said they might have to move me the next morning, but otherwise it wouldn’t be a problem.

These rooms are advertised as ‘apartments’ but I find that hard to believe.  The shoebox I had in Funchal still had a fully functional kitchen with an oven, a microwave, and a washing machine.  This is more of a glorified dorm room with some cookware on the wall, a mini-fridge, a kitchen sink, and a portable stovetop.  Call me a spoiled American, but I can’t imagine anyone living here long term.  Fortunately, I was only staying for a few days.  I had no intention of cooking, so the place was good enough for me.

There were a few issues.  It took me a while to get used to the room's door which was horizontally cut into two pieces.  The bottom half scraped the floor, making a terrible noise unless I lifted it up to close it (for my third and final night, I stayed in room 14 across the hall where the door was much quieter).  The showers (always a sticky point with me) while pretty, had no curtains.  Once again, I was wrestling with the showerhead while trying not to spray water over the entire bathroom.

Once I’d gotten settled that first day, it was off to explore. I sighed in relief.  Now this is more like it.  Clean air, space to move, no one trying to rob me, and a laid-back vibe.  There’s a reason all those calendars I bought featured the islands of Greece and not Athens.  The white buildings near the water with the sun shining down really gives you a sense of summer.  But, since it is April, the beach isn’t very crowded and a bit windy.  I’m walking around fully clothed with socks, sneakers, long pants, a long sleeve shirt, and a hoody on and I’m chilly.  I have no idea how there were people in the water.  Yes, it looks inviting, but it can’t be very warm.

The first place I hit on my exploration tour is a beach-side restaurant called Ippokampos.  I ate outside then continued to explore the town of Chora.  I love the mosaic tiling on the sidewalks and the pops of color provided by flowers near the white buildings.  As has been a theme on this trip, the narrow streets are clogged with too many cars.  Every other shop seems to rent cars, motorcycles, ATVs, and even rickshaws.  I pass by Mike’s Bikes looking for the owner, but he isn’t around.  Okay.  I don’t know how to pay him or what the wifi password is but whatever.

That first night in Naxos was the best sleep I’d had in weeks.  I woke up amazed and raring to start the day.  But, remembering that Maria was coming to move me to a new place, I packed up and waited.  And waited.  It was almost noon when I decided I was too hungry to wait around any longer.  So, of course, that’s when Maria showed up only to tell me that the room was free for the day so I wouldn’t have to move until the next day.  Cool.  Off for a meal and some more exploration.

Unfortunately, the weather decided to mess with me.  It kept switching from sunny to rainy and windy then back to sunny multiple times.  I’d done some laundry in the morning with the intent of putting it outside to dry, but that wasn’t gonna happen. Another 6 euros for a dryer and I wandered around some more.  I’d run into Mike riding on a bike with another guy and he filled me in on all the questions I’d had.  He still wasn’t in any rush to charge me, saying he’d find me at the dock if it came to that.  That was very trusting of him.

There was no plan for my visit to the island.  I still had no interest in renting a car or hiking.  Athens had been stressful and I just wanted to relax.  I wandered around enjoying what good weather there was to be had and read a lot.  At one point, I had wandered far from the hotel and encountered an Irish man on an electric bike.  He and his companion were looking for flamingoes but hadn’t found them yet so he asked me if I knew where they were.  I told him I was as new to the place as he was and wished him luck.  I wonder if he ever found the birds because I sure didn’t.

While there were no bird-sightings, the place is crawling with cats.  These aren’t feral or malnourished creatures; on the contrary, they look well-fed, healthy, and have no fear of humans.  They just wander around like they own the joint, even crawling among the legs of patrons seated at cafes.  This one just sat and stared at me a while during dinner one evening.

Every time I thought I’d seen everything in the small town, I kept discovering more shops and restaurants.  Every narrow street near the water seemed to offer something new.  A bookshop sold some books in English as well as German and French.  There was a cyber café as well as an arcade among the numerous jewelry and clothing stores. I found my instant favorite café on my last day.  The smiling waitress automatically poured some free water without my asking and gave me a sliver of delicious marble cake.  Not really one to eat sweets in the morning, but that cake was tasty.

