Getting Comfortable in Balat

 

My Airbnb host, Mehmet, is very familiar with me by now.  With all his properties in total, I’ve stayed with him longer than I’ve stayed anywhere else during this journey.  Since lucky #7 was booked right after my stay, I arranged to stay in the building next door.  I initially booked it for only a couple of weeks but extended it to the entire month of July once I saw the place.

Not to even mention the fact that apartment #5 is at the top of a series of windy, stone stairs that I did not relish having to navigate again so soon with all my stuff.

All of these apartments have the same basic look, but they are all slightly different in their layout.  This is the first of Mehmet’s places that has a balcony (two, actually, but the door to the bedroom balcony is locked).  I loved the view and the breeze coming off the water.

While the apartment is as lovely (if smaller) than the other two places I’ve stayed in Balat, it did have some … issues.  The day after moving in, I did a load of laundry.  Pretty standard stuff until the cycle ended and the door wouldn’t open.  As this was another machine with the instructions written in Turkish, it was time to consult Google.

Apparently, I’d overloaded the machine and it refused to drain the water.  The door would not open while the machine was full of water (most machines in Europe have been side loaders).  Thus began the ever so fun process of manually draining the water from the bottom of the machine, something I have never had to do in my life.  In a brand new (for me) apartment.  Using a towel and a glass to try to catch the seemingly never-ending stream of water spewing out of the hole onto the hardwood floor.

I just wanted to clean my clothes.

It took FOREVER.  So much water.  But eventually, I drained the machine, put it through another rinse cycle (I wanted to just spin the clothes but, again, Turkish instructions), and ta da!  The door opened.  I’ve never been so happy to see my clean drawers again.

Then the dread set in.  I’d be in the apartment for awhile and I would have to do the laundry again. 

Later that afternoon, the power went out.  This is the first time I can recall where I’ve had power disruption in Istanbul.  I guess that’s a pretty good track record but it’s never fun to experience.  I napped during the outage (the short but brutal travel from the day before caught up to me – those stairs will haunt my nightmares), only to be awakened a couple hours later by a beeping coming from somewhere in the apartment.  Some sleuthing led me to the fridge.  Opening the door, I saw a blinking light and a button that needed to be pushed to stop the beeping.  Okay.  That was new.

While my love affair with this city continues, there are some things that remind me that this could not be my home for an extended period.  The thing is, even with the number of times I’ve been to this country, I still feel like the alien.  It’s not just the language barrier or that there aren’t many black folk here.  It’s seeing the women in the burkas and worrying about showing my legs in public.  While it’s not as hot this year as it was last year, it’s still warm enough to wear the shorts so I will be wearing them.  No one really cares as there are plenty of natives also wearing shorts or short skirts, but it’s still in the back of my mind.  Nothing says ‘tourist’ more than being a tall black woman wearing shorts in Türkiye.  At least that’s how I see it.

There’s also the issue with scammers.  I read a lot about Istanbul last year.  One of the common scams in the city is for a man to pass by you while walking and drop a brush.  When you pick it up and try to return it, the man engages you in conversation which eventually leads to him offering to shine your shoes for a fee.  The dropped brush has happened to me three times (so far).  The first time I picked up the brush on instinct, but simply returned it and kept walking while he called after me.  Dude, I’m wearing sneakers.  Let’s be real.

The last two times happened during this most recent trip while walking the same road.  I was proud of myself for not even breaking stride while ignoring the brush.  I still wasn’t thrilled at being targeted again.  I don’t know that anything will stop that other than donning my own burka. 

Yeah.  That’s not happening.  I feel overheated just looking at those women wearing all that cloth.

I’ve also been rather aggressively approached by children a couple of times.  One kid followed me for several feet while holding out a bottle of water despite my waving my hand to ward him off.  Another little girl approached me while I was walking along the Bosphorus and stood in front of me with her hand out, walking backwards while I tried to get around her.  I really don’t like that.  I don’t like anyone seeing me as an easy mark.  Seriously, just leave me alone.

