Amsterdam by the Scenic Route

Making last minute, international flights is not the easiest thing to do.  Or the cheapest.  But that’s the price you pay for not being more organized from the start.

Thanks to an urban planning YouTube channel called Not Just Bikes, I’ve wanted to visit the Netherlands for months now.  With all the bikes, public transit, and the extreme walkability of the place, it’s exactly where my head has been for a while now.  Only one problem though; it is not cheap.   The cheapest flight I could find would route me through Istanbul before reaching the Netherlands.  That is nuts.  I kept rejecting that flight and looking for another, but that was the best I could find.  A non-stop flight would have cost me an additional $900.  So.  I guess I’m going to Turkey.

The flight through Turkish Airlines was packed to the gills.  And way too many of those people were children.  Screaming, crying, jumping up and down, reaching through the seat to touch me.  There were two kids in front of me whose mom only occasionally sat with them.  They played movies all night long and refused to sleep.  And because they didn’t, I barely did.  Some baby up front was constantly fussy.  The dad kept walking him up and down the aisles to try to calm him down.  The best thing I can say about the 10.5-hour flight is that the food was decent and they give you a little care package. Oh, and the legroom wasn’t too bad.

Finally arriving in Istanbul, I settled in for a 5-hour layover.  That airport is huge!  It makes Atlanta look tiny.  There’s an entire shopping mall in the place.  I completely understand why all Turkish Airlines flights give you such long layovers here.  Not only is this their hub, but they’re trying to drum up business for the airport and the country as a whole.  After wandering aimlessly for a while, I trudged the eight miles to my gate and boarded my 3.5-hour flight to the Netherlands.

Even after an insanely long day, I was still impressed with Schiphol.  I knew from YouTube that it was also a central train station hub as well as the main airport.  The place is set up to be a social gathering spot as well.  It has a bunch of cafes and shops as well as a grocery store for maximum convenience.  Since my hotel was near the airport, they provided a shuttle to and from for a small fee.  I went outside and didn’t have long to wait before the Moxy shuttle arrived.

I have never been to a Moxy hotel before.  I booked it because I’ve recently become a Marriot Rewards member and this was one of their hotels.  It’s … different.  Lots of neon, funky decorations (the Do Not Disturb sign has a picture of a shirtless guy on a bed with the words written on his chest in red lipstick), and the reception area is also the bar.  Ooh.  Edgy.

Too tired to explore, I took a shower and went straight to bed.  There is a motion detecting light beneath the bed that activates as soon as you put your feet over the edge.  Makes it easier to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

You know it’s a bad sign when it’s my first day in a new city and I can feel a temper tantrum coming on upon leaving it.

Translation: I love Amsterdam.

I knew from the first morning when I got off the Moxy shuttle at Schiphol.  I can’t describe it.  I was just very happy to be there.  It could have just been a giddy form of jet lag, but there it was anyway.  It was a too-cold-for-May day and very gray outside, yet I still loved walking around the airport.  Like I mentioned earlier, it was really designed to be a gathering place, so there were plenty of people just hanging out.  At the airport.  Since when would you ever voluntarily do that at any other airport?

I bought a 3-day train pass then headed to the Amsterdam Centraal station.  As soon as you exit the building, the whole city is laid out in front of you.   I loved seeing the old buildings by the canals with all the bikes everywhere.  I loved that everything is so accessible and there is a lot to see. 

The only real problem I have with this city is the weather.  While it was sunny most of the time, the temperature only got cooler as the day went on.  And the wind.  I’d only be outside for a few minutes before the wind was bringing tears to my eyes and making everything blurry.  Portugal was warmer in March than Amsterdam is in May.  Come on!  It’s nearly summer already!  The weather and the exorbitant price of housing is why I could never live in that city.  But I already knew that before arrived.

I met this absolutely lovely couple named Jerry and Donna who sat next to me on a bench by a canal.  We sat for 20 minutes talking about everything, our hotels, where we’ve been, and where we’re going.  They are from North Carolina and mentioned that they’d already met multiple people like me who’d arrived the day before and were from the east coast of the U.S.  They were in Amsterdam with a group of ten people and planned to head to Switzerland to go kite jumping.  The group is called the Chipmunks, named after a member who used to catch the animals in their neighborhood and release them miles away.  On one of these trips, he had a car accident, went to the ER and found out he had stage 4 pancreatic cancer.  In case you don’t know, that is a death sentence.  He decided to spend what time he has left travelling.  His group of friends decided to join him and this is their 4^th European trip.  It’s been 4 years since his diagnosis and the doctor (Dr. Martini – I’m never forgetting that name) only recently discovered some new issues with him.  New treatment has also been discovered so his outlook isn’t so grim.  The fact that he’s survived for so long is already amazing and I wish him the best.

