Leaving Greece

Monday, August 19

We haven't even unpacked, just hung our traveling clothes in the closet, so we take our showers, fix a cup of coffee, and bid the control tower good-bye.

Once checked out we wait in the lobby for an Alitalia person to wheel us across the road, check us in and through security and who deposits us in the Business Class lounge, where we have some fruit and pastries. Then Philipe is back to get me to the plane, where I am hoisted in again, although I have to hop to my seat on the 2nd row.

I watch the moutains and the sea float past us as a delicious vegetable lasagne is served, and before we know it, we're in Rome.

The Rome airport and personnel, as far as wheel-chairs are concerned, is a different story. My own chair has been dispatched to Rio and I get off the plane in what looks to be a cool orange chair. We're dropped in a small hot enclosure for the elderly and infirm, and then ignored, and this is when I discover I cannot move. There's no way for me to get this chair to roll. Also the frazzled woman in charge pays little attention to us as she fields people with close connections and fights with her own staff. But an hour passes and so does my patience and otherwise boyant mood. When a motorized cart finally is liberated to drive us to the other side of the airport, a favorite bracelet that I'm wearing breaks and pearls scatter all over the floor. No way we can retrieve them. We drive on in silence, are procecessed through another station, and finally deposited in the windowless Alitalia lounge - one of the lowest ranking lounges in the world,  I have now discovered on the internet. And the pickings are slimmer indeed.

I sit in a chair until Oswaldo wheels me up into the shopping area, but unless you want to pay 1,300 euros for an Hermés beach tote, there's really nothing for us there, and I get very grumpy. Oswaldo can barely push the thing as well, so his mood is not the best either. We have an icecream in silence, but cheer up when we find a design story with fun, if still expensive, stuff. Then we retreat to our lounge, where I am sitting finishing this text, while Oswaldo snores softly next to me. Our flight leaves in another 2 hours.

I'm glad we went ahead with the trip. It was not always easy, but Oswaldo finally got some exercise, haha, and I learnt to count my blessings.

Thanks for reading. Next year is Italy :)
Adio,
Siri

Leaving Santorini

Sunday, August 18

Our flight is at 12.45pm and a driver will pick us up at 10.30am.  We take our last shower, only now discovering that the cold showers we have endured, due to what we thought was the black out, was sometimes caused by the fact that we turned the faucet the wrong way.... With this discovery I finally get to take a hot shower in our 5star hotel. We have our breakfast, a last look at the wonderful view, finish packing, and we're off.

The only advantage that a wheelchair has is that it gets you quickly through an airport. Parked  outside the airport humming with straggling lines of youths and families going to Paris, London, Mykonos, and so on, I wait patiently until a uniformed person takes charge of my chair and wheels me past all of that - Oswaldo following in my wake - checks in our luggage, takes us though security and leaves us sitting in the crowded lounge, where Oswaldo takes this picture of me, really to focus on the people behind me, absorbed, like almost everyone else we're seen at rest anywhere, with their phones.

I chat to a nice Lebanese/Australian family that lives in Dubai. Friendly young mum, and dad obviously besotted with his 3 little girls, 10, 7 and 3. We've seen a lot of families traveling with young kids and/or babies, and they all seem so very chill and cheerful. It's nice to see.

Before departure another person comes to fetch me and I am wheeled into a bus, just for us. When we reach the aicraft, Oswaldo is let out to take the stairs and I am hoisted up on a safe platform and helped into the plane. The Greeks have this down. Goes without a hitch.

In Athens the procedure is reversed and a pleasant persom, Dimitrius, wheels me all the way across the street in front of the airport to the Sofitel, where we will spend the night. Our plan is to go to a mall and buy presents, something we haven't been able to do so far, and we're very disapapointed to hear that in Greece everything is closed on Sundays. "Never on Sunday," indeed. I didn't even know what day of the week it was.

