Day 297 Ferry Beyond Belief

I took a bus to the Red Sea port of Aqaba to catch a ferry to Egypt. I had missed the daily ferry and took a cheap room at a hotel without air conditioning. I assumed that the extreme heat of the day (113 F or 45C) would turn into a delightfully cool night like everywhere else I have been. Wrong. It was so hot that I ended up sleeping under a wet towel under the ceiling fan. This was great as long as the towel stayed wet, requiring a number of re-wettings during the night. When I woke up in the morning, it was 93 degrees (34 C) in my room.

The tickets for the noon fast ferry would sell out very early so I went to the port at 7:30am. This was the start of the biggest clusterf@#k I have seen so far.

Getting the ticket was not such a problem, only expensive at $50 USD for a one hour ride. Next, I waited in another line right next to the ticket seller for an hour so the clerk could stamp my ticket without even looking at it. Why they didn’t do that when I bought it I do not know, maybe to increase employment? Then I had to go downstairs and find the mislabeled exit tax office and pay 7.50 USD for exit stamps. Then it was back upstairs to immigration to get my exit stamps and passport stamped. Then I waited for a few hours to get on the ferry. It was 11:30 and no one was moving. I went outside and looked around. There was not any obvious ferry embarkment point. There was no visible ferry either. I went to a covered area next to a big vehicle gate and was told I had to wait for a bus to get to the ferry. All was fine and not extraordinary so far. I am baffled by the disorganization of what happened next.

I waited with for only fifteen minutes before there was a huge commotion and everyone rushed the gate. Police kept people from going through the gate while silently listening to people waving tickets and yelling. I pushed my way in to the crowd and waited. Close to noon the police let a surge of people, including me through the gate. I could now see the ferry only 500m away and could easily have walked it if they would have let me, but no.

We waited for a few minutes and a bus finally showed up. Of course everyone rushed the bus as if it was the only one coming all day. It is a frickin’ shuttle. It fills up, drives for 60 seconds, empties, and comes back. Come on people.

Police held the would-be riders back with threatening batons and lots of yelling. A dozen or so women and children were escorted through the crowd and got on the bus and then door started to close. People were trying to hold the door open in desperation but it overpowered them, almost crushing one woman. The bus then moved ten feet forward and opened the door again. The same process of police, batons, waving tickets, pushing, and yelling was repeated as a few more women got on. Then again, people tried holding the door open and threw themselves inside as it closed on them. Then the bus moved backward twenty feet. Repeat clusterf@#k again. Finally, the bus moved fifty feet forward, stopped for ten minutes before driving to the ferry.What the F@#k?

Then the police pushed everyone back to the other side of the gate. Little by little we edged our way right back to where the bus had been parked and waited about ten minutes in the hot sun before it came back. Although, this time it parked across the parking lot next to a covered area. Nothing happened for about ten more minutes until the police started letting one or two people at a time go over to the shaded area by the bus. They would do this about once a minute, randomly picking people out of the crowd. These lowly policemen were showing that they were in control and had the power in this situation. Finally a policeman pointed at me and said to me in English, “You are a winner!” and waved his baton for me to cross and get out of the sun. We stood next to the bus, waiting for another ten minutes before the napping driver decided to open the door. We got on and waited another ten minutes for a ticket check and nothing in particular. When the bus actually started moving, it went barely faster than walking speed to the ferry. I was just thrilled to get to the stupid boat.

It was an entirely enclosed ferry, with no open decks. The seats were comfortable and I watched Tom and Jerry cartoons for the hour and half that it took to shuttle everyone that 500 meters. Obviously the noon departure time is not set in stone. I could have taken the slow ferry that was ten dollars cheaper, but it usually left five or six hours late. The travel time for the slow ferry is somewhere between three to eight hours, but apparently, it once took three days to get there. It only took an hour to reach Nuweiba, Egypt on the fast ferry. Unfortunately, it took an hour before the police would let anyone off because they were searching for some criminals.

Once again we were bused to the terminal, but this time the ride was smoother. The terminal on the other hand was complete chaos. There is no obvious flow or signage to indicate a process at Nuweiba. There are many scattered buildings and no official in sight to ask. The bags had been loaded into a giant flatbed trailer sized cart that was sitting in the center of a mass of people desperately digging for their things. I found my bag, bought visa stamps at the difficult to locate bank for 15 USD, they only take USD for some reason, and then went to the exchange office to get local currency, went through security, went back through security to find the immigration office, went through security again, was ignored by customs, and finally got out. It took about thirteen hours to take a one hour ferry. They do this every day. I am assuming merit is not involved in the promotion of port managers.