I know I'm now speaking as a spoiled American, but I have to mention this.  While the grocery stores are close by and plentiful, the selection leaves something to be desired.  Namely broccoli and pecans, both staples of my diet.  Even my beloved Granny Smith apples can be difficult to find.  I've already consigned myself to live without kale once I move abroad (I have yet to find it in any of the countries I've visited), but I really miss the other things.  Fortunately, I can find those items in Portugal (scoring it yet another point).  Still no kale, though,

But there are a few good things happening as well.  This summer hasn’t been as hot as it was last year.  There’s even been a breeze on most days.  I still don’t recommend coming to Istanbul in the summer if you’re not ready for the relentless heat but, from all accounts, other parts of Europe have had it worse this year.

I shared a picture in a previous post of all the construction going on in the city.  Well, here it is a few months later and a lot of work has been completed.  There are now actual sidewalks leading to the city center.  You have no idea how awesome that it.  I still remember walking from Balat to Sultanahmet last year and spending half of the time in the street dodging cars because the sidewalks were barely there.  Or there were cars parked on the curb, or chairs set out in front of cafes, or any other number of obstacles that had to be skirted around and negotiated with other pedestrians.   You can clearly tell that I’m not the only one to appreciate the nice, level walking surfaces.  The pavers have only been in place for a few months and they already look like they’ve been there forever.

The work is ongoing so walking can still be … interesting.  But I’m glad to see the city’s commitment to getting the job done.

One last note.  I found a new favorite place for breakfast in Balat.  I’d eaten at this place last year but had yet to experience the beauty of the back deck.  I think the owner is French as I’ve seen a man walking around with an accent a few times.  It’s just such a pleasant yet strange sensation to be a black American woman eating Turkish breakfast in a bright sunny space while French music is playing.  Doing it international style, baby!

From Cyprus to London to Atlanta to Istanbul

 

After a short layover in Heathrow, it was time for another trip across the pond.  This one was noteworthy because of my row mates.  I was seated next to an Indian couple who didn’t speak English.  I was on the aisle and became the intermediary between them and the flight attendant. I know exactly zero Hindustani, so I just pantomimed everything the attendant said (make sure the seatbelt was on, give me your trash, put up your window shade, etc.).

But still, any flight you can walk away from is a good one.  Then it was onto the usual rigamarole: collect bag, take international shuttle to rental center, procure vehicle.  I had once again forgotten to reserve one in advance, so had to settle for whatever they had that was cheapest.  No sedans were available (I still doubt that) so the only thing they could give me was this white Toyota Tank – I mean Tacoma.  

Unless you’re regularly hauling buffalo, why would anyone need something so big?  That thing is a monster!  Everything about it was a hassle: backing it up, trying to park it, or even setting the parking brake (it took me a while to realize it was automatic).  The cab was so far off the ground that, even with my long legs, I practically had to take a running start to get into the thing.  I’d often forget to lock it – a definite no-no since it had a push-to-start ignition.  I’m sure Budget could locate it if stolen, but I didn’t want to test out that theory.

I couldn’t get into the Airbnb I stayed at in Roswell, so I picked a new place in fair Woodstock that had good ratings.  The apartment was in the basement of yet another way too big house in a labyrinthine suburb with narrow, winding streets.

This is a nice place.  The host’s attention to detail rivals Demetris in Cyprus.  There were snacks on the counter, water and seltzer in the fridge, and a bunch of helpful amenities in the bathroom.

There was a nice big tub for doing my henna treatment, a comfy bed, and plenty of space to move around (I’ve been in one too many cramped European apartments).  I appreciated the hardwood floors and lack of carpeting in the place.  I was always a carpet enthusiast because my homes/apartments had always had them.  But after a year abroad, I really do prefer the cleanliness of wood. 

There were a few issues, though.  The host was at home and frequently stomping on my head.  The stomping only increased on that Saturday when the host's daughter held her baby shower.  The place needs a cooktop (even a wretched induction one) as the only thing available is a small hotplate that I didn’t even bother to use.  Somehow, I also neglected to check in the listing for a washer/dryer, having assumed that an American apartment would automatically have one. But other than those things, it’s a great place.