As I was packing up, there was a knock on the door.  I opened the top half to reveal Mike.  I was glad I didn’t have to track him down.  He seemed upset that I already had a cab coming as he offers transfers to the dock.  No worries, though.  He charged me the agreed 36 euros for the first night, but discounted me for the other two, charging 30 a night since I’d called a cab.  I had to smile.  Not only was it a nice surprise, but a relief not to be gouged (Athens has really left a bad taste in my mouth).  He charged my card and said he hoped to see me again.

I wrestled my bags downstairs to wait for the cab.  At some point, Maria poked her head around the corner and wished me a good day.  I don’t know if I’m ever coming back to Greece, but if I do, I’m definitely headed back to Naxos.  Hospitality like this can’t be beat.  And for so cheap!

I write this while on the ferry to Santorini.  The movie The Mask is playing on a screen to my right while I sit with my headphones on to drown out the snoring of the huge guy sitting behind me.  It is April 13, 2023, my 52^nd birthday.  I didn’t understand until days later that the free marble cake I’d received earlier was my birthday cake.

Athens Part 2

On to the next temporary home, the Hotel Victory.  I picked the place because it was cheap and nearby.  I didn’t want to stay in Athens any longer than I had to but there were still things in the area I wanted to see.

Located in another bombed out looking alley fronted by trashcans, the hotel didn’t make the best first impression.  But it looked to be clean and serviceable enough for two nights stay.  That would give me enough time to figure out my next move.

But first, more sightseeing.  The location of the hotel also left me in a good position to get back to the subway station I’d seen the day before.  I found my way there again and figured out the route to the Acropolis.  It was its own station so that helped a lot.  What wasn’t helpful was being crammed in an overcrowded car.  After covid.  Without my mask.   I tried to breathe as little as possible as I was being completely crushed while clutching my purse to my side.

I did find my way to the Acropolis, the center point of the only clean and well-maintained area I’d discovered so far.  Of course, this was the main touristy area.  The long walkway was dotted with cafes, vendors, and, I was soon to find out, scam artists. I’m walking along and this woman appears in front of me offering me a free rose.  I take the rose and suddenly it’s not free and she’s pregnant and could I help her out.  Like an idiot, I reached for my purse to give her a few coins.  That turned into folding money that I exchanged for 3 lousy roses.  Feeling dumb, I kept going to the line for tickets to the Acropolis.

The line took entirely too long.  I was already annoyed and stuck behind two guys discussing the crappy state of the world.  Really not helping my mood. Finally got to the head of the line, handed over 20 euros and got my ticket.  Why the hell did it take so long to get to that point?

I ascended the steep hill to the entry point of the ruins.  There are staff waiting to screen everyone’s bags.  Since I only had a small purse and my water carrier, I tried to slip by.  “No roses,” said the woman.  Seriously?  I just overpaid for these things and for some reason they’re not allowed?  I chucked them aside in annoyance and kept going.

I will say this much; the Acropolis does offer some great views of the city.  Athens doesn’t look nearly as dirty or congested from up high.  Along with the throngs of tourists, there were groups of people being led by a tour guide offering tidbits about the history and renovations. 

After a couple of hours, I was getting hungry so back down the hill I went.  I stumbled upon a sign so unique that I just had to get a picture of it. 

The lady standing in front of the place asked, “Are you Daphne?” “How could you tell?” I don’t think I’m the first Daphne to take a picture of the place.  I had to eat there, of course, and had a lovely meal.  And ouzo. Never had it before and can safely say I’ll never have it again.  If you want the experience, just shoot some Robitussin, same thing.