The first taxi guys I asked said that there were no “service” taxis, which are shared taxis, to across the Sinai Peninsula to Cairo and I would have to pay $150 USD to get there. They were lying of course. I easily found some. I bargained the price down to a little over seventeen USD for the five hour drive. My taxi was a newer minibus that would be comfortable. I waited for two hours while they found more passengers and loaded the top rack with what looked like a houseful of possessions. It was comic to see them load and reload and reload to get it all up there. It wasn’t funny when we were switched to an old Peugeot 504 because there were not enough people for the minibus. I waited another hour while they moved everything to the other vehicle. There were several problems with this decrepit taxi. First, it was so overloaded, we could not go that fast. Second, the ceiling was so low I could not sit up. In fact, if I had been able to sit up, the roof would have been at my chin level. I spent 8 sleepless hours hunched over or with my knees on the ceiling so I could rest my head on the seat. Not fun. And then it got better. I was dropped off at four in the morning at a highway crossroad outside of Cairo. I could not even see the city. Thankfully, I caught a passing minibus after only fifteen minutes. Then I had to take a taxi to my hostel. I went straight to bed.

Day 296 Petra, Jordan

I got up early and was the first person in Petra. I even beat most of the Bedouins that foist over-priced trinkets and camel/horse rides on the tourists. For fun and $2 USD, I did take a horse the one kilometer to the start of the Siq, the 1200m narrow gorge that leads to the ancient site. Going down the Siq alone and in silence was otherworldly. And then, finally seeing the magnificence and grandeur of the Treasury suddenly appear was magical. If you don’t know, the Treasury is the building featured as the resting place of the Holy Grail in the Indiana Jones movie. The rooms inside are big, but not as cool as in the movie. It is much bigger than it looks. Check out the little people in the last picture.

Having only known about the Treasury, I was surprised at how extensive the ancient city of Petra was. It was big and quite grand. The buildings were carved out of the sandstone cliffs instead of being built by individual rocks. The skill of the sculptors is incredible. Huge columns and decorative elements that would have been hard to carve separately were all carved in place. Unfortunately, the elements have taken their toll and worn away most of the fine detailing on the structures. They are still very impressive.

There was a wide ancient stairway (mostly restored) hewed out of the rock and I followed it way up to the top of the mountain. I ended up with a view of the valley and eventually a perfect view to look down on the Treasury. By that time the tourist were swarming like little ants far below. I had been at the site for a little over three hours and I had easily drunk three liters of water in the blazing sun. I saved my last few gulps and made a slightly scary climb down an unofficial route to visit the Treasury one more time before I left.

Day 295 The Dead and Untasty Sea

I took a bus for one dollar to a crossroads near the Dead Sea and then hired a taxi to take me to the water, wait for me while I swam, and then take me all the way back to Amman for only $20 USD. The Dead Sea is so incredibly full of dissolved minerals that you do not exactly have to swim. Bob around like a piece of balsa wood is more like it. Staying vertical, I floated so high in the water that it was at my nipples, making me look like I was standing on something. On my back, it was like sitting in a floating lounge chair and was very easy to keep my head dry. Bizarre! It was hard to swim on my stomach though because it felt like there was a beach ball under my stomach and I had to work to not flip over. I accidentally got a few drops of the water in my mouth…..uhggg….it was like taking a mouth full of salt and minerals. It was oppressively hot that afternoon and a little hard to breath there. On top of that, the sea water was warm and not refreshing. I tried letting the sea water dry for about ten minutes on my skin, but it didn’t. Even with the heat and wind, it was like a layer of mineral oil that would not dry. I lucked out and there was a trickle of fresh water running into the sea and so I could wash off. It was an interesting experience. It is not a place I would want to vacation though.

The taxi driver was nuts on the way back to Amman. We drove at 100 mph (160 kph) for much of the way and he was not a good driver. I was thankful to get out safely. I immediately jumped into a three hour taxi to Wadi Musa, the town next to Petra.

Day 294 Amman, Jordan

With my Arabic translation in hand, I had no trouble getting back to Damascus or on the right bus to Jordan. The Jordanian border was much easier than Syria’s. Fifteen USD and three windows, and I had my visa.

There were two young Jordanian guys who were desperate to talk to me. They had a vision of America that was purely drawn from our movies and I tried my best to dissuade them that that was not reality. The one guy said he wanted to visit the US, but not Chicago, and he made gun motions with his hands, indicating it was way too violent and dangerous. I laughed and told him that I really liked Chicago. There was no way I could convince them. They knew the truth from our movies. Then they asked me if I liked Bush. When I said no, they told me that they wanted to kill him. They said this with such vehemence that it worried me a little. I was about to launch into the beauty of a democratic government, term limits, and the horrifying prospect of a president Cheney when we had to leave.

The buildings in Amman are a little more attractive than Syria—not much. The city is entirely monochrome. All the buildings are shades of dirty white/grey. It is a desert city with no lack of dirt and almost no sign of greenery. It is also a very conservative city with the highest percentage of completely covered women I have seen. In general, it is boring.

I was still feeling a little unwell and out of sorts when I took a taxi to the US embassy to get more pages added to my passport; to my delight and chagrin, it was full of stamps and visas. After I got out of the taxi and he drove off very fast, I realized that I had given the driver the wrong note, but he gave me the change for a smaller bill. My unfamiliarity with the Jordanian money and the driver’s dishonesty resulted in a 26 USD tip. Doh!

The embassy was easier than I thought and it only took about an hour to get more pages stuck in. The problem was getting back to my hotel with the pittance of Jordanian money I had left. I found some people by the side of the road that were waiting for a minibus. We ended up taking a shared taxi back into the downtown for only 40 cents each. I also discovered that there was a much shorter way from downtown than the way the first taxi took me. Errr….!