With nowhere to wash my laundry, I had to find a nearby laundromat.  Now, I have always hated those places.  They’re usually pretty scuzzy and full of … interesting people.  But I gotta admit that this place was legit.  It was clean, brightly lit, and surprisingly modern.   The machines don’t even take cash anymore.  Everything is done with a rechargeable card that you can purchase and put money on with a credit/debit card.  Fancy schmancy. 

Once my business was done, it was yet again time for another butt-numbing trip to Europe.  Back to the familiar, until I can again return to Portugal, I set my sights on Türkiye.  Lucky #7 in Balat was available for little over a week, so that’s where I headed.  What can I say – I’m a creature of habit.

Things have changed somewhat since my last visit.  Being in the city, my body automatically remembered that the first call to prayer is at around 6:45.  Except … I woke up the first morning and there was nothing.  I thought maybe I’d missed it.  But the next day there was nothing again.  Huh?  I always thought this was an ancient schedule that didn’t change seeing that the 1:10 call came as usual. 

Then, on my third morning I was awakened by the call – at 4:30 a.m.  Huh?  Was the call leader trying to make up for the previous couple of days?  What was going on?

I am happy to report that a week in the states did not affect my digestive system this time.  I tried to stay away from processed foods and ate salads every night, so I think that helped.  Unfortunately, I wasn't in the country long enough to reset Google Fi on my phone.  I was not happy to land in Istanbul and have zero service.  At least I had an unused esim already loaded and ready to go.

I've seen a few commercials for other points of interest in the county.  As this is my fifth return to Istanbul and I'm starting to know the city backwards and forwards, who knows?  I might even get out of the city this trip.  We'll see.

Randomness on the Road Part 4

 

Yet more little stories and pictures I’ve collected over the last year.  But first, coffee.

Soon after I started travelling, I turned on a function of Google Maps that tracked my movements over 2023.  The results were eye-opening.

  

I was finishing up my meal in a restaurant in Türkiye.  I went to pay with my card and the guy told me the card reader was down and they could only accept cash.  I panicked since I didn’t have enough.  I left all my stuff there and told them I’d have to find an ATM and that I would be right back.  I raced to the closest available machine; my mind filled with thoughts of angry Turks cutting off my hand for stealing (have I mentioned that I have a bit of an imagination?).

I ran back and quickly brandished my cash.  The guy just casually took the money then offered me a cup of tea on the house.  Huh?  You mean you weren’t anxiously awaiting my return, angry that it took so long?  Nope.  I initially wanted to turn down the tea because it felt weird.  Dude said have a seat and I’ll bring the cup to you.  Okay.  I do love Turkish hospitality (and the tea).

I will always love some beautiful coffee art, though.

 

While on Phuket, it was a struggle to find the post office.  I had acquired WAY too much stuff in Thailand and wanted to ship it back to the U.S.  Using the GPS on my phone, I wended my way through Patong Beach until I reached my destination.

 

Yeah.  That wasn’t it.

I probably could have used a massage after that frustration, but I still needed to find a post office.  I eventually did and was able to successfully make my shipment.  While I didn’t have a massage, I did treat myself to a nice cuppa. 

Out of all the Hard Rock Cafes I’ve visited this past year, Lisbon has been my favorite.  I love the atmosphere of the place, even during my last visit when I was near a large party of rowdy kids.  All the cafes have rock music blaring through the speakers along with video screens all over the place.  The Porto location took this to a whole new level by having a video screen embedded in the mirror in the bathroom.  I had never seen this before so I had to take a picture. 

Also, beware the dryer on the left there; that thing is LOUD and so powerful it will blow you into the next room.

And we’re back in Türkiye.  I’ve mentioned once or twice that the cabbies there are insane.  Let me tell you about the worst.  This was during my second visit to the city.  I’d grabbed a cab from Balat to go to Zaza’s shop.  Now, I already knew from past rides that none of the cabbies recognized the name of the shop, so I’d learned to give them the address of a nearby hotel.  This particular cabbie said he understood before speeding off.