Amsterdam has a lot of museums and points of interest.  The famous Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh Museum are a little farther from the train station, but what is right up front?  The Sex Museum.  It’s right there on the main strip near the souvenir shops and the restaurants.  I passed by it a couple of times before deciding to dive in.  Yeah.  It’s not for the prudish.  There is nudity everywhere including a life size animatronic of a flasher right at the beginning, huge statues of erect penises, photos and artwork from around the world, interactive displays – you name it and it was in there.  Everything except a live sex show.  Maybe that was closed for the day.

Since I was on a roll, I made a detour to the infamous Red-Light District.  At first, I only saw a few rooms with lights on, but no one inside.  And then – oh.  There are the half-naked women for hire. The city’s openness about sexuality and prostitution is one of the things that makes Amsterdam famous but, again, I run into the tourist problem.  These ladies are just trying to earn a living and then all these gawking tourists (myself included) walk by with no interest in spending any money.  They are just another sight to see – so much so that I’d seen a tips video on YouTube claiming it best to visit in the daytime and not to take pictures of the ladies.  I do hope they make a good living on all the tourists.

Took my obligatory trip to the Hard Rock.  I’m glad I used my phone because there is no way I would have stumbled on the place in my usual wanderings.  The young guy at the counter asked me where I was from.  When I said Georgia, he asked what I thought about Louisiana.  Uh.  He happened to be an Italian student who had gotten scholarships to schools in California, Texas, and Louisiana.  I told him truthfully that the state has a lot of poverty and violence, that America as a whole is not the best place for anyone to live.  From the choices he had, though, I said that Austin was probably the best in a bad lot.  I wished him luck, whatever he decided. 

Sigh. America.

 

It’s bad enough that I have to return to the states.  It’s even worse that the liquids that I traveled with through three countries are suddenly too much to get on the plane in Dublin (the gallon Ziploc I used had to be scrapped for a quart size – anything that didn’t fit had to be tossed).  But the worst part is that I couldn’t get a direct flight from Dublin to Atlanta.  I had a single layover.

JFK is not a happy place.  I only knew the airport by its bad reputation and had managed to avoid it.  Until this trip.  The flight from Dublin was unremarkable (some more accents on Aer Lingus).  Then it was on to the fun of this infamous airport in New York.

First, I was confused by my luggage tag.  I had checked in by machine in Dublin and the tag said my bag was cleared for JFK and not Atlanta.  I had already passed through baggage claim when I realized this and went into panic mode.  I stood in line to ask about the bag and after some scrambling by the staff, they told me it was checked through.  I sighed in relief, then tried to figure out where to catch my plane.  I went to the nearby gate only for the staff to flag me down to tell me that I had to go across the street to catch a train to the correct terminal.

Second, I was confused by the train station.  I made it there okay, but the signage said that the station was closed due to construction.  There were some other people also waiting so I thought I was in the right place.  There was no staff around to ask so I just waited and hoped for the best.  The train did eventually show up and it was on to the next terminal.  And I thought Atlanta was huge.  This place is insanely big and there’s construction everywhere to expand it.  Forget the three-hour window you should give yourself for an international flight.  Including New York traffic into the mix and you should probably head into the airport 5 or 6 hours early.  Just to be on the safe side.

And third, even though I was only transferring from one airline to another, in my home country, I had to, once again, go through security.  That whole process is a pain the butt to begin with, but I just went through it in Dublin.  It was yet another long line (of New Yorkers – a loud, colorful bunch), shoes off, electronics out, put your hands up (you’re under airport arrest). And my already screened bag got flagged.  Sigh.  The souvenir corkscrew that I’d managed to get through Portugal, Greece, and Ireland, on the last leg before I put it in storage, gets tossed.  It only cost me about three euros, it’s easily replaceable because I will be returning to Madeira, and I already had a corkscrew in storage.  Not the point.  I was almost done.

Needless to say, by this point I was pissed.

The only (slightly) redeeming aspect of this flight was getting to see New York as I was happily leaving it.  I had only been through the city by car once on a camping trip from Maryland to Nova Scotia decades ago.  My mother always said we would take a train ride up for a shopping trip, but that never happened.  And since the city has been in steady decline for years, I think this might be the only time I get to see it.  At least you can’t see all the rats and garbage from up high.

One other thing.  This was my first time traveling on JetBlue and I was somewhat impressed.  Compared to the service on Aer Lingus, this American airline actually came out on top.  Imagine that.

Back in Atlanta.  Tell me, has this airport always been this big?  Yes, it was my home airport for almost 30 years.  But after dealing with some smaller and easier to manage airports in Europe, this place feels like a city unto itself.  I had to trek about 10 miles to get to baggage claim, then another 20 miles by Skytran to get to the car rental place.  I don’t recall ever renting a car from the airport as I’d always had my own car, but I don’t remember the rental place being in a separate building on the other side of the highway.  The multi-level facility feels brand new as there is still construction going on around it. 