Day 293 Syrian Hospitality

The shared taxi from Beirut to Damascus was a nice, newer, air conditioned luxury sedan. Too bad it only took us out of the city where we were transferred, with loud protests from my fellow passengers, to an ancient piece of crap taxi that waited for an hour for one more passenger before we left. I was not sure what to expect at the Syrian border. I had told them when I got my Syrian visa that I would be going into Lebanon and returning to Syria.

At the border, they said, “no visa, wait, fax Damascus, wait.” My taxi left without me of course. At the duty free shop I ran into a guy from Portland who is studying in Beirut. It is a small world. I was prepared to wait another twelve hours for this visa. I lucked out with only three hours. Back in another taxi, I went to the bus station in Damascus and bought a ticket to Amman, Jordan, or so I thought.

Before I got on the bus, I asked the driver, “Amman, Jordan?” He nodded and motioned for me to get on. I felt sure I was headed in the right direction and did not worry too much. Even so, when we were on the highway, I checked the direction of the sun to make sure we were going in the right direction—you never know. We were going south toward Amman; all was okay. Almost. After two hours, I ended up in Suwayda, Syria, near the Jordanian border. Fortunately, I was helped by a friendly local guy that spoke a tiny amount of English. The problem was that I could not get to Jordan from there. I had to go all the way back to Damascus first. He asked for me about a bus back to Damascus that evening and there wasn’t one. He invited me to stay with him that evening and said he would put me on a bus in the morning. I thought it would be interesting, but being an American in predominantly Islamic rural Syria, I was a little nervous.

We took a taxi for about a kilometer and then worked at fitting into a minibus. When I said I wanted to pay my fare for the taxi and minibus, Ali laughed and pinched my cheek like I said something silly. I was in his care and my money was no good. The difficulty was getting all the people (17), bags, boxes, and my backpack to fit in a minibus designed for ten people. People got in an out and moved around until finally after about ten minutes we were all sardined inside. We drove out of the town into the desert for about half an hour until we reached a little village where we picked up one more passenger. The minibus was jammed and I could not see anyway he could fit. That was my Western thinking holding me back. He squeezed in the front seat, mostly sideways, on the left of the driver. We drove for another thirty minutes through the now pitch black desert. I was starting to wonder where the hell we were going.

In the village of Irmon, we got out, thank god, and walked a block to Ali’s house, where I met his wife and two little girls. None of them had ever met an American before and they were ecstatic. His wife immediately changed into nice clothes with lots of jewelry. They spoke almost no English so it was hard to communicate. We had a good time drinking tea, eating sweets, and talking with dictionaries. In the morning, Ali wrote everything I needed in Arabic and took me to the next town, where he put me on a minibus and told the driver to make a special stop to drop me off at the bus station. Meeting Ali and staying with his family was one of those great experiences that offset all the times you get ripped off or hassled.

Day 292 Beirut, Lebanon

I left Damascus in a shared taxi (10 USD) for Beirut, Lebanon. The taxi ride was something right out of a movie. Imagine a beat up, seventies taxi crossing the rocky barren desert in the midday sun, Syrian pop music blaring out of one, undersized speaker, me in the front seat, my sweat drying as fast as it appears because of blast furnace air of the open window, three Syrian guys squeezed in the back, a fat, hairy driver that honks at anything that moves or even thinks about moving, and no one but me speaks any English at all.

Crossing the border was actually humorous for a change. I was initially startled by the chaos in the Syrian exit crossing. Forget lines, everyone just threw themselves into mass of sweaty humanity trying to fight their way up to the exit stamp window. There was no way I could be polite and get stamped, I had to wade in and push and shove and work for every inch, defending any ground I made. The funny thing was when I got close enough that the officer saw my passport in my hand, he waved for me to give it to him. As I stretched my arm through all the people, the officer, with a look of disgust, swept his arm in front of him, brushing aside all the local people’s outstretched identification, and took my passport. I felt special; and relieved because it would have taken at least about thirty to forty minutes if I had to wait like everyone else.

Lebanon’s border was chaos too. I don’t know who designed these border crossings, but they really lack obvious flow patterns. There is usually very little signage too. Only by asking do you find out the order in which you have to go to the different windows/buildings. There are no cattle chute type of controls that force people through certain steps.

We went through three military checkpoints with lots of soldiers and tanks before we reached Beirut. We also had to detour around a bridge that was bombed by Israel in their very recent skirmish. Beirut was surprisingly in good shape. I had expected much more damage. There were only a few older bombed out buildings and buildings that still bore bullet holes; the rest have been repaired or are new. They are building like crazy to restore their “Paris of the Middle-East” status. I did not find the city that interesting. The Pigeon rocks were pretty at sunset, while the rest of the Corniche (ocean front walk) was mostly buff, over-groomed twenty-somethings and old guys sitting around smoking water pipes. The central square downtown was rebuilt recently and is almost Vegas shopping mall perfect. The weird thing is that it was that there were no people. The cafes and shops were open and devoid of customers, except for me and three other people.