The area beyond the restaurant was absolutely packed with people, eating at the many cafes, taking pictures, and milling around the shops.  This appeared to be the commercial center of the city with big name stores like H&M and Zara right next to the small souvenir shops and food vendors.  And again, the place was nice and clean.  I know this is mainly for the tourists but why shouldn’t everyone have the chance to live somewhere clean?  As Madeira proved, a clean, pretty environment makes for happier people.  This is not a difficult process to figure out.

The crush of people in this area was getting on my nerves.  One of my goals in Athens was to visit the Hard Rock and get my mandatory souvenir.  I figured it had to be located somewhere nearby, so I used Google Maps to lead me there.  Worked like a charm and with t-shirt in hand, I quickly made my way back to the subway station as it was getting dark.  I was tired and my guard was already up, I didn’t want to risk being out after dark for too long.

Despite my fatigue, I did not get much sleep.  The hotel was incredibly noisy both inside and out.  There were people yelling, cars blaring music as they passed, and, of course, the banging.  My next door neighbors had sex twice – hey, good for them, but I don’t want to hear it.  I’m not having any kind of sex, I don’t need to be reminded that other people are.

I got to sleep briefly before the voices started again, waking me up at 3:45.  I guess it woke my neighbors as well, because – you guessed it.  They had round three of the evening.  Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I had a better night’s sleep in the dump.

Awake in the morning, I heard the sex neighbors check out.  Again, I know this because of the loud turning of the key and moving suitcases around.  Soon after, I heard the maid coming to turn over the room.  Clock says 9:30 a.m.  but with the blackout shade in place, it’s still dark in the room.  I only got minutes of sleep at a time, so I really don’t care that I should be up.  But, since I don’t plan on being here long … I guess I’ll reenter the world.

I headed back on the subway to the area around the Acropolis.  I had a lovely meal of Greek French toast (sounds weird, but was excellent), then wandered around for the rest of the afternoon. There was much I hadn’t seen before, lots of shops and a nice park area not far from the first Olympic stadium.

Again, the crush of tourists was getting to me.  I figured to get something to eat before heading back on the subway.  I chose a spot for dinner and sat down.  I’m looking at the menu when a woman appears offering me a free rose.  And yes, I’m in idiot.  Thinking back to the actual free rose I got at a restaurant in Lisbon, I didn’t think anything of this one.  Until the woman gives me the same lines about her non-existent baby …

I won’t tell you how much I gave her.  It’s too embarrassing. I still can’t believe it happened again.  Having to be on your guard 24/7 is not fun.  It is exhausting.  But not so exhausting that I got any sleep that night.  I spent the whole night contemplating my stupidity while being forced to listen to the honking cars, the loudly arguing Greeks, some idiot on a bullhorn …

I spent three nights in Athens and that was four nights too many.  Screw Athens.

Athens Part 1

 

On my last full day in Madeira, I was walking around contemplating that fact that I was actually sad about leaving for Greece in a couple of days.  That is insane!  I’ve wanted to go to Greece since I was a child.  I only heard about Madeira last year.  My life has gotten weird(er).

But before Greece; a seriously long travel day.  The only flight out of Madeira that could get me to Greece at a decent hour left at 4:15. In the morning.  I messaged my host letting him know this and he told me that he’d have a relative take me for 35 euros.  Better than having to go down that hill with all my stuff and hope for a taxi.  This place just keeps giving.

Arriving at 10 as promised, one relative helped me out of the apartment and handed me over to another relative who pulled the car out of the attached garage.  Is this entire building owned and inhabited by one family? Silent driver sped around Madeira like he’d stolen the car (yet another reason I’m glad I didn’t rent one) and dropped me off for the agreed-on amount.  Then it was time to wait.

It was easier than I thought it would be to stay awake.  I did a lot of pacing until boarding.  Then it was on to Lisbon.  Another hour of waiting and then it was on to Barcelona.  A quick bathroom trip later and we were already lining up at the gate for the flight to Greece.  I was glad the flights were relatively short.  Didn’t allow me much sleep, but I was so uncomfortable with the lack of leg room that I didn’t want to be on any flight any longer than I had to be.