After waiting for far too long, I got a ride and prepared myself to re-enter the joy of Atlanta traffic.  And there was so much joy to be had for everyone. For so many people.  The only good thing I can say is that after 2 months of strictly being a pedestrian, driving didn’t feel as alien as I thought it would.  The car helped.  It was a Toyota Corolla, not too different from the Honda Civic I used to have, so it wasn’t hard to figure out the controls or move it through traffic.  I just had to remember that it was a black car with Kansas license plates.

I had scheduled a stay in a Fairfield Inn in Woodstock.  I’d stayed there after I sold the house before my trip to Portugal and knew it was a decent place with a free breakfast.  It was also centrally located to all the places I needed to visit; the pharmacy, my P.O. box, and my storage facility.

I’d lived in this area for almost twenty years and know it very well.  It’s only after a couple of months in Europe that I realized something; there aren’t a lot of restaurants here.  Oh, there are plenty of fast-food joints and chain places, but very few diners or independent restaurant owners.  That is troubling.  I looked for somewhere to sit down and maybe have a drink and the only things available were Burger King, or Popeye’s, or Chipotle.  Since all these places are geared to attract car traffic, they are very close to the road and easy to see.  Any little restaurant tucked into a strip mall would be missed because there’s a huge parking lot between them and anyone who might see them.  You’d only visit them if you already knew they were there.

About the fast-food joints – what has happened in the last few months?  I only rarely hit Wendy’s when I was in Woodstock and had encountered some staff shortages and long wait times.  But now?  I went to one Wendy’s only to find it closed.  Went to Burger King – they were having computer issues and couldn’t take orders.  Went to Popeyes and was completely ignored (though I think they were still open).  I eventually went to IHOP only because I was hungry and they were actually open.  I don’t think I’ve ever been there for dinner, but I took my chances.  The place barely had anyone in it, allowing me to enjoy my salmon, mashed potatoes, and broccoli in peace.  And this was a Friday night.  What is happening?

I’ll admit it; I’ve gotten spoiled.  I am now a big fan of finding a nice meal with an adult beverage in walking distance.  This deal of having to drive around looking for food and still coming up empty is not working for me.  I’d seen multiple videos on YouTube from folks who had moved abroad, then come back to the states and experienced reverse culture shock.  It only took me a couple of months, but I’m already right there with them.  I just hoped that the reports of those same people getting sick from American food wouldn’t apply to me as I would only be there for a couple of days.

This picture is from Food Terminal in Alpharetta.  I had seen the restaurant before I left for Europe and had no idea what it was.  Now back in the states and desperate for a meal that wasn’t fast food, I ventured in.  Turns out, it’s an expensive Chinese place that plays country music.  Strange, but not a bad meal.

Picked up my mail including the box of souvenirs I’d sent from Greece (I still can’t believe it arrived before I did!). Included in the post was the check from selling my car (which I expected) and a check from Wells Fargo, refunding my escrow account.  Didn’t see that coming, but I will happily take that $1300 and do some more travel 😊.

A brief history of my prescription drama.  I was diagnosed with high blood pressure almost twenty years ago.  It runs on both sides of my family, I’m black, and overweight so the diagnosis didn’t surprise me.  The meds I’m on are insanely expensive which is why most pharmacies don’t carry them.  I had a mail-in drug service with my employer which made getting a 90-day supply easier to attain and only costing me $125 per shipment.  Well, when the job ended, so did the insurance and the mail-in service.  I resorted to hitting a local CVS for my last bottle of pills, which, without insurance, cost me $1300 for a 3-month supply.  I did not want to pay that, but I was heading out of the country with no guarantee that the pill would be available overseas.

After scouring three countries, I was able to find similar pills only in Greece.  I’m sure the lady behind the counter thought this American woman had lost her mind as I was practically jumping up and down to find some HBP medicine.  I was able to score a month’s worth of pills for a fraction of the cost in America and I didn’t need a prescription.  It was a miracle.

One that was not to be repeated in the states.  I had phoned in my order from Dublin but knew there would be a problem because there always is.  My secondary script was filled perfectly – thank you.  But once again, they tried to give me the generic of my Diovan which I have repeatedly told them does not work for me.  The prescription from my doctor says no generic, I have told them no generic, the last bottle of pills I got from this pharmacy was not generic (and had to be brought in special order).  Why do I keep having to explain this to these people?

They said they would put in the order and it should arrive the next day.  Uh huh.  In the meantime, I went to my storage facility.  I had this insane notion of repacking my bag with a different set of clothes.  Then I opened the door to my unit.  Yeah.  Right.  If I had packed this space myself, I might have an idea where anything was located.  But, since the movers packed the space to the gills, there was no way I’d be able to find anything without ripping through every box.  Not happening.  I dropped off the souvenirs and called it a day.