I could not take many pictures because I was not allowed to photograph soldiers and all through the city, there are soldiers with machine guns on almost every corner. Streets are barricaded with sand bags, cement blocks, enough razor wire to hermetically seal the US/Mexico border, and the occasional tank or armored assault vehicle. I was searched at machine gun point three times in the downtown. They are serious. They just had a bombing a few days before that killed a bunch of people. There was also a bombing right after I left. There is a huge Hezbollah camp right in the middle of Beirut to protest for representation in the government. Since they are a terrorist group according to the US and Israel, the government is not eager to let them share any power.

At 10 pm I went to the fashionable restaurant street to eat, and again, there were very few people. The high prices, fancy French food, and occasional cruising Ferrari were a reminder that this is still the playground for the Middle-East’s rich. They come to Lebanon to do the things that they cannot openly do in their own countries; dress risqué, drink, and party. I really do not like the rich, superficial, party crowd and left found a little buffet place with traditional Lebanese food.

I was not bothered by safety concerns in Beirut as much as I was by the atmosphere. It was pretentious and unfriendly.

Day 290 Porcelain Prisoner

I was not bothered by Fajid as he sat in quiet disillusionment, his sad antennae motionless and askew. I had watched him for much of the day, as he attempted to walk up the glossy white surface of the bathtub, only to slide ignominiously down, legs and antennae in awkward disarray. Occasionally I would find him peering into the blackness of the drain, longing for an escape from his seemingly impenetrable porcelain prison. His occasional awkward steps toward the hole of the drain only resulted in his spindly legs slipping on the edge, throwing him off balance, and making him grudgingly retreat to safety of the porcelain. Alas, his body lacked the flexibility of other species. It was at times like this that he would turn inward, staring at the emotionally devoid whiteness of his prison walls, and reflect on his short uneventful life. Was there warmth in his exoskeleton for another? Was there flittering progeny that will have to learn life’s lessons without him? Grand schemes of conquest and adventure slipping away?

He was silent on all counts.

It wasn’t because of cruelty that I did not set him free. I would be liberating him by morning-- because I had no intention of showering with him--but I did not set him free. In truth, I was feeling down and alone myself, and I valued his soundless company. Additionally, his imprisonment gave him a special status that crossed species lines. I am not sure I could guarantee his safety, even from me, if he lost this status. I did spare him the unpleasant knowledge that several of his species, no one special I hope, had attempted to access the bathroom via the fan ductwork, and because I had carelessly left the fan on, they had met their maker in an unholy puree that littered the sink with tiny crunchy bits and the fan housing with the moist parts. Thankfully, I only heard the commotion and did not bear witness to the carnage of which I bore partial responsibility.

It has been almost ten months that I have been traveling and I had avoided spending much time in bathrooms of a foreign nature, and had also made a special effort to avoid making friends in any of them. But then, with my first case of traveler’s diarrhea, I was grateful for Fajid’s company. We shared different but similar predicaments; neither of us knew if and when we would ever escape the confines of that bathroom. Sure, I could leave for a time, but I wasn’t long before I returned to Fajid’s side to sit in unspoken solidarity as prisoners of plumbing fixtures.

Day 289 Damascus, Syria

My hotel in Damascus was listed on Hostelworld.com as having dorm rooms or cheap single rooms. At the reception desk they denied that anything of the sort was available. They kept trying to show me expensive rooms (4 star) and I kept demanding something cheaper. Only after I refused to see anymore rooms upstairs did they relent and show me the downstairs rooms. I took a room two floors down that wasn’t much different than the upstairs rooms except it was smaller and windowless. My neighbors were the doormen and bellboys. The internet available advertisement actually meant that there is an internet shop down the street, not in the hotel. Nice truth in advertising. Of course the internet was not working half of the time at the shop.

Again the main tourist office, people in the bazaar, the internet shop, and a restaurant told me that I was the first American they have seen in years. The bazaar in Damascus is very very big. It did not take long for me to get lost. I stopped at one of the grand old Arab houses that was converted to a restaurant. In the lovely interior courtyard I had a thyme salad that was fantastic. It was fresh thyme in place of lettuce, olive oil, lemon juice, tomatoes, and onion. It was zingy and delicious. Then I had the tasty villager’s plate with bulgur, chickpeas, potatoes, and meat. With a one and a half liter bottle of water it came to about 6 USD. With help, I found the impressive old mosque in the old city and hung out to watch people.

If you visit Syria, there is one person you will feel like you know very well. Bashar Assad, the Syrian President. Every shop, or every shop that is smart, has at least one large poster of him up in the front window and usually many more inside. Sometimes they have so many pictures of him up in the windows that it is difficult to tell what they sell if you cannot read the Arabic signs. So imagine Bashar in every shop window. Now add huge banners and billboards on the buildings, every mile or so on the highway (really weird), and the posters and Bashar silhouettes in cars, buses, and taxis. There were times when I could stand on the street and easily see about 70 Bashars looking at me. He must really be loved there because in a “totally fair” election he won 99 percent of the vote. It is amazing how much people love an authoritarian ruler when there are soldiers around with machine guns implying that you should love him. The really great part is the variety of Bashar pictures. I personally love the Mr. Cool sunglasses Bashar, but others have merit as well: stern Bashar, laughing Bashar, noble Bashar, relaxing Bashar, military Bashar, concerned Bashar, fatherly Bashar, business Bashar….