As we are running though intersections and narrowly avoiding pedestrians, he mentions how he and his wife have a rental property in Balat.  Then, as he’s barely looking at the road, he grabs his phone to pull up pictures of the place.  I glanced at the phone, while holding on for dear life, nodding in appreciation before wincing again as we veer into traffic.  He tells me in broken English to relax, everything’s fine.  Then I notice that we’re getting onto the freeway.  Dude, Zaza’s shop is in walking distance from my neighborhood – no freeway travel is required. 

I got him turned around, telling him to take me instead to the Blue Mosque.  We ended up on a side road that was clogged with traffic.  Well past my limit and actually recognizing where we were, I asked him to let me out on the side of the road.  I was ready to give him whatever he wanted just to get out of that car.

Man, I could have used some … yeah.

A few months ago, I mentioned a certain song (the name of which I dare not mention before I start singing it again) that was stuck in my head.  Yeah, well, it took several months, but it’s mostly died down.  Now it’s been replaced by another one from the Barbie soundtrack.  I saw the movie on a plane and fell in love with both the song and the movie (so many memories of playing dolls in my youth).

 Dua Lipa - Dance The Night (From Barbie The Album) [Official Music Video] (youtube.com)

My Last Days on the Mediterranean

 

My week in Paralimni was up and I decided to return to Larnaca.  While there was more to explore to the north (and the famous Mount Olympus in the central part of the island), getting around the island wasn’t always easy or cheap.  The bus system was still a bit tricky and the taxi ride getting between the two cities was already expensive enough. 

The son of the host of my next place met me on the street.  Leading me through the gate into a small courtyard crawling with a few wandering cats, he took me up to my new home for the week.  While the place matched the pictures, I was still lukewarm on the apartment.  The bed was comfortable enough and the place was a decent size, but there was a homeyness that was missing.

The floating oven was weird.  The window over the kitchen sink overlooks a cluttered alley.  I hated that the flooring was the same as that of the hallway.  Like most places in Europe, the power outlets were few and far between.  I had to wedge myself into the chair next to the hot refrigerator just to keep my computer plugged in.  

The bathtub was insanely tall – I have long legs and even I had trouble stepping into it.  It looked like it should have had jets and been a whirlpool tub, but no.  It was just a hazard getting in and out of that thing without breaking my neck.

But at least I was back in Larnaca.  I still like the area and, had I visited this island before Madeira, it might have been a candidate for a new home.  Pharmacies and grocery stores are easy to reach.  There's even a black hair care store nearby.  The airport is only 15 minutes away while the water is gorgeous as only the Mediterranean can be.  The vibes are that good.

Summertime is a bit of a challenge, though.  Temperatures hovered close to 100 degrees F for a couple of days with high UV rays.  You would think that would be a perfect time to hit the water, but that sun was a little too intense.  I would sequester myself inside into after 2 p.m. just to be on the safe side.

I was at dinner one night at one of the restaurants on the strip, a new one for me.  Their huge menu included Cyprus dishes as well as Italian, American, Chinese, and Indian.  I ordered some butter chicken (not as good as what I had in London) and ate while watching the endless line of cars cruising the strip.  I didn't usually go out at night, choosing to make dinners in the apartment, so I wasn't sure if that was a nightly occurrence or just the thing do for a fun Saturday night on the island.

A while after clearing my table, the waitress set down a plate with a slice of watermelon.  Okay.  That’s … odd.  It reminded me of the free pineapple they’d give you at the McDonald’s in Hawaii.  I don’t even like watermelon – or any melon for that matter – but I scarfed it down anyway.  Something about sitting in that restaurant eating a free slice of melon with the Mediterranean breeze wafting over me through the open roof was enough to make a core memory.  Unique in every aspect.

While I was enjoying the calm waters of the Mediterranean, I slowly started to feel like it was that time again.  Time to return to the land of cars and bad food.  Time to pick up my mail and plan my next destination.  