Since I still had no idea where I was going next (as long as I was in Europe, I didn’t care), I extended my stay for another day.  It didn’t help that I couldn’t get a consistent WIFI connection in the hotel.  As I mentioned, I’ve stayed there before and the connection was fine.  Now, after two months of mostly decent connections in Europe, I got nothing.  So, yeah.  That makes sense. 

Went back to CVS on my last day expecting another hassle and, as usual, they didn’t disappoint.  After a long wait, then a long search, the clerk tried to give me the same pills I had rejected two days before.  Then after another search, she said that the pills I ordered hadn’t arrived.  I said thanks and promptly left.  I’d have to find another source.  At this point, I’d rather go back to Greece and clean them out than go through this nightmare again.

 I managed to make flight arrangements from my phone and was too happy to get back to the airport.  Three nights in the country were more than enough to make me look forward to the long trip I’d have to take to get back to Europe. 

Dublin Part 2

 

Sunday, 5/7/23, and the highlight of my trip, the reason I had booked this hotel, in this city, for this time was to see my favorite band, Duran Duran.  Their tour will take them to the US soon and since I won’t be there for that, this was the only date where our schedules would line up.

They put on a great show even with the weird set list and the different energy from an Irish audience.  I’ve always referred to them as The Boys, but this concert just reminded me that they’re sexy old men now.  At one point, 64-year-old Simon LeBon climbed the staircase on the stage and I thought to myself “don’t you jump off that thing like you did 40 years ago – you’re gonna break a hip.”  All said in love, though.  I realize I’m no spring chicken myself (so many gray hairs!).  But as long as The Boys keep touring, I’ll keep buying tickets.  That’s the pact we made back in the eighties and that’s how it’ll be until one of us is dead.  Durannie for life.

Walking out of the venue, I noticed something.  I don’t even think the arena has a parking lot.  It’s expected that everyone will either walk or take the bus or tram to the venue.  There were lanes set up upon our exit that shepherded us directly to a line of buses or the tram.  It took me a while to even get out of the line since I needed no public transport as (ha ha!) my hotel was next door.  I wondered about the noise level – mine was only one of the hotels and residences in the area.  There was a Post Malone concert a few days after mine and I heard nothing from the venue.  No noise, no vibrations, just nothing.  The only noise I heard was later in the evening when the show let out and everyone was leaving.  That is amazing.  The entire setup is a true testament to good city planning.

The next day, I decided to go to Cork.  Taking the tram to the train made it insanely easy.  I was happy to see some of the countryside (so many cows and sheep!).  Two and half hours later, we arrived at the train’s final destination.  Though Cork is home to the Blarney Stone and a couple of castles, I spent my time just wandering around the city central.  It’s like a mini-Dublin in that it has a river going down the middle of it and a has a lively restaurant/shopping district.

Arriving back in Dublin, I stopped off in the city central for a meal before heading back to the hotel.  I chose a place across the river based on the loud Irish singing coming from inside and the menu that touted authentic Irish fair.  

I ordered brown bread (heavy, cold, and kinda tasteless even with butter), and a Sheppard’s pie (which was delicious).  And no, I didn’t have a Guinness to go with it.  I know it’s just natural to order one while in a place like this.  But after two long train rides (and delays on the one coming back), I really just wanted a glass of white wine.  (Actually, I wanted a glass of vinho verde but since I wasn’t in Portugal to have it, I settled for some Pinot Grigio.) I was in a great position to watch the bartender pour out multiple glasses of the thick brown beer and got to thinking.  If I ordered one, not being a beer drinker, and didn’t like it, I’d end up pissing off the loads of American tourists and drunken Irish people in the room.  Not really in the mood to start an international incident.

My last full day in Dublin was dull, but necessary.  Despite my use of public transport, I had done way too much walking in both Dublin and Cork and my feet were done.  I needed a rest, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.  But I reminded myself that in my current job as permanent tourist, there are no weekends or planned downtime.  You gotta take it when you need it.  I spent the day doing my laundry and writing.  And it was a good, productive day.

My plan from the beginning was to spend a month in Portugal, a month in Greece, a month in the British Isles and then head back to the U.S. to refill my prescriptions, get my mail, and visit my storage facility.  The first two stops went well (if not entirely smoothly), but I couldn’t stay in the U.K. as long as I would have liked because everywhere was too dang expensive.  I wasn’t going to miss out on Dublin, but staying any longer would have eaten up way too much of my travel budget.  Look at it this way; I spent less for three weeks in Greece than for my one week at Beckett Locke.  And of course, after Dublin …

I woke up on travel day, 5/10/23, and had a full-blown temper tantrum.  There was cursing and slamming things around.  It wasn’t pretty.

I do not want to leave Dublin.

I do not want to get on a long plane ride.

I do not want to return to the states.