Day 288 Hama, Syria

I took a bus (1 USD for 2 hours) south to Hama, home of the noria (giant water wheels) that once lifted water into the aqueducts. These giant wooden wheels are all this town has and they play them for everything they have got. The wheels are very big, powered by the river that runs through town, and make a godawful noise. Supposedly they generate 360 different tones as they spin. Loud. A local teenager thrilled the crowds by riding the wheel up and over the top. The slippery wet wood makes this a little dangerous and stupid. Fortunately, the water wheels do detract from the dirt, garbage, and ugliness that plague the city. For a few minutes anyway.

At my hotel I ran into a Canadian guy and the painful wall of reality. He was there looking for his fiancé that disappeared two months ago from the hotel across the street. Having traveled worldwide by herself five times, she was not inexperienced. She just disappeared and no one has any idea where. He has talked to every level of government, travelers, hotel clerks, and street vendors with little luck. He assumes she is dead. The question is whether she was in an accident and someone secretly buried her, afraid of the consequences, or if something more nefarious occurred. That gave me something to think about as I wandered the under lit streets. According to the hotel manager and a few other people I met, I am the only American they have seen in years. That is not reassuring.

Day 287 Aleppo, Syria

Arriving in Aleppo, right away I knew I was in a very different place than Turkey. I am not sure how to describe it other than poorer, less modern in thought, and slightly oppressive feeling.

The prices in Syria are silly cheap. Taxis are plentiful and almost free and food is a pittance. The souk, old market, was okay, shop keepers were very aggressive toward me, the rich foreigner of course. I wandered right through without looking at much. On my way out I stumbled upon the Citadel looming over the center of town. This was cool. I sat at a café right in front and had foul
(pronounced fool) which is giant fava beans in a yogurt sauce with ground sesame and olive oil. Seeing that it was only one USD, I made the mistake of ordering some dried yogurt with it. I got so much food there was no way I could eat it all. The yogurt came like hummus on a plate with olive oil, garnish, more pita, tomatoes, mint, onion, lemon, and pickles. The food was good. They have a saying about foul because it has so much protein that it makes all of the blood go to your stomach--so if you are acting stupid--they say you have eaten too much foul.

I wandered the ancient city inside the Citadel and loved the deep underground passages with scary steep steps. I am not sure I was supposed to go in them because they were not lit up, but I had a headlamp. Back up on top I went to possibly the most pathetic pay museum ever. At least it was only about $1.50. All they had were a few column fragments, a cannon, a simple catapult, some tiles, and a bunch of unlabeled crap. The best part of the Citadel, other than the grand entry, was Sharif, a young stone mason who was very happy to talk to me and invited me to eat with him. I regretfully declined eating as I was stuffed with foul. All through Aleppo, I was very pleased with the friendliness of the people.

Day 286 Bus Hell to Visa Hell

In the evening from Olympos, I took a bus to the top of the valley, another bus for two hours to Antalya, and another bus for fifteen (!!!) hours to Antakya, near Syria. I was sore, I hurt all over, and although I had my neck pillow this time, I could not sleep much because I was too uncomfortable. Before I even got my bag from under the bus, I had a guy telling me that if I wanted to go to Syria I had to hurry to catch the next bus. I had just finished 3 bus trips and wanted to rest. I let him lead me to a food stall/money changer because I was completely out of Turkish money to pay for the bus. The transaction happened very fast with my hundred dollar bill turning into a fifty, ten Turkish lira, and some Syrian money of which I had no idea what the value was. (I checked later and wasn’t cheated). Then he showed me the bus and disappeared with my passport and the Turkish lira. I sat on the bus for 15 minutes and when the bus was about to leave, I started to get worried about my passport. He came back at the last moment. Whew! We drove about an hour to the Turkish border, which was backed up about a mile with trucks. We all got off and walked for about half a mile to the border while the bus tried to make it through.

My problem was that I had no visa. In Istanbul the Syrian embassy said, “It is impossible for you to get a visa at the border.” I had read that you could pay extra (wink wink) and get a visa. When I got to the border and they saw that I had no visa, I was taken into a supervisor’s office on the side and questioned in terrible English. There were too many people around to consider offering a bribe in any way. He told me they would fax Damascus and I had to wait. I got there at noon. At two, they asked me more questions and faxed again. At four-ish, they asked the same questions and I talked to the commanding officer and they faxed again. In the mean time, I met a Jordanian guy that had been there for a few days waiting because he forgot to say on his first visa that he was going back through Syria again after going to Turkey. I hung out with him at the outdoor café, drank tea, ate a kebab, and watched a Turkish soap opera with a bunch of grizzled Turkish truck drivers. At six, a taxi driver offered to drive me into Aleppo (my bus abandoned me of course). He woke me up at 11:30, sleeping on a bench in the lobby, and told me my visa was ready. Then he helped me find the guy in the vestibule in the back of the building that sold me some postage stamps to put inside my passport. The taxi driver even used some of his own change when I was short. Back at the visa window, I waited for the slowest man ever to process my visa. Finally, after waiting for me for 6 hours of my 12 hours there, the taxi driver drove me across the border at midnight to Aleppo, 38 miles away (60km) away. I knew $20 USD was too much, but I didn’t care. He still had to drive further than that home.