When, after a long check-in procedure, we get to our room, we start to laugh - the view couldn't be more different

and in the hotel folder the description is hilarious

But we don't feel like airport French dining and head first to the departure terminal on a fruitless search for presents, and then back to the hotel for the bar, decorated in a style reminiscent of Starbucks, with velvet sofas and chair, and there we have gin and tonics again, that come with a pretty dish of Bugles (I can't remember when I last saw these) and Doritos

Then we share an excellent starter of smoked salmon and lemon grass followed by a Margharita pizza. We haven't eaten anything since breakfast and enjoy our little feast. We try for an early night, but still  have to get through the little drama of the 2nd injection of anti-coagulant medicine I have to take for the trip - administered subcutaneously by a somewhat reticent Oswaldo. We'd tried it the night before without a hitch - this time is not so painless... I still have one to go, maybe 2. Not a fan of needles.

Stella's roadtrip

Saturday, August 17

I have identified my annoying wifi problem searching the Mac forums on Oswaldo's computer. It is referred to as "the dreaded self-imposed IP address". While we wait for breakfast I find a helpful YouTube video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHCBRsSvFwA, and get my wifi going. I can't believe it, I'm so proud. This is when George enters with the breakfast tray and I share my good news with him, then flippantly add that he needn't bother the manager anymore (this was his Plan B), and he says, "No, I will tell him to refer technical questions to you!" Those Greeks are very nice :)
As promised Stella comes with her parents around noon. We meet her mother, Asimina (Stella named her company Asimina Tours after her) and her dad, Peter Gressis, who is a mathematician. Stella has a little car - by necessity all cars on the island are small - I have to occupy the front seat with my leg, Stella takes the wheel and the other three manage as best they can in sudden intimacy on the back seat. We take off in the crazy traffic, a mix of cars like ours, many hesitant rentals, other exasperated locals, tour buses and vans, and a host of those 4-wheeled motorbikes, driven by scantily dressed young people with sun-bleached hair, only a few of whom are wearing helmets. A survival of the fittest scene.

It's a surprisingly long drive to the furthermost other point of the island, and we break the trip with a visit to a local winery where Oswaldo and I sample 4 local wines and buy a bottle of the one we like best.

Asimina, who owns and runs a couple of Greek restaurants in Maryland, where the travel company is based, explains that the island is famed for its cherry tomatoes, capers, and fava beans, all of which grow without water - they absorb the ample evening dew and use their leaves to hide from the daytime sun - and have an incredibly intense flavor. Although we have become enamored of the fabulous local fresh feta cheese - not unlike our own queijo Minas - we have still not opened our hearts to tomatoes, cucumbers and olives at breakfast, and this is something that Greeks (and Turks) don't understand, "What, no vegetables?" They should try a Norwegian breakfast, which in my experience, is a hefty lunch-like meal replete with coldcuts and hard cheeses - and certainly no vegetables.

In the photo above we're now behind the volcanoes right in front of our hotel room and very close to a lighthouse - which of course is not wheelchair-accesible. Then we ride back past fields full of ripe grapes, used for Vinsanto, the trademark Santorini wine, and through busy little towns, until we reach the red rock, around which one must hike to get to the red beach

It becomes clear why August is perhaps not the best month to go. This is like Grumari on a summer weekend

Stella starts driving downhill, now on the other, flatter side of the island and we pass rock formations very similar to those found in Capadoccia. And then we reach a beautiful little harbor

where the Gressis family's favorite restaurant is Psaraki

and where we have the most fabulous food, plates of pureed Fava beans with capers and their leaves, fluffy to-die-for taramasalata, and the traditional boiled greens, all served with huge slices of yellow cornbread,

as well as a mountain of tiny shrimp fried so light and dry you pop the whole thing into your mouth and crunch away. This goes well with a cold Fix beer and we have a couple of those. When we think we cannot eat another thing, our main course arrives, grilled white tuna with fries. Never have I tasted tuna so tender

 

We make a heroic effort to eat some more and take breaks to photograph each other

and stare at the harbor, where the fishing boats are preparing their nets

When a pear poached in local white wine and sprinkled with chopped almonds we can only take weak dabs at it, we are so satisfied. What a lovely and special place and fun to experience it with local people that are as multi-lingual and multicultural as ourselves

Stella has given hours and hours of her time to us and we should head home. She drops her parents at a supermarket and drives us all the way home, making sure we manage to get up those steps!