After fumbling around a bit at the airport to figure out the taxi situation, I caught one and we were on our way.  As we left the kind of empty countryside and entered the city, I started to get uneasy.  First impressions of Athens:  it is ugly.

Too many cars, it’s cold, the people look miserable, and the place is covered in cruddy looking brown buildings.

It’s like the entire city is covered in soot.

The driver turned off on yet another narrow, one-way street with cars parked on either side and stopped short.  A guy on a motorcycle had just side-swiped a guy on a scooter.  No one was hurt, but the scooter guy was pissed.  Technically, he was going the wrong way, but the motorcycle had cut around us unexpectedly.  The taxi wasn’t involved so we paused briefly and kept going.  Okay.

The taxi finally pulled up to another cruddy-looking brown building and dropped me off.  The guy there to meet me grabbed a suitcase and we headed up to the fifth floor. The coffin like elevator from my first Funchal place was a palace compared to the elevator for this place and we barely fit in with my bags.   

As for the apartment – it was a dump I didn’t want to take a dump in.  I’ll explain that statement later.

I went through the apartment first, heading straight to the bedroom to deposit the bags.  I caught a glimpse of my view from the balcony and … yeah.

Quite a shock coming from the best place I stayed in while in Portugal to … this.  And sorry, Greece, you are being graded on a curve and so far you’re not doing so well.

The guy showed me around and my opinion of the place plummeted.  This apartment smells.  The kitchen is unusable (no microwave, stove, or stove top – just some weird toaster oven with three burners on top.  The water heater has to be activated by hand at least 20 minutes before use.  And the corker -- you can’t put toilet paper in the toilet because the system is old and can’t process it (?!?).  Instead, the soiled paper should be put in the nearby trashcan.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME!??

I was seriously too stunned to say much of anything.  The guy said to call if I needed anything and left.  I didn’t bother to unpack, instead choosing to leave the apartment as soon as I could to do my usual neighborhood walkabout.  Yeah, my opinion of the city didn’t change.  It is very noisy, crossing the alleys/streets can be dangerous, and again, it’s very ugly. Whereas Portugal had trash and recycling receptacles everywhere, in Greece just throw your trash in one of the many overflowing open dumpsters.  Who cares?

The people were lovely, though.  I went into a beauty supply shop assuming the woman didn’t speak English so I didn’t ask her anything.  When I went to pay for my purchase, she suggested something else in English.  She then excitedly showed me different products, apologizing when she couldn’t translate some of the ingredients any better.  Hey, babe, your broken English is better than my non-existent Greek so don’t apologize for anything.

Like in Portugal, coffee culture is big here.  There were plenty of places to stop for a cup and a pastry.  Also, plenty of grocery stores and shops in walking distance (then why the hell were there so many cars?  The city center really isn’t designed for them.).  I managed to reach the subway station (the one thing touted on the website for the apartment – that should have been a warning right there since there’s nothing else to recommend the place.) before turning back before it got dark.

After grabbing something to eat, I reluctantly headed back to the place.  The growing dark didn’t make it any more appealing.  I sat at the computer to figure out my options.  The note left above the desk listed a wifi name that didn’t exist.  Sigh.  I called AirBNB to complain.  They said that if I left immediately, I would only be charged for one day and not the entire month.  But if I stayed a night (that I was being charged for anyway) they couldn’t refund any of my money.  Is it just me or is that a really messed-up policy? 

I messaged the host about the wifi and managed to get connected.  Started doing some research but the text was all just blurring together.  I was extremely tired at this point  after staying up night and barely getting any sleep on the plane(s).  Travel days are always long and exhausting.  But come on.  This was just one more challenge that I did not need.

I was in no condition to make any good decisions, so I decided to turn in and figure things out in the morning.  I will credit the place for two things.  One, the bed was comfortable enough and the linens were clean.  I had a decent night’s sleep after taking forever to doze off.  And two, the water heater wasn’t as tricky as first advertised.  The guy activated it when I arrived and the next morning there was still hot water coming from the sink.  So.  Yay?