Day 285 Blood and Indiana Jones

The next day I spent the morning (4 hours) cliff diving and snorkeling. I saw lots of little fish and an angry looking octopus that I left alone. I also found an underwater tunnel that connected to a hidden pool inside the rocks. It was about 12 ft (4m) underwater and maybe 25 ft (8m) long. It was a scary and exhilarating swim. The barnacles and rough rocks chewed me up as I swam through the tunnel, but I was glad I did it. When I got back to the top to dive again, I counted 22 places on my hands, arms, legs, and feet that were bleeding. They weren’t enough to worry about so I kept diving.

I hit the ruins afterward and loved it. The city is almost completely un-restored, overgrown by forest, and nearly devoid of signs, maps, and tourists. It makes it feel like you are the only one to see the ruins in ages. The trails, where they exist, disappear on one side of a ruin and you have to climb through, over the carved stones, that once were a building, to find the trail on the other side. I really had to work for it. I felt more like Indiana Jones there than anywhere I have ever been. I cut randomly through the trees and vines, and found hidden ruins and tombs that seemed completely undiscovered. There is one building with large sections of intact mosaics, very cool. I ended up climbing the ruins to the top of the mountain to a fantastic overlook of the ocean. Exhausted, in the unrelenting sun, it was then that I knew that I would be very sore from the day’s fun.

Day 284 Fire on the Mountain

I took two buses to get to Olympos, Turkey. I stayed in one of many “tree house” hostels in which the tree houses are built on varying height stilts around the trees rather than in the trees. It was cool though. It was a total chill place with hammocks and cushioned platforms to kickback on under the trees. They even played funky chill music all the time. With free breakfast and dinner, and wi-fi, I was not complaining.

The ocean was only 500 meters away through the ruins of an ancient city. I hit the beach first with its wonderful warm blue water and big rocks to dive from. I spent a few hours the first day just diving off a 26 ft (8m) rock. The bad part was the rock was very rough and as careful as I was I still ripped up one of my toes. (much worse to come).

That night I took a minibus up to see the Chimera flames on the mountain. They are from naturally occurring gas escaping from the ground at high temperature. When they come into contact with air, they ignite. It was a 30 minute ride and a mile walk up the mountain to the few flames that are left; they have dwindled over the centuries from covering the mountainside to only a few spots now. They are still cool. You can put them out and they reignite. There were a couple of Turkish women up there singing folk songs under the stars and it was very cool.

Day 283 Anatalya, Turkey...Yawn...

I took a 12 hour bus to Antalya on the south coast, starting at 11:00 pm. I forgot my neck inflatable pillow in my checked bag and got stuck in an aisle seat with no comfortable place to put my head. It was not a good night. At least on Turkish buses they give you all the free plastic pudding cup sized waters that you want and an occasional snack (chocolate cake). I stayed in a hostel that was more café/travel agency than hostel. I didn’t really care for Antalya either. There were a bunch of pay beaches and nice looking water and lots of sun. That is about it.

I should mention here the popularity of ex-president, Mustafa Ataturk in Turkey. There are tributes to him all over and he is on all the money. You get the feeling he is genuinely loved when you see all the books about him, the trinkets with his likeness, and so on. I looked into his history and then I understood. He was a visionary with the drive and nerve to do things that others thought were crazy. For instance, he abolished all religious laws and established a secular government, he gave equal rights to women, he had the Turkish alphabet changed from difficult Arabic script to Latin letters (allowing people to easily learn to read in a few months), changed the Turkish language from being 80 percent Arabic words to newly invented Turkish words. And the most amazing thing is the time frame in which he did these things. Changing the alphabet happened in only five months. He is a man that deserves respect.

Day 282 A Turkish Bath

A visit to Istanbul would not be complete without going to a hammam, a traditional Turkish bath. I went to a 300-year-old hammam that is featured in the book One Thousand Places to See Before You Die. All sorts of famous people from Tony Curtis to Omar Sharif have been to this one. I changed into a waist cloth and awkward wooden sandals and was led to a large magnificent marble room with a huge heated marble platform in the middle. The columns, arches, and dome with its star shaped holes for light exuded history. I was alone, laying on the slab, sweating and listening to the quiet hiss of steam and the dripping of water. It was serene and otherworldly. For ten minutes... then came the burly, unshaved, half naked Turkish guy that tried with all his weight to smash me into the marble slab. He twisted and popped things that I had no idea could pop. He was merciless. The unforgiving stone allowed for a deep tissue massage that reached the tissue on my opposite side. I have never been so happy to have a massage end. He took me over to one of the marble basins on the side and proceeded to aggressively scrub my skin off. Literally, he was removing copious amounts of skin that balled up and stuck to my body hair. Then came the body shampoo. He was not shy and only barely avoided my more personal parts. He washed off the thick coat of foam by dipping a bowl in the basin and repeatedly dumping it over my head. He left me to relax on the slab again and peace returned. Sure I felt like roadkill, but a very relaxed roadkill. After a recovery period, I visited the "hot" room. I made the mistake of stepping out of my sandals briefly and almost scorched my feet on the floor. It took me a few minutes to be able to sit on the blisteringly hot bench. The hot room was aptly named. I stayed for a few minutes and returned to the serenity of the slab. When I finally left, it was reluctantly on several counts; it was a wonderful relaxing place to be and my body did not want to exert the energy required to walk.