Back home a raucaus party of Russians (?)  are drinking champagne and gambolling in the pool

and beyond is a scene reminiscent of Lagoa Azul

A cruiseship toots its horn as it leaves the Caldera

and then the light really begins to fade. 

We have arranged for the Adams' to come over for what Victor might call a pre-game on our veranda, but we are assailed by a sudden flurry of calls from the insurance company, which has now woken up to the fact that a decision must be made. This takes several hours of waiting by Oswaldo's phone, while I chat with Victor on mine. We realize then it's long past the time that the Adams should have come, and conclude something must have come up. We share our chilled Santorini wine and slices of a succulent nectarine and call it a night, happy to finally know we'll fly home together on business class.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157635130650370/

Waking up in beauty.

Friday, August 16

Our room has shutters, but when I wake up, early as usual, I see light shining through the cracks. I wheel over to take a look - and there is a view so splendid it takes your breath away - or, like my friend Tito says, "It's like Angra without the trees."

The color of the water is very different - here it is blue, where in Angra it is green, and what is so strange is to see those giants walls of layered lava rising high out of the sea, and all those white $$$$ dwellings clinging to the sides.

A couple of huge cruiseships keep a respectful distance, but in front of me, as people begin to wake up, there will be a lazy traffic of beautiful yachts and catamarans.

We have breakfast inside - outside the temperature and sun are rising swiftly - a huge tray brought by George, one of the nice young men who work at the hotel. My MacAir won't accept the wifi and I believe firmly, one must always ask a young person for help. But George, although interested,  cannot figure it out and I stay without internet. We receive a visit from our travel agent, Stella Gressis, who turns out to be a slim, young, attractive woman, who obviously loves her job. We talk and talk and discover her dad is a mathematician, and thus Stella decides we will spend some time with her parents the next day and have lunch together. She obviously feels very badly I won't have seen anything of the island.

After she leaves we stay in the airco and do battle with the  Brazilian insurance company, who has now entered the phase of new attendants calling sporadically asking for declarations that they already have, and so on. The issue is whether I, who cannot walk at all, can travel alone on business class with Oswaldo far away in economy, or if they have to fork out a ticket for him as well, something they're clearly reluctant to do. They appear to have done nothing about any reservations, so finally I get so sick of them I say, OK, don't bother. We'll figure it out outselves, but prepare yourself for a big battle in the social media, Globo, and so on.  After that I refuse to speak to them, and Oswaldo has to take over, speaking calmly to a succession of Alan, Beatriz, Diego, Gabriela, Stephanie.... The combination of intermittant lack of power/internet and communication with these people is very stressful, so stressful in fact that we decide to return to Athens on an earlier flight the day after tomorrow, so we can sort all of this out with power and internet. This costs us an extra $270, vai fazer o que?

Still we read, relax, have some more to eat, another beer, until the sun begins to de-intensify and a wind picks up. The power goes out again. We exit the hotel and the first thing I see is a bride. We both remember Victor as a little boy in Parque da Cidade loving to see the brides, who came there to take pictures, "Princesa bonita," he'd say with the cute little lisp he had then.

Then there are some dramatic steps down to a promenade, but we manage those, and after that we walk along together with the throngs of tourists, checking out the scene, looking at the stores. At some point we think of having an iced coffee. Oswaldo parks me in the street and goes down a couple of steps into a nice looking café. The owner, however says, "We have no power, no coffee, no water." Duh, we should have figured that out. We run into our new American friends, Debra and Alex, and chat for a while. They're off to see the famed sunset, which we can't see because it's on the other side of the island, up some, you guessed it, steps. I feel perhaps like this:

We had had plans to eat out, but it's still early and it also seems so complicated, so we decide to return to our hotel. Back at the stairs I discover I can slide my butt up the chalked wall and thus climb the stairs, leaving Oswaldo to heave the empty chair up. I'm so happy I laugh, when I do this - another little bit of independence. 

The wedding party is now all outside, with a group of buxom ladies lining up for a shot, 

but we're more interested in the grandmother, who's sitting at my level in what looks to be a light and nifty combination of wheelchair and walker. We have talked about the fact that a walker might be easier for me than crutches, and it seems kind of funny we'd see an interesting model in Santorini of all places!