For so long, my dream was to be a nomadic traveler.  Now that I’ve done it and experienced the awesomeness, my new dream is to sign the lease for my apartment in Funchal.  I dream of going HAM on an Ikea for new furnishings, of welcoming my stuff to our new home once I liberate it from the storage unit.  I can’t wait to see the faces of my new feline companions (and try to remember all my training techniques from twenty years ago so the terror twins don’t destroy my new place).

I’m ready to be done with this.

I spent my last few days in Cyprus back in Demetris’ place.  I would have booked for a full week, but the place was only available for 4 nights.  Now this was the homey feeling I was missing from the other two places.  It was easily the best apartment I stayed in on the island and I would definitely return.

Cypriot Adventures Continue

 

Along with the Turkish and Greek influences I mentioned in the last post, Cyprus also has another big contributor to its culture:  the Brits.  Cypriots drive on the other side of the car on the other side of the road.  There are multiple pubs owned by Brits, English breakfast is served everywhere, and the outlets are in the U.K. style.  When I first arrived and did my standard outlet search, I stared at the plug a little too long trying to figure out the issue.  I’d been so accustomed to using the European adapters that I was surprised to have to whip out the ones I bought in Dublin.

Unsurprisingly, there are Brits everywhere.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  the Brits get around and they are serious about it.  Their whole attitude is they grab a bag and a passport and they bounce.  They are pretty easy to spot too, even before I hear an accent.  The Brits have perfected the art of sitting in a pub/café with a beer on the table just staring at nothing.

There is a strange phenomenon that I have to mention exists on the island.  It seems to be a rip in the space/time continuum.  Time just slips by in Cyprus.  I’d wake up, have breakfast, go for a walk and lunch, come back for dinner then before I know it, it was time for bed.  It’s like every day was Sunday right before the beginning of another work week.

Before I knew it, my time at Demetris’ place was up.  I had arranged for another Airbnb further up the coast to allow me to see more of the island.  Uber doesn’t exist in Cyprus.  Instead, there are taxi stands sprinkled around the high tourist areas.  I hauled my stuff over to one and found someone to take me the roughly 40 miles to the city of Paralimni.

My new home for the week, while in a great location, came with a few issues.  The place is quite large for Europe with a decent sized bathroom (with a tub) and two sitting areas.  But I quickly discovered why the doors had been left open.  It wasn’t only to allow in the warm Mediterranean breeze – it was to let out some of the stench.  Even though it was empty on my first day, I quickly realized that the trashcan in the cabinet beneath the sink (and surprisingly not the bathroom) was stinking up the joint. Even after moving it to the balcony AND buying some air freshener, some mustiness remained (some of that coming from one of the sofas).

And that’s not all.  The cook top (yet another unfamiliar induction model) was cracked, which rendered it inoperable.  Like those things aren’t already a pain in the butt.  The internet would cut out at regular intervals.  When I used the microwave for more than 5 minutes, it would cause a power surge and shut off for several minutes.  The faucet leaked as well as the toilet when flushed. 

There was no shower gel (you spoiled me, Demetris!), the garbage trucks picked up at 2 a.m. (ask me how I know!), and there was no sensor on the light in the hallway.  The apartment may be very bright from all the windows, but you can't tell when you’re out in the hallway, fumbling to get the key in the lock while immersed in total darkness (yes, there is a light switch, but I insist that it should be motion detecting considering all the other issues in the apartment.)

Things somewhat improved when I got a visit from the host two days after my arrival.  I had messaged him about the issues on my first full day in the place.  He'd told me about the power surges but had no answer when I asked about the cooktop.  When my doorbell first rang, I ignored it thinking it was a mistake.  He messaged me after he left, alerting me to the bottle of wine he left by the door.  Dude should know to contact me first.  Why would I open the door of a rental when I’m still eating breakfast and was not expecting anyone?  He did make up for it by showing me that the stovetop does work.  I simply hadn’t flipped on the right power switch.  Those are a big thing in Cyprus as the cost of electricity is apparently very high.  I had to pay a separate bill for the power I used – something I haven’t had to do since Phuket last year.