I was quite happy in my little apartment at Beckett Locke with all its amenities and easy access to transport. There was still so much to do, even though I really needed that day of rest.  Dublin, since the plane ride from Athens, had gotten my creative juices flowing and that’s exactly what I’d hoped to do on this travel journey.  I still can’t believe the week zoomed by so quickly.  Had I planned things out a bit better (or at all), I could have truly maximized my time there.  But I have to be spontaneous …

I sent a WhatsApp to the front desk to call me a cab and before I could blink, it had arrived.  The cabbie was a nice man who started up a conversation.  He asked me what I had seen in the country and how long I’d been there, instantly making me feel guilty for coming to his country and not having a beer.  Before the ride was over, he’d given me multiple suggestions about my next visit to Ireland and I’d told him about all the places I’d been in the last couple of months.  We both agreed that Dublin was too expensive and that Athens was a s%^$hole (his word).  He got me to the airport and hoped I’d return.  Me too, pal.  Me too.

Thus ends the first leg of my European Tour.  Wow, it has been a wild ride.  I will never get over the view from my last place in Funchal.  Never forgetting that bird in Mykonos.  I’m so grateful to have met the three Marias (Funchal, Naxos, and Santorini) and the lovely Valentina in Mykonos.  I do hope you have enjoyed reading about it.  

This next leg is still a mystery even to me.  Can’t wait to see how it turns out.

Dublin Part 1

There’s something to be said for spontaneity.  And sometimes being spontaneous just bites you in the ass.

On to Dublin, Ireland, a city and country I’ve wanted to visit for years.  Like with Greece, I’d bought the calendars featuring the rolling green countryside and dreamed of roaming the land myself.  I’d tried to plan trips in the past, but something would always happen to ruin things.  The first trip I planned got derailed because of a car issue.  The second time, my HVAC system blew up right in front of my eyes (that was a pricey one).  Well, now I got no car and no house.  Time to do this thing.

It’s a 4 ½ hour trip from Athens to Dublin, yet somehow it was still too long.  I think I was just ready to be done with Greece and move on.  The beauty part is that the plane ride only cost 140 euros and I got to listen to the pretty (if sometimes incomprehensible) Irish accents of Aer Lingus.

Beckett Locke, my home for the week, is a strange hotel/dorm hybrid located near the river Laffey.  It’s seven floors of rooms, each equipped with a nice sized bathroom and a small, kitchen stocked with utensils, a washer/dryer combo and dishwasher.  I chose this place 1) because as outrageously expensive as it was, it was still less expensive than some of the other places I’d seen and 2) because Expedia had it located close to 3Arena, a concert venue.  And they weren’t kidding.  The hotel is right next door.  I was shocked.  More on that later.

What I didn’t realize until I arrived is that it’s also a co-working center with lots of amenities.  There’s a full gym, a coffee bar and restaurant in the building (closed during my stay).  My room had a yoga mat in it and the giant swiveling TV touted all the activities the hotel offered.  It would make for a kickass dorm room or a way too small apartment, but for me, it was a pretty sweet hotel room. The only thing I found out-of-place were the grubby looking ceilings.  They were covered with exposed pipes and lighting that made me think the building had been an industrial space that was converted into apartments.

There is a tram just to the right of the building.  I only noticed the tracks on my first day as I searched for a 3-prong adapter for my computer.  The one I’d been using was only for the EU and the UK just has to be special.  There were no trams in sight as I crossed over them to get to the little convenience store.  The desk clerk told me they’d have the adapter but, alas, they didn’t.  The only other places in immediate walking distance were a few restaurants and a hotel.  So, my mission for my first full day was clear.

I looked up the closest electronics store that carried the adapter (Currys in the Jervis Shopping Centre) and promptly got on the good foot as soon as I woke up. Dublin is full of gorgeous architecture and lots of construction.   It feels clean, progressive, and full of life.  I don’t know if it’s because I was located near a college campus or what, but there are a lot of young people here.   They’re zipping around on scooters or the electric bikes that are available all over town to rent.   

It was only later did I realize that the tram that terminates right outside my hotel could have dropped me off at the Jervis Shopping Centre in less than ten minutes, saving me twenty minutes and some wear and tear on my feet.  At least I got my bearings on where everything was located.

Like coffee shops in Portugal, you can’t throw a stick without hitting a pub in Dublin.  There are hawkers out front giving out menus, musicians everywhere, both in the streets and in the pubs, and plenty of choices for real Irish fare.  So, of course, my first meal in the historic pub district was at the Hard Rock Café.  What can I say?  I’m obsessed with proving where I’ve been with my t-shirt choices.  The waiter gave me suggestions on where to visit, such as this little museum or a trip to the shore as it was a lovely day.  I stuck to wandering around aimlessly.  Still really good at that.

I hit the Dublinia museum which houses very immersive history of the Vikings settling Ireland.  There was so much to see in there that I’m sure I missed at least half of it.  The museum is surrounded by historical buildings, churches, and a really nice park. 