Back to the negatives.  By morning, the bathroom had already started to stink.  I wanted to take a shower but really didn’t want to stay in the apartment any longer than I had to.  I got on the computer again and hastily made arrangements for a nearby hotel and a taxi (all done conveniently on Booking.com).  I packed up, told the host I was out of there, and made to leave.  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.  I don’t know.  Eat @#% and die, was my thought.  Instead, I told him no and kept it classy.  If he couldn’t see the problems with this place or tried to act like it wasn’t the scam that it was, there was nothing I could say to educate him.

I follow a travel blogger on YouTube who is a digital nomad.  She mentioned that any time she booked an apartment for an entire month in advance that it never worked out.  Being 0 for 2 myself, I’m gonna have to agree with her.  If a place is cheap enough and appeals to me for a month-long rental, I will pass on it in the future.  The place is that cheap for a reason.

I spotted this mannequin in a store window.  Somehow her frozen grimace mirrored that of my inner child who'd always wanted to come to this country.

I want to go back to Portugal.

Funchal Part 2

 After a little over a week, it was time to move onto my next lodging in Funchal.  When I looked on AirBNB for my next place after Ponta do Sol, I couldn’t find a single place with availability for the remainder of my time on the island.  So the website suggested booking two places at once whose dates jibed with mine.  I caught a cab after lunch and we headed from West Funchal to the east.

When we pulled onto the ‘freeway’ I swear I thought I was being kidnapped.  I mean, Funchal is not that big.  I had accidently walked all the way to the docks from my first apartment and my second place (I’d find out later) is in view of those same docks.  It’s not that far by car if you’re on Avenida do Mar.  Then I figured I was just being taken the long way so he could overcharge me.  But when we reached the street, I saw that it was another narrow, one-way jobby that couldn’t be approached any other way.  And, once again, my cab driver wasn’t quite sure where the place was.  The numbering of houses here is too chaotic to follow even for the natives.  That’s a serious problem.

I contacted the host and we managed to find each other after the cabbie dropped me off in front of someone’s house.  He helped me carry my bags down the hill (we were so close) and showed me how to use the two keys to get into the gate, into the building, up the elevator and to the apartment.  Then he showed me around my new home for the week.

This place has automatically reset the bar for rentals on this island. The apartment I just left could fit inside the living/dining room of this place.  And there’s a balcony just off that room with a view of the pool below (to which I have access).  It’s a three-bedroom place, though one of the rooms is closed off (not that I care).  Two bathrooms, a separate laundry room, buttery yellow walls, and the same balcony off the living room can be accessed from the main bedroom.

As for the kitchen … well.  Not only is it bigger than the kitchen I had in my house and has a door (how many kitchens have actual physical doors these days?) the view is … um …

Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I thanked the host and he left me to continue gawking.  I booked this place and all my accommodations in Portugal on AirBNB.  This trip was my first time using the site and I gotta say, the results have been wildly varied.  I never searched a place based on wow factor or number of bedrooms.  Price, location, and availability are my main criteria.  So to go from my modern little place in Lisbon, to the room in the boonies of the farol, to the homey place in Ponta do Sol, to the 8^th floor studio, to this place (which has to be a million dollar property for the view alone) has been a wild adventure.  And I think this has been one of the cheaper places particularly since I only booked it a couple of weeks ago.  It’s nuts.

I set my computer up in the kitchen because … why wouldn’t I?  It would get a little toasty in the morning with the sun being directly in the window, so I’d move to the dining room.  But only briefly.  The view from the balcony just wasn’t good enough for me anymore.