Then we go back to our wonderful veranda, put our feet up, order gin and tonics (we still don't have light, but the restaurant seems to have it, which means ice cubes), and, later dinner and wine. I eat very good black noodles, which I can unfortunately not see, except as a sticky dark mass, by the flickering candle on our table.

Take a look at these beautiful photos:http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157635120843340/

On to Santorini

Thursday, Aug. 15

I’m up at 5am to have time to shower and get ready. At 7 we’re standing at the hotel reception, where they express regret we won’t have breakfast. Instead our porter disappears for a moment and returns with a bag full of assorted croissants:) We drive our rental car down to a deserted port, where Oswaldo has to unload me as well as the luggage at the mouth of the open car ferry, which we can only enter at 9am, and then go leave the car with Hertz.

I have been warned about rough seas and take a Dramamine while I wait. Oswaldo returns and we’re watching the movement getting more intense, cars and vans arriving, people lining up behind us, when suddenly a brisk man appears from the ferry and wheels me towards an elevator. A Russian man, who’s been waiting behind us with his family, sizes up our situation and helps Oswaldo with the luggage.

Upstairs is a gigantic room with rows of airplane seats, except with more legroom. We have reserved places and are shown to ours, conveniently near the exit row.

As soon as I sit down the Dramamine kicks in and I sleep helplessly, oblivious to the rest of the passengers boarding, the departure, and so on. I wake up when I hear Oswaldo talking to Debra Adams, a nice woman from Mimmeapolis we met at Casa Delfino. She slides in to chat with me and Oswaldo goes off to speak to her husband, Alex. I still feel pretty groggy, but snaps to when she gets me a cappuccino.

And then we’re arriving. We see big grey rocks glide by and passengers crowd at the windows to see the famed black rock sides. A purser comes to get me and speaks loudly for people to get out of the way until we reach the elevator. Then he waits with me at the head of the line while the ferry docks and lowers its huge ramp. Oswaldo is right behind as I’m wheeled across the port area and into the shade. 

There's no-one waiting with a "Chateaubriand" sign that we can see, so Oswaldo goes off in seach of our transfer. He returns with a young woman in shorts, who's obviously surprised to see me in the wheelchair. Turns out the transfer is a minibus, where you have to climb 3 steps to join the rest of the passengers, who must have been waiting for a while. I do these steps nimbly on my butt, and we're off.

The road ascends in dizzying hairspin curves and we're one in a long line of climbing buses. The driver sips a Frappocino from an American style plastic cup, which we've seen all over, as he phlegmatically negotiates the curves.

It's a long ride, through small towns and views to the sea on both sides, and then finally we're here. We stop next to a  lovely yellow and white orthodox church with a bright blue roof, behind which our hotel, Canaves Suites, clinging to the hill. Two young men, dressed in white, come out to lift me up two sets of stairs into a suite on the top level. And there it is: the famous Caldera, right in front of us, which we can see from our terrace with jacuzzi, recliners, wicker chairs and umbrella. There's a complimentary bottle of white wine and a tray of fruits, which we fall upon inside our air-condtioned sitting room. The heat is now blindingly white outside.

After our initial euforia the manager comes to explain the island's main generator exploded 3 days ago. "There was a fire," he says. Hence the electricity goes off and on without warning. He advises us not to use the elevator, which is the only way for me to see the rest of the hotel, which is, due to the steep cliff-side location, accessible only through a maze of stairs.  But we have the view, room service whenever we want, and we're veterans of Sandy - we can handle this! We take a big nap.

I have been waiting for a chance to get into water and realize, due to the disposition of the jacuzzi, that I can actually do this. On goes the bathing suit, as well as two layers of plastic with sealing tape, and I'm in. Ahhhhh

Then we sit on our fancy recliners with a cold beer and feel on top of the world. The view is so magnificent, with two volcano islands right in front of us and a grand circle of dark rocks encircling is all. White-washed luxury hotels climb the hills where they can, which makes one wonder how it would be if Rocinha and Vidigal were white-washed. 