I finally figured out the tram system after a day or so.  At least, I thought I had.  I'd bought a ticket and was standing by the scanner next to the tram trying to figure out how it worked.  Sensing my clueless tourist vibe, a lovely Irish man got off the tram to help me.  He explained that having the ticket on me was enough and there was no need to scan it (that was only necessary for the hard tram cards, not my 7-day paper ticket).  There would occasionally be someone on the tram to check the tickets, but otherwise I was good to go.  Thank you, kind sir.

I was surprised by how much Gaelic is spoken in the city.  I don't know why, but I thought the language was more traditional than a living language.  Even the signage is in both English and Gaelic.  Everyone speaks English, but it was interesting to hear them speaking Gaelic to each other.

Guinness rules everything here.  Not only can you go to the bottling facility to take a tour, but the marketing is everywhere.  So is the beer as it is not just a draw for tourists but a big favorite of the locals.  I stopped by a tiny café run by Asians that advertised a full Irish breakfast.  The place was insanely popular – the staff didn’t even have time to clear a table before someone else was sitting down.  They served good food for a decent price and yes, you could get your breakfast with an Irish coffee or a half-pint of Guinness.

Just a note about my breakfast at that café.  As I was eating, a group of six guys, probably in their twenties, all came in together.  The place was small, as I mentioned, so they couldn’t sit together, but it didn’t matter.  They were a bunch of mates meeting for a meal.  Then two more of their friends came in to join them.  I didn’t know how they knew each other or if this was a regular thing for them.  What struck me was their ability to gather so many people in one place.  I had a friend who lived in another state and I could never get her to come to Atlanta for a weekend (I had a friend).  How do you get eight guys to drag themselves out of bed, remember the café and the time, and stumble in for some bacon and fellowship?  Who has seven friends in this day and age?  The whole thing was fascinating to me.

Mykonos Excursions

Does anyone remember when the E! channel did a travel show called Wild On?  The show focused on party scenes all over the world. One of my favorites was about the Greek Isles and its showcase on Mykonos. Since there was a bus just outside of my hotel that traveled to Super Paradise, one of the beaches featured on the show, I just had to go there.

                                                                    Super Paradise

The beach is nice, not the best beach I’ve seen, but it’s a welcome change from the rocky beaches of Mykonos Town.  The real draw here is the beach-side service from the bars and restaurants.  

This can include having your own hookah brought to your table.  

Obviously, this place would be more hopping at night in the summer, but it was still a cool place to hang out.  I have to admit that I would like to see it while it was hopping.  But since I’m too old to be around a bunch of drunken 20-somethings looking to hook up, I happily enjoyed my over-priced drink and delicious pizza in peace.  It was my first (and probably only) beachside service experience, and it was a good one.

Sunday, 4/30/23, was an interesting day.  My only plan for the day was to take my fat issue of Vogue to the steps by the pier and relax.  But on the way there, I noticed the stand for sea tours of Delos.  I wanted to go to that island at some point but didn’t have a specific plan.  Well, now I do.

                                                                               Rhenia

Paid 75 euros for a 5-hour cruise that included lunch and wine.  We sailed out to the first location Rhenia, a tiny island with a crescent of beach and were let out to explore the area.  Most people camped out on the beach while I followed a small group of people up the dirt road and into the interior.  There were obviously people living there based on the houses in the distance and the multiple unpaved roads, but I have no idea how they were living.  There wasn’t a grocery store in sight so unless they’re all living on fish, they’d have to travel to one of the larger islands for supplies.  Who knows what they do for medical assistance.

I walked for a long time in the middle of nowhere.  It was during this walk that it struck me (again) just how much my life has changed in the last few months.  Six months ago, I was living in Georgia, fearing that my house would never sell and I’d be stuck there.  Cut to April and I’m beating off bugs while wandering a Greek Island that I hadn’t even heard of six months ago.  Things do change.

After discovering some other boats full of partiers docked at another part of the island, I began to head back.  Hung out on the beach for a while then boarded the boat where the crew was waiting with water, wine, and some freshly grilled kebabs.  

We ate a hearty meal then set sail for the second island of 

                                                                            Delos

Delos is an excavation site.  It’s covered in the ruins of an ancient city overgrown with wildflowers and the obligatory cats.  The ship let us off, saying they’d pick us up at 4 and we were left to explore.  I roamed around, taking pictures, then happened to get back in sight of the dock.  The boat was gone.  I looked at my phone and realized it was only 3 so I know I wasn’t late.  I sat on a bench and scanned the area for anyone I recognized from the ship but came up empty.  The captain of another ship at the dock said that if I had a ticket, I could come with them.  I told him the situation and he said that if the other ship had set a time, then it would be back.  I trusted his word and watched his ship sail off.  My ship should return at 4, I thought, so might as well keep exploring.