There are only three drawbacks to the place; with all that space in the kitchen, there’s no oven.  Even the shoebox I just left had an oven, awkwardly placed though it was. Secondly, the upstairs neighbors are noisy.  I think they had a party on Monday night with loud voices, lots of chairs scraping against the hardwood floors, banging and crashing well into the night.  In addition to that, the apartment is located on one of the nastiest hills I have ever encountered in Portugal.  That thing just goes on and on.  And while there are steps located on the side of the hill, they are typical Portuguese steps; made of stone, shallow and uneven, and only get you up the worst part of the hill.  You still have a way to go after that.  The final part at least has a handrail/barrier between you and oncoming traffic.

The weather here has been amazing.  After a month on the island, there were a total of 4 days where the sky was overcast and I felt droplets of rain.  The rest of the time, sunny and gorgeous.  The temp is usually high 60’s, low 70’s every day after being a little cool and windy in the morning then cooling off again in the evening.

I noticed that there are stop lights on the main road of Avenida do Mar.  This road goes past the docks and the main tourist strip for anyone getting off the cruise ships.  They arrive everyday, sometimes with two or three of them docking at one time.

The Mercado dos Lavradores is a huge indoor farmers market that’s just down the street from the apartment.  It is chock full of vendors selling fruits, vegetables, spices, wine, souvenirs, you name it.  It’s three stories of sensory overload as the vendors are trying to offer you samples and you’re bobbing and weaving around other customers and watch that step (what is it with Portugal and all the surprise steps?).  The fishermen, whose boats can be seen from the docks, set up in a separate room.  You can’t get fresher seafood unless you catch it yourself.  It goes straight from the water to the salesroom and you can have the vendors cut it right in front of you.

As great as the market is, I can’t help but think it’s kind of redundant. I’ve already mentioned how fresh the produce is in the grocery stores.  That was the case in Lisbon, but even more so on Madeira as much of the produce is grown right here.  I’ve watched the fisherman in the mornings.  If they’re not fishing for themselves, they’ve got plenty of places to sell their catch.  I would call the market more of a touristy thing since the folks staying in hotels wouldn’t be frequenting the grocers.  Except there are cafes inside that are full of locals as well as shops that sell plants and seeds, so I don’t know.  It’s still a nice place to visit at least once.

After a rocky start, I’ve grown to love the island.  Funchal has everything you could need to live within close proximity, it’s gorgeous and warm, and travel is still possible with the mainland being only 1 ½ hours away.  I didn’t do any of the tourist activities, but there are plenty to partake in like jeep tours around the island, scuba lessons, whale watches and the like to keep you as busy as you want.  Plenty of shops, clinics, grocers – as well as cars, tourists, construction, smokers in public – not a perfect place, as there is no such thing, but still ...  So far, my hunch about the place was correct.  This is definitely the front runner for my new home.  We’ll see how that goes.

Though not a plan, I’m glad I got to experience both sides of Funchal.  Despite my great apartment (which I could never afford in a million years), I think I prefer the west side of the city.  It’s a bit more modern and I could probably afford to rent for a year while I scope out a property.  East Funchal has more of a Lisbon feel with the long rows of houses and the number of abandoned buildings.  Charming, maybe, but a little less to my liking.

Because of all my moving around, Portugal has been far more expensive than I planned.  I’ve also had a few too many nice lunches out including booze and my quest to find the best cappuccino on the island.  My next location is booked for the whole month and, barring any issues with the place, should make it a lot more affordable.

Cultural Notes -- Portugal

Just some random things I've observed living in Portugal for almost a month.

The Portuguese love their wooden floors.  I haven’t seen carpeting in any of my rentals and only rarely have I seen floor rugs.

There are not enough outlets to go around.  In every place I’ve stayed, it’s been a hunt to find a place to plug in the computer.  The apartment in Ponta do Sol had a tap in the kitchen since there was only one plug and yet three appliances on the counter (microwave, coffee maker, and toaster.)  It’s really bad in that, unlike American outlets, when you do find an outlet, you don’t get one on top of the other.  You only get one, so you really have to prioritize.  On a side note, there is WiFi everywhere and the service has been great.  No issues or dropped connections – very convenient for anyone trying to WFH.