It might just work - in various ways ;).
Unfortunately, the sunset is on the other side of the island, but we love the slow fading of the light and the last sunlight reflected on the high cliffs. We rise to go in to shower and this is when the power goes off. No more shower, light, internet, water.... A generator meant to service the other side of the hotel, where the restaurant is, far beneath us, begins to make a huge racket right outside our room. We retreat to our veranda, order dinner, and dine by candlelight in the now much cooler temperature. Then we go to sleep only to wake up briefly when all the lights blaze on around 2am.
Here are some beautiful photos from our day: http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157635112431574/

Knossos or not Knossos

Wednesday, Aug. 14

Today is our 34th wedding anniversary! Good for us :)

We wake up early and head down for breakfast. Sadly breakfast is served on a split level down a flight of stairs, so two harried waiters have to drop everything and lift me down in the chair, which by itself weighs a ton - which they do in the nicest way possible. After breakfast the same two men have to lift me up the stairs. I apologize profusely and one, now very sweaty and red in the face, says, "This is no problem, Madam, you weigh like feather."Ha-ha, so sweet.

Our porter gets us all settled in the car outside - he had refused a tip yesterday and Oswaldo had inquired at the reception if this was a local custom. They had said just to insist, so this time Oswaldo smiles and says, "Buy some flowers for your wife,"as he stuffs 10 euros into his pocket - and then we all laugh. We head out for nearby Knossos - the reason we chose to include Crete on our trip - we wanted to see the famed labyrinth. We are shocked when we see the meandering line of scalded tourists waiting to be let in, and have to dodge the huge buses maneuvering on the narrow street.

Across from the excavated site, which we can glimpse more or less from the car, is a dense row of souvenir stalls.

We drive past it all, think for a moment, and then decide, no, this is not for us. We wouldn't even know where to start. It's like going to Corcovado on a bad day. Later we will hear that 3 cruise ships had arrived unexpectedly that morning.

So that's disappointing, but we get over it and head for the National Archaeological Museum, where Oswaldo, with his parking karma, immediately finds a spot where we can park all day for 4 euros. At the entrance to the museum someone hands us a flier asking for support to prevent lay-offs in the cultural sector. Apparently the museum have faced drastic cuts - an odd decision when the whole country seems to be geared towards tourism.

The exhibit, which largely consists of pieces excavated from Knossos,  is small and precious - we take many pictures - and we're happy to have seen it. The midday sun is unbelievably fierce, and this is certainly a more comfortable way to see at least some of the treasures, even if we did miss the actual site.

Out on the street again, with explanations from the girl in the museum shop, we head towards a walking street. Oswaldo whizzes me by the many shops on sale and I get cranky. I want to stop and see! But most shops have steps leading to the interior, so nothing doing anyway. We're hot and tired by now, what with Oswaldo wearing sneakers (for good grip) and gloves. It's time for a break and we find a nice pavement restaurant where we share a pizza and have a beer.

Thus refreshed we push on to the National Historical museum, which has many interesting things on show. A large model of the city as it was in the 16th century, many icons, and a moving display - with photos, blocks of text, and some artifacts - which explains the heroic behavior of the Cretans during WW2. There's also the actual study, where Crete's most famous author, Nikos Kazantzakis, worked, along with shelves of his published works.

He was born in Heraklion and wrote Zorba the Greek. We finally reach the folklore exhibition, which I have been looking forward to, only to find it lies at the top of a long flight of stairs. So Oswaldo is dispatched with the camera and takes pictures of every single display.

We have an expresso frappé in the museum, something that they do really well here, and then head back to the car, which we find without too much difficulty.

Initially we had plans to eat out, but decide to eat in the hotel. We have an early start tomorrow to catch the ferry to Santorini. We rest, chat to Victor, look at his wonderful YouTube present (a GoPro recording of the Newton Rezende show, done with his usual flair and good humor <3). After that we go down to have our meal at the poolside restaurant, where it turns out there is a singer. Just one hitch: the restaurant is at the top of a long flight of curved stairs. And this is when I can't take it anymore. I do not want to be carried one more time! There are tears and everybody is rattled, including a very kind manager, Manolis, who also carried me in the morning, "Why you cry? Important to have good health and to have heart,"he exclaims, kissing my hand. He settles us on a balcony overlooking the pool, where we can hear the singer,  and a vodka martini is put in my hand. Then I'm good to go again and we have an amazingly good meal - mine a deliciously humid risotto with shrimp and green asparagus, and Oswaldo Ravioli with a creamy cheese and tomato sauce. The tomatoes here are fabulous: bright red and sun ripened with such a rich flavor.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157635073272281/

Getting lost near the White Mountains and finally reaching Heraklion.