There were more signs of life here than on the last island.  There was a museum/research center as well as a manned welcome center with bathrooms, so I knew I wasn’t completely stranded. I felt even better when I spotted some other people from my ship. 

The boat pulled up at 4 as promised and we sailed back to Mykonos.  The staff plied the guests with more wine and cranked up the Greek music.  The only woman on the crew walked around the ship clapping her hands and encouraging people to dance.  Before long, she’d formed a conga line of drunk tourists to stumble around the ship.  I took some pictures but … I wasn’t that drunk.

                                                                           Platys Gyalos

The next day, I was figuring out my activities after breakfast and passed by the buses again.  One had a sign on it for Platys Gyalos.  I have no idea what’s there.  Let’s find out!

Turns out its another beach surrounded by hotels and restaurants.  A nice area that wasn’t too crowded.  I walked along the beach, getting a lay of the land, and an employee of one of the restaurants greets me.  “Atlanta?” he calls out.  Huh?  “You’re from Atlanta.”  Uhhhh, yeah but how the hell did he know that?  I’m checking my clothing and I don’t have anything on that’s branded.  He said that’s just what he does, guessing where people are from.

I’m telling you, there is still some ancient Greek magic in this culture.  The gods still have their influence.

I hung out on the beach for a while before having lunch at a cool restaurant that was attached to a hotel.  The pool area is between the restaurant and the restrooms and I wondered if you could just take a dip before the meal even if you weren’t a guest. 

After a nice lunch of appetizers, it was back to Mykonos Town.

Mykonos

 

Travel day has finally arrived.  As much as I know this day will be tiring, I’m glad to get out of Milos.  The hotel was way too noisy, the bathroom was designed by a crackhead, the internet was shaky, and the island was a snoozefest.  I practically ran to the boat.

A couple of hours later and we landed in Mykonos.  My hotel had arranged transport, so a guy picked me up as the sole passenger in the van.  As we’re driving along more narrow windy streets, he explains that I’d arrived at the new (and very busy) seaport.  There were at least three cruise ships and a bunch of smaller vessels all gathered around the area.  We passed the old port which he said was only used to go to the island of Delos. He pointed out that the buildings are painted white to protect them from the sun (didn’t know that), showed me the entrance to Mykonos Town, then drove into this congested square full of motorcycles, cars, trucks, buses and pedestrians.  As we got stuck in traffic, he called ahead to have someone come out to help me as he couldn’t go any further.  Confused, I got out and prepared to pay him, but he just got back in the car as a woman came to help me with my bags. 

The hotel, the Mykonos Chora Apartments, was just down a side alley.  I met up with a very animated young woman named Valentina who gave me a bus schedule, a map of the island, and pointed out some of her favorite places before showing me to my room.  No toilet paper in the bowl, but I think the water is drinkable.  I didn’t test it out since I’ve gotten in the habit of using bottled water for everything.

Entering the maze for the first time is an experience everyone should have.  It is insane to see all the shops, cafes, pharmacies, and bakeries all mixed in with residences, schools and churches to be discovered while wandering around.  While there are street signs on the walls, I don’t bother learning them, choosing instead to learn by landmarks.

One of the first places I found was Little Venice.  The restaurants here are a little scary.  The seating areas are hanging over the water.  There’s even one spot where there is only a narrow stone path for passersby and a quick drop-off into the ocean.  It’s a shallow part of the ocean, but still … With as many tourists as there are and waiters running back and forth, I am certain someone has fallen into the drink at some point.

I stopped for brunch at a café by the water as I hadn’t had any breakfast.  Just as I’m finishing up my meal, I happened to look to the right and … what the hell?  There is a huge pink bird coming down the nearby stairs like it owns the joint.  It’s not afraid of the people gawking at it, it simply descends the stairs, walks along the path, and goes into the kitchen of the diner.  The waiters acted like ‘yeah, that happens sometimes’ and just walked around the beast.  (Turns out this was pretty normal.  I did some research later on this creature and found out that Mykonos has had a pelican for a mascot for almost 70 years now.  One animal dies and they get a new one.  This one is named Petros Pete.) I got up, like a lot of folks, to take pictures, but the real joy was in seeing people walk by, turn their heads, and do a double take.  Pure D entertainment.

I encountered him again days later just hanging out in a kitchen.  I didn’t see any flamingos on Naxos but I think this makes up for it. 

I noticed the waiter at the same cafe talking to the table of people next to me and I’m pretty certain they were speaking German.  I asked him later how many languages he spoke.  He had to think about it for a minute (!) before saying seven.  Shocked, I asked him what they were.  He kind of laughed and said all of them. 

Have I ever mentioned that the education system in America is severely lacking?  When you live in Europe, particularly in a very touristy area, you’re exposed to so many more languages and cultures than you would in the U.S.  It’s so vital in understanding that everywhere is not the same, that those differences should be celebrated and not automatically feared. 