Day 282 A Cool Turkish Delight

The hidden cistern in Istanbul is a perfect place to go when you are the at your most hot and sweaty. An inconspicuous little building off a busy intersection leads down to a giant underground cistern (water storage cavern) with an elevated walkway through the 336 columns that hold up the street and buildings above. It covers about 100,000 sq ft (9,000sq m) and is a delightfully peaceful, cool, and dark place that is a heavenly respite from the hustle, bustle, and heat above. In the back there are a couple giant Medusa heads taken from somewhere and intentionally installed one upside down and one on its side. They do not know why. The water is riddled with goldfish, some are enormous and obese.

Apparently, there were some scenes from a James Bond movie filmed here, but I do not remember which one.

Day 281 Turkish Dance Party and the Sultan's Pad

I took a morning ferry cruise up the Bosporus about half way to the Black Sea and back for only about 4.50 USD for the hour and a half round trip. The large ferries are an experience since the captains treat them like small launches and cruise close to each other and whip them around with remarkable speed.

The view was not as entertaining as my fellow passengers. A group of teenage Turkish girls came on and gave the ferry guy a CD to play. From the time we started moving until we stopped it was a Turkish dance party. The girls danced with each other and a group of older men danced away from them. Men and women do not dance together in public here.

I headed back through the Indian Spice market, which is a trip. The smell is indescribable and intoxicating. The enormous piles of colorful spices at so many shops is amazing. They also sell candy nougats with tourist appealing names like Viagra and Aphrodisiac. Of course, they call almost everything with nuts and honey and aphrodisiac. I don’t think they believe it. They have merely learned what sells to tourists.

In the afternoon I went to the royal palace. Oh to be a Sultan! To have a grand and spectacular palace, all the fine food you can eat (they were all fat), a harem of the prettiest and most talented girls, over-the-top jewels, precious metals, and art, armies to control, countries to conquer, countless minions….

The palace in Istanbul is beautiful. Not only for its ornate decoration, but also its lovely expansive grounds and its perch above the Bosporus River, with a view of Europe and Asia. The picture is of a scale model of the palace as it still is now. The harem was okay, not as splendid as I expected. What really got me was the treasury. They liked really big jewels. The golden throne studded with emeralds was cool. As were the rock crystal pitchers used to hold drinking water for the Sultans. Photos were not allowed anywhere near the treasury and they were very serious about it, so I can't show you sorry.

Day 280 Turkish Food!

Turkish breakfast was a refreshing change. Tea or Turkish coffee, one hard boiled egg, a chunk of feta, dried oiled olives, sliced cucumber, tomato, butter, honey, jam, and bread. After not eating traditional heavy English style breakfast for so long, the idea of fried eggs, potatoes, and sausage is not appealing.

I stopped at a strange little food stall in the Grand Bazaar where everyone, about 9 people including me, crowded around a tall table with bins of green things in the middle. What you do is order lamb or beef, pork (not seen here) and they give you a rolled up meat filled pita, a pile of parsley, pickle strips, and grilled, long green peppers (anaheim) on a piece of paper on the table. You sprinkle the parsley with lemon juice and salt, and as you eat the pita, you stuff your mouth with the other things. As you need more, you can grab it out of the center bins.

I did what I usually do and ordered the strangest looking thing to drink. Salgam, not only falls into the strange category, it defines it. I was startled by the taste of this dark purple/brown liquid. It is spicy, fermented, purple carrot juice. I drank it all, out of fascination rather than pleasure. My curiosity was satisfied and I will not be buying it again.

Another meal was a scorchingly hot ceramic dish with beef, tomatoes, cheese, and spices. It was delicious with the chewy and plentiful pita bread. I could eat this many times.

The Turkish custom of having tea all hours of the day is interesting in that you see everyone with a little saucer, spoon, and glass cup. I mean everyone. People sitting by a blanket strewn with trinkets have a cup, clerks in stores have cups, people everywhere have them. They get delivered and collected by whatever café is near. Walking around you can see forgotten empty cups and saucers sitting on the sidewalk, on electrical boxes, railings.... everywhere. The tea is typically a bitter apple tea that you can sweeten to taste.

Day 279 Mosques, Dervishes, Bazaars, and More!

For the first mosque I have ever visited, I chose the Blue Mosque, so named for the blue tiles covering the interior. Unfortunately, its grandeur draws the tourist hoards who are incessantly piling off buses and following a guide holding up a little flag so no one gets lost. I queued up with the masses, took off my shoes, put them in a plastic bag, and went in. I was happy to see that the visitors are restricted to one side so that you get an unblemished view of the rest of the enormous and grand mosque. I love the large metal light frames, in various designs, that hang low over the floor to provide a subdued light. The support wires go straight up to the very high ceiling to avoid a bunch of angled wires that would confuse the view of painted and tiled ceiling. The many high windows and lights coupled with the light colored tiles makes for a pleasant cheery atmosphere that is a nice change from the slew of dreary and oppressive churches I have seen.