But enough about the apartment.  First impressions of Paralimni – it made me miss Larnaca.  Don’t get me wrong, Paralimni is pretty, but it has a resort feel to it that was a bit jarring after Larnaca.  Where Larnaca was a bunch of waterfront shops along a boardwalk bordering the long stretch of Finikoudes Beach, Paralimni is a series of hotels, restaurants, and massage kiosks clustered around several small coves. 

Again, pretty, but I think I prefer the livelier capital city.

One of the main reasons I wanted to come to this place was its proximity to the island’s Hard Rock Café.  Yes, the quest is still on to buy more overpriced souvenirs.  My first attempt at getting a cab was fruitless (I still have no idea what the guy was saying, only that he turned me down). I tried to understand the extensive bus system on the island but was left very confused.  Too many buses with similar routes.  Finally, I messaged the host who was able to give me directions.

After a 20-minute bus ride for the low cost of 1.50 euros, I arrived in Ayia Napa.  This was another busy tourist hub focusing more on the shops and restaurants as the shoreline was a little too rocky for bathers.  I made a beeline for the café, bought my shirt and had some lunch.

Just a note:  if you ever see someone wearing a Hard Rock t-shirt from Cyprus, know that it’s a knockoff.  The shirts sold by the store say Ayia Napa not Cyprus.  Call me a purist, but I prefer to have the real thing, even if I have to travel out of my way for it.

Sigh.  Parasite alert:  Cyprus edition.

While in Ayia Napa, I was sitting on a bench, looking at the water and just enjoying the breeze when a man walking by on the trail said hello.  He introduced himself as Andreas and we started to chat.  Then he asked me if I wanted to walk with him while he hunted.  I had no idea what he meant as his accent was pretty thick.  Then he started to gesture towards the beach.  Still didn’t get it.  He said he wanted me to come with him so as to seem less suspicious.

It slowly started to dawn on me that ONCE AGAIN I had been minding my own business and became the target of a parasite.  He basically ruined my peace with the intent to use me to ruin the peace of younger hotter women.  I wished him luck and quickly left the area.  I still can’t believe his audacity.

Men really are gross.  I don’t know why I keep forgetting that.

I’m seriously thinking about getting a dummy wedding ring.  I suck at lying, so maybe seeing a ring will keep the vampires at bay.

A New Land to Explore

 

Sigh.

I mean really.  Sigh.

It’s time again.  Time to leave the country I love as I have yet to secure a paycheck to allow me to stay.  This just gets worse every time I do it.  My outlook is starting to dim.

Searching for a job continues to be a nightmare and I’m not the only one to notice.  YouTube is rife with videos of new graduates who can’t find jobs, multiple layoffs in the U.S. flooding the market with job-seekers, the presence of ghost jobs, and A.I. rejections of resumes in the dozens.  Videos on how the job search engines are broken, careers are dead, and employees refuse to hire even when they have the perfect candidates for positions that remain open.

I naively thought that the wave of layoffs that swept me out of a job in 2022 would eventually ebb.  I’d go on my sabbatical, take myself out of the job market for a year, and then everything would be better, right?  Right!?!

Then there’s the other side of this.  The clear and simple fact that I don’t want another soul-sucking corporate job.  I never wanted a boss to begin with and I certainly don’t want to fight to find one now.  I like having my time all to myself.  But, again, I have to have physical proof of employment for the Portuguese government to grant my visa, so the drudgery continues.

I’m trying to learn the programming language ‘R’ as part of my data analyst certificate and now brain leak out ears … hElp Me!!!

I’m sure there is a better way of getting this life thing done, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it is.  In the meantime … gotta flee the country again.  But where to?

Türkiye has become my automatic default, but I wanted to try something different.  After a little research, I realized I had an option that I thought was closed off to me. 

Cyprus is a weird little duck.  It’s an island that’s part Turkish and part Greek (mostly Greek) yet it belongs to neither country.  It’s not part of Schengen either though it has applied for entry.  I thought for sure the island would be accepted this year as had Romania and Bulgaria (Ireland is still waiting to get in), but that hasn’t happened yet for whatever reason.  So, it remains its own little free-standing country.  That means no visa requirements for U.S. citizens and a stamp in the passport allowing me to stay for 90 days as a tourist.  Sounds like a plan.