The technology on a whole has been a challenge.  Using online manuals has helped, but even then, the design of some of these devices is just confusing.  Particularly the laundry machines.  It’s one thing to have the labels in Portuguese (to be expected) but why are there so many options?  I just want to de-funktify my clothes and not destroy anything.  Why is that so hard?  

Therefore, I was doubly grateful that the machine in Ponta do Sol was nearly identical to the machine I had in Georgia.

I’ve always said that every microwave oven is just different enough to make you pause in figuring them out.  That thought has been proven by just moving around this one small country.  Each first bowl of oatmeal I nuked was purely experimental.  How much time would it need?  Would the cereal bubble over?  Is this bowl microwaveable?  So far so good, though – no explosions or spillovers (thank goodness).

The stovetops have mostly been gas, which is fine.  Most have to be lit by hand, which is fine.  The problem comes with regulating the flame or dealing with a stove with tricky handles that shuts off the flame unexpectedly.  I never could figure out the one convection stovetop I had in Lisbon.  I’d bought some eggs thinking I could scramble them for breakfast.  That idea was a bust and the next renters ended up with some free eggs.

The hosts are not fans of face cloths.  This one kind of bothered me.  I’m trying to wash my face in the morning and there is nothing around.  I don’t want to wet a hand towel to do this, so I eventually bought some microfiber towels for this purpose (always good to travel with those anyway).

Guess what?  Portugal observes daylight savings time.  It never occurred to me to check beforehand.  I just ended up confused when my travel clock no longer aligned with the computer/phone.  Only then did I do a search on DST in Europe.  Because of the different time zones, Portugal springs ahead an hour 2 weeks after the states.  The more you know.

Recycling bins are prominently displayed on the streets, in the mall, all over the place.  Conservation in all resources is encouraged to reduce waste.  If a restaurant offers you a straw, it’s made of paper.  Fast food joints will also not include a plastic lid on the drink.  The cutlery, if not actual metal, is made from wood. 

These &*(&&^( things are a blight on this island.  They are EVERYWHERE.  In Ponta do Pargo, I had to leave one table at a restaurant because the things were swarming around my feet and even climbing on the table.  In Funchal, I’d be slowly taking the stairs (because all Portuguese stairs kind of scare me – many are uneven and made of stone) and then one of these little %$^$$&(s will skitter right in front of me and throw me off.  Fortunately, they don’t seem to make their way into the buildings (being off the ground floor helps).  But, seriously, screw these things.

Octopus is very big there.  It’s featured on salads, as appetizers, it’s even on pizza.  As interesting as they are to look at, the thought of putting one in my face is scary.  That is all.

About the language.  When I decided that I wanted to go expat, I initially wanted to move somewhere English was widely spoken.  Portugal fits that bill, but there’s no way I’m moving to a foreign country and not learning the language.  That might be even harder than I originally thought.  Listening to people’s conversations, sometimes it sounds like Spanish (the two languages have some of the same words and phrases while still being very different) and sometimes, I swear, it sounds like Russian.  I can’t get a bead on the cadence.  Granted, my brain is old and learning languages wasn’t my forte even in my youth.  I took French in high school and Spanish in college, but I’m not fluent in either.  Hopefully, being immersed in the culture long enough, something will finally sink in.

And I do want to be a part of this culture.  These people aren’t angry or rude just for the sake of it.  They live surrounded by beauty and family and friends and don’t even seem bothered by all the tourists.  I had lunch in a café and the manager, Maria, struck up a conversation.  She asked where I was from and she told me about her years as a cruise director.  I told her I was seriously considering moving here after my travels.  Instead of giving me the side eye thinking “yeah, a lot of people say that but never move” or “oh, no, another entitled expat to deal with”,  I got none of that suspicion or distain.  Instead, I got tips.  She told me that it could be rainy in the winters and the hills could be awful to walk (yeah, no kidding).  But, she said if I were retired or working remotely, why wouldn’t I want to live here?  No negativity, no hesitation, just good vibes.  I want to live in a place that encourages that.