I quickly came to understand why Mykonos is the big dog of the Greek Isles.  Unlike half-dead Milos, this place is vibrant and alive.  The labyrinth is always full of people and colors and something to catch your attention. I’m pretty sure you could get lost in there for hours and still not see everything.  Little Venice is also the club center of the town.  The restaurants have these fancy drink menus and the music starts blasting out of there around 6 p.m.  I have to wonder about the locals, though.  Do they resent all these smelly tourists constantly crawling all over their home?  I realize that a lot of them depend on the tourist industry, but it’s gotta be a double-edged sword.  Kids still need to go to school, chores need to be done, people gather and go to church, all of this with tourists milling about, making noise, and taking pictures.

The hotel, it turns out, is in an excellent location.  Just outside of the maze of Mykonos Town, but in close proximity.  From my room, I have a great view of the sun setting over the water.  While the maze is constant chaos with motorcycle delivery guys, tourists, and all manner of noise, the hotel is just far enough to be strangely quiet in its own little corner.  They also put out a nice free spread in the morning. 

Meet my new boyfriend.  On command, this machine will make you a variety of coffee drinks within a few minutes.  I was stunned the first time I saw it in action.  You mean I won’t have to pay 3.50 euros for my cappuccino?  I love that thing!  I just wish I could fit it in my luggage.

Every morning when I went downstairs for breakfast, the spread would be described to me by an energetic Valentina.  She ran the reception desk as well as helped the guests with their luggage and bussed the tables after breakfast.  She turned out to be a lot younger than I thought at the age of 19.  We started talking about books, music, and life plans each morning.  I told her about my travels and plans to move to Portugal, and she mentioned that she was Albanian, grew up on the island, and had plans to go to school in Germany.  I was stunned to have anything in common with someone young enough to be my daughter, but it was just another pleasant surprise offered by the island.

Morning in the maze is the absolute best.  It is so quiet without all the tourists.  The shops are closed which means no one has any of their wares out and the only things you have to dodge are the multiple supply trucks that cram themselves into the narrow streets on their delivery rounds.  By the third day there, I could maneuver around pretty well without getting lost and felt particularly proud of myself.  I even got recognized by some of the merchants/waiters I’d interacted with during my stay. 

I was eating at a restaurant near Little Venice called Nice and Easy.  I happened to notice a woman in a billowy blue dress having her picture taken nearby.  Unusual to see 1. A black woman doing a glamor shoot, 2. A big black woman doing a glamor shoot and 3. A big black woman doing a glamor shoot in Greece near a restaurant and not by the ocean or windmills or nearly anywhere else.  I wonder how the pictures came out.

Having a meal at the same Little Venice restaurant I visited on my first day, I noticed some movement in the water.  I squinted at it trying to figure out if that cluster of five or six bumps were just bubbles or something else.  Finally, I asked a waiter if those were turtles.  He said, “No.  They’re sharks.  Little baby sharks.”  He then leaves and comes back with some bread and throws them in the water.  I never got a good shot of a shark but seriously, what is it with this restaurant and animals?

Oh, and for the record, I heard that first waiter speak five languages; Greek, English, German, Spanish, and what I think was Mandarin.  I never did discover the other two.

This island, like all the others, is a cat haven.  There are little piles of cat food scattered all over the place.  I don't know if this woman is the official cat feeder of the island or if she's just a crazy cat lady on a mission.  Either way, the cats were happy to see her.

I have seen some things on this island.

On my last day in Mykonos, I stopped at a gelato place I’d repeatedly passed in my wanderings.  I’m not big on sweets, but the displays always get my attention.  And this place, Davinci’s, knows their business.  I tried to order what I thought was a simple ice cream cone at the counter.  Like in any other restaurant, I was told to take a seat and a server would assist me.  She comes out with three separate menus featuring not just the artisanal gelato, but also waffles, an assortment of teas and coffees (I swear everyone in Europe is a barista) and, of course, beer and wine.  Some research revealed that this is a chain of Greek places on both the islands and the mainland.  This is the delicious masterpiece they presented to me along with their website.  You should check them out.

HOME | Davinci Gelato

As I packed up to leave, I heard a rustling outside my door.  Thinking nothing of it, I kept packing.  Turns out that Valentina had written me a note thanking me for my visit, wishing me good luck, and saying she’ll miss our talks.  It made my day as I am a sucker for unexpected, sweet gestures like that.  I left her the novel I’d been reading (she had noticed it on my first day there and started our conversations) and a thank you note of my own.

Since I couldn’t arrange for a ferry to get me to the airport on time, I had to book a flight back to (sigh) Athens to catch my connecting flight.  I enjoyed my time on Mykonos but was ready to be done with Greece and move on to the next country.