I had a 12:30 a.m. flight out of Lisbon that didn’t leave the airport until after 1 a.m.  They had a meal service about an hour later that I just slept through (seriously, I know a 4-hour flight usually includes a meal, but come on!  It’s 2 in the morning!  I just want to sleep!).

Because that flight was so late taking off, I had to race through Athens (ugh) Airport to make my next flight.  That included going through passport control as I was leaving the Schengen area.  After a long, sweaty sprint, I just managed to make my flight.

The plane landed early on a Sunday morning.  Already tired and a bit loopy from the flight, I can’t tell you how jarring it was to hear American music wafting through the airport.  Getting off the plane to hear The Village People blaring Y.M.C.A. from the duty-free shop was just …

My host, Demetris, offered to pick me up.  This is a rare offer from Airbnb hosts so it already made the new place stand out.  But as he drove me past the salt lake (the flamingos are there in the winter) through the streets of Larnaca, I started to have Athens flashbacks.  Not just because of the city, but it dawned on me that I hadn’t stayed in an Airbnb in Greece since that one night in that smelly dump.  I started thinking “oh crap.  This place is gonna be just like Athens.  And I don’t care how nice this guy is, I’m gonna have to bail.” 

The entrance to the place didn’t help with that perception.  Now, I’ve been on the road for over a year and I’ve learned that you can’t judge a book by the cover.  Shabby-looking or non-descript buildings usually have almost no bearing on the condition of the apartments. 

I was so relieved that this was one of those occasions.

To my utter shock, this is one of the most well-equipped apartments I have ever been in.  There are cough drops and Q-tips, water and juice in the fridge and fruit on the counter.  There’s a little lever on the kitchen faucet that filters drinkable water through a separate opening.  I’ve gotten used to buying a big jug of water whenever I hit a new place.  With the amount of water that I drink, better safe than sorry regarding the potability for Americans.  I can’t tell you how nice it is to just be able to drink from the tap again.

There’s still more!  This is the rare place that has a tissue box and paper towels.  There is enough shower gel and soap to have you smelling like anyone you like.  Demetris even provided me with toothpaste and a new toothbrush!  How did he know I needed one? 

I know it sounds like such an insignificant thing, but it’s providing little stuff like this that makes a host truly stand out.

Of course, everything couldn’t be perfect.  That first night (Sunday) there was a huge party or club or something nearby blaring music from 5 p.m. to well after midnight.  I still managed to sleep only because I was exhausted.  Toilet paper can’t be flushed (it’s Greece so I expected that).  The apartment comes equipped with yet another induction cooktop that I had to learn (seriously, I HATE those things!).  

And then when I tried to stay another week, I found the apartment was already booked so … there’s that.

As for the city of Larnaca – it’s got some good energy.  Yeah, it’s crawling with tourists and way too commercial.  There’s a TGI Friday’s right on the strip.  I don’t even think there are many of those left in the U.S., so it was very jarring seeing it on the other side of the world.  Of course, McDonalds, Burger King and Starbucks also have a hold on the island.

But despite all that, the place is lovely. It’s about 80 degrees F, sunny and dry on the island every day.  The apartment is just blocks away from the beach and a very stacked boardwalk with restaurants, pubs, and souvenir shops.

And then there’s the breeze.  I didn’t realize until now just how much I missed being near the Mediterranean. The cool air coming off that water is just so relaxing.  The whole vibe of the place says “chill out”.  I dig it.

It surprised me the number of people who speak fluent English.  The island is a big tourist spot because of course it is, it’s gorgeous.  But I’m still the foreigner on their soil.  Then I got to thinking.  Unless you were raised in Greece or are of Greek descent (or possibly a scholar), there is no way you just casually learn to speak Greek. Or read it.  You can find Americans who speak fluent Spanish, French, German – but not Greek.  The language may have been around forever, but few would even attempt to learn it.  I saw a t-shirt in an Athens flea market last year that read “I speak Greek.  What’s your superpower?”  So, yeah.  They know. 