Tuesday, August 13

We’re up very early, bags all ready to go, and have a quick breakfast before we leave the hotel. A tall doe-eyed man from the hotel waits patiently with me, while Oswaldo gets the car. While we wait he tells me his wife broke her collarbone in a car accident. “Before she did everything in the house,” he says, “now I have to do it.” He sighs. “It’s hard for both,” he says, “she gets impatient, because I don’t know the right way to do things.” I laugh – I certainly know how hard it is to relinquish one’s usual bossy and competent self.

But here is Oswaldo with the car, dodging distracted breakfasters in the narrow street, and they load me, the chair, the crutches, and the luggage into the car, and we leave the same way, forcing outraged tourists to get up once again.

We set the GPS (and what a nightmare it is to set that thing up. Greek locations have at least 3 spellings, as far as I can tell). Additionally it falls off the window all the time…. Anyway, the girls at the hotel suggested we check out a couple of traditional Crete villages on the way. The GPS refuses to recognize even one, so we move hesitatingly into the dry landscape, where in the background we see the magnificent White Mountains, across which, we’ll later learn, King Peter and his Prime Minister during WW2 had to flee the German invasion on foot, to seek refuge in Egypt.

We drive through a couple of villages, none of which seem particularly appealing, and now we’re also looking for a bathroom for me, which means we drive close to the establishment to check for steps. Finally we find one with a ramp where I can move slowly on my crutches to the ladies, always with the concerned Oswaldo by my side. Classic, really. Another spotless lavatory – again, Brazil could learn a lot here. Then on we go, following a GPS direction to an excavation. Suddenly we’re on a dirt track snaking through olive groves, but the GPS lady calmly goes on, “After 400m turn right,” we turn, more dry, low trees, “After 390m turn right.” Same thing. Finally we rebel and override her instructions to head in the direction of some houses we have spotted. There we hit a cul-de-sac, but one with a splendid view of the whole area we’ve just crisscrossed, white mountains in the distance, and next to us a profusion of purple bougainvilleas and clusters of ripe grapes.

Once back on the E-75 we drive along the coast, admiring the blue sea, the bright sun and the ragged cliffs. We managed to enter Heraklion (on GPS Iraklion) and find Hotel Galaxy without a hitch, and from then on it’s a breeze. The staff is wonderfully attentive, a porter takes are of me, luggage, car, leaving Oswaldo to check in with beautiful and efficient Maria, who has upgraded us to an Executive Suite with a view across the rooftops to the sea.

I roll happily around on the marble-floor of the cool lobby – there’s so much space, and everything seems so easy.

A complimentary bottle of champagne awaits us in the room with some snacks. We devour it all and take a long nap. Then showers and a cab to the old Venetian harbor, where it seems those Greeks, who haven’t gone away for August, are all out walking, jogging or just strolling. A fresh breeze is blowing the heat of the day away, the daylight slowly fades and lights come on in the city behind us.

Another beautiful receptionist, Anastasia, had suggested a restaurant, Parasies . “Like the Russian princess,” I said when I heard her name, “the one who got away.” The male hotel manager next to her said proudly, “And she looks Russian with her blonde hair.”

Greek people are fabulous, there’s something warm and direct about them. And they work very hard.

Anyway, back to the fort. We hold our map in the flapping wind and try to figure out now to get to our destination. A young father with a baby and a stroller helps us and we reach a happy bustling restaurant filled with Greeks. A perfect choice. The waitress, who looks like Cecilia Bartoli, the opera singer, says, when we ask, “They’re still here because of the economy.”

The restaurant calls us a cab, and we’re delivered safely home to our lovely hotel, with elevator, ramp and a beautiful suite. These are a few photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157635079484316/