                                                                (This is an Entry sign, btw)

I didn’t help my own situation by transferring directly from Portugal to Cyprus.  I kept wanting to say “Ola!  Bom dia!” (hello, good day) when I approached new people because it’s one of the few Portuguese phrases I’ve gotten down pat (and it’s fun to say!).  But then I have to stop myself, realizing that I don’t know the Greek greeting.  I do know ‘kalimera’ (good morning), but other than that (and my name) my Greek is sorely lacking.

Cyprus is truly amazing.  I think I can squat here a while.  Hopefully, I can pick up a bit more of the language without making my head explode.   

Back To Cascais

 

After two weeks in that great place in Porto, I decided to head back to Lisbon.  My Schengen days were once again running out and I figured it would be easier to leave the country from Lisbon than Porto.  I’d spend the week in the city and figure out my next move from there.

Lesson learned from getting to the apartment:  don’t subject another Uber driver to those narrow streets.  I don’t care how skilled they are, I just didn’t want to risk it.  So instead, I hauled all my stuff down to the main street (not a fun journey dragging my roller bag downhill over rough cobblestones in the early morning) and call a ride from there.

A quick flight from Porto and I was back in Lisbon.  After an overpriced cab ride from the airport to Cascais, I was met by a woman (the first black Portuguese woman I’d spoken to) and taken up to the apartment, a new place for me since I couldn't book the place I liked from last year.

Yeah.  It’s not a bad place, but it instantly made me miss the place in Porto.  To its credit, though, it does have a tub and a gas range.

I chose to return to Cascais as opposed to Lisbon proper because the area has beaches that I love to walk along.  But do you remember when I mentioned that there is construction going on all over the city of Porto?  Well, it seems that Cascais is no different.  Not only are many of the streets blocked off and the sidewalks torn up, but there was also construction happening in my apartment building.  Once again, it was right over my head.

I had heard some banging and clanging throughout the week, but my last couple of days in the apartment were the worst.  One day, the buzzing and banging began at around 9:30 right after I’d finished breakfast.  Since the sound was starting to burrow its way into my skull and give me a headache, I decided it was time to spend the day in Lisbon.

It was a half hour walk to the train station from the apartment.  Another 40-45 minutes by train into the city (with gorgeous views of the coast most of the way).  Then it was either a short trip on the Metro or a not-so-short walk into town.  Since it was a nice warm day, I decided to walk.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned Bertrand before.  It is a chain of bookstores that are all over Portugal.  The branch in Lisbon is the oldest bookstore in the world, having opened in 1732.  It draws a lot of tourists, but, mercifully, not as many as Livraria Lello in Porto.  I never could get into that place because the lines were always stupidly long, but Bertrand is always accessible.  Crowded, but accessible.  Fortunately, I had visited the store on earlier trips, so I knew the way.  I made a beeline for the English section, got my books (which they will stamp for you) 

then got the hell out of there.  Too hot and too many people.  Very glad to get outside.

My former host Luis, the chatty one in Porto with the maps and suggestions, advised me not to go to the Algarve in the south because it wasn’t as historic as Porto.  The only reason, according to him, to go there was for the beaches (my research also told me that there were so many Brits who’d relocated there that the place felt more British than Portuguese).  Lisbon, in his opinion, was too expensive and crowded and not to his liking.  While I appreciated his love for his city, I gotta disagree. No shade on Porto, but I will always prefer Lisbon.  Yes, it is too crowded and too expensive, but there is a vibe to the city that can’t be beat.  I’m always happily humming while navigating the winding, paved streets.

And, as usual, there were various sights to behold on that day.  A parade led to a bandstand with people waving flags and chanting.  I have no idea what that was about, but it seemed to attract a lot of people.

In the main square, framed by pretty, purple-flowered trees, was a crafts fair.   You could buy all sorts of handicrafts and jewelry.  And of course, booze.  Lots of booze.