I sat in my socks for about half an hour on the prayer carpet and enjoyed the view, doing my best to block out the fast moving armies of consumerism. The tour people have very little time. They spew out of the buses, fly through the sites, snap some photos, buy some overpriced trinkets, and then they are gone to see the next wonder. Most of the people in the mosque were from one of the behemoth cruise ships parked in the harbor. I can see the desire and convenience of a guided tour, and have taken small ones myself, but I much prefer the luxury of taking as much or as little time as I need to absorb the wonders of the world. On the way out I was surprised to see the number of people that threw their shoes onto the mat that was covered with pictures and signs saying “no shoes here.”

Next, I went over to the Hagia Sofia, a former church converted to a mosque, now a museum. The size of the place is truly overwhelming. Pictures do not do it justice. It would be better if you read about it on Wikipedia. I won’t even try to pathetically describe it other than to say it is refreshingly un-restored for the most part, and it blew my mind how big it was. When I get up the gallery, you will see.

Next I walked the 5 blocks to the Grand Bazaar. At first it is a nice neat collection of more expensive looking shops arranged down long covered streets. My initial disappointment was eased as I plunged in the warren of little shops behind. Even as cluttered and small as the alleyways were, they stayed on a grid pattern so it was easy to keep my bearings. I saw many things I wanted to buy, but self-control and the knowledge that I would have to carry it, won out. That is until I went out of the official covered area into the back streets with less official vendors.

Even though I do not wear a watch when I travel, I am a watch whore. I am always looking. I could not pass up a lovely large Panerai Luminor with an azure bezel. I decided what I wanted to spend and stuck to it, trying to walk away a few times as the vendor called me back. He tried his best, but I did not budge. He seemed upset but he sold it to me for half of what I paid for similar ones in Brasil. I managed to avoid the rug merchants completely in Istanbul, a major accomplishment.

On the way back to the hostel there were several outdoor cafes that had a band and a whirling dervish spinning and spinning. It is fascinating to watch them. For a while anyway. They spin and spin and spin with their arms out, head cocked to one side, and skirt flying out in a large cone. That is all they do. The music was nice.

Day 278 Istanbul, Turkey

Crossing the border into Turkey was interesting. Bulgarian immigration and customs was straight forward; get off the bus, line up, get stamped, get back on the bus drive a 100 yards to just before the Turkish border. A few people got off and we on the bus waited for them while they went to a little booth about 50 yards away. By chance, I was sitting next to an American guy that was working in Turkey. He went and asked in Turkish if we needed to go the booth. Yes.

Over at the booth, we bought twenty dollar postage stamps that go in the passports to show you have paid the fee. Back on the bus, a Turkish policeman checked our passports, rubber stamped them, and we drove about 100 yards to the duty free shop for everyone to buy cigarettes. Then we drove another 100 yards, pulled out the luggage, and stood there while the customs agent poked through everyone’s but my bag. I must not have been looking overly suspicious that day. And then we were off again, only an hour later.

The name Istanbul, formerly called Constantinople, has always been heavy with exotic flavor to me. Straddling the Bosporus River, which is the division between Europe and Asia, it is the gateway to strange and very foreign lands. At fourteen million people the size of the city is imposing. The main bus station, a small city unto itself, is testament to the importance of buses in the country. Trains are inefficient, few, and slow compared to the buses. My American friend helped me find my way to the old town via metro and tram line and gave me one piece of advice, “People are going to stare at you, don’t think anything of it. It is just their custom.”

I walked two blocks, looked up to my left at the enormous Hagia Sofia Mosque and said “wow” then I looked to my right at the Blue Mosque and said “oh, wow!” Individually, either of these imposing landmarks is impressive. Together, with the lovely park space separating them, they give a surreal feeling like you are in a giant theme park that has been designed to overwhelm. My hostel was only a block off the park area. Up on the rooftop terrace/bar I enjoyed a cold beer, a crisp salad, the view of both Mosques and the river with Asia on the opposing shore, and free wi-fi. Things were starting very well. When the evening call to prayer started and I could hear the mullahs from three different mosques singing the Koran verses, their mixed voices echoing through the streets from the minarets was like mainlining exotic flavor; it was strange, fascinating, and exhilerating. I loved it.

Day 277 Plovdiv, Bulgaria

Plovdiv started well. That is not always the case.

First the instructions to the hostel were clear and easy. Second, the city is lively and charming with a great pedestrian street and old town. Third, the hostel was located right in the middle of the old town. Fourth, they knew my name when I walked in. Fifth, there were half liter bottles of beer in the fridge next to the front desk for only 50 cents ( but I took a proffered cup of coffee first). Sixth, it was a cozy, comfortable hostel with lost of character, decent security, and free wi-fi. Seventh, it was cheap at only 11 euro/night. Eighth, there were some cool guys to talk to.

Michele from Italy, a literature teacher, had ridden his motorcycle through 45 countries. Then there were a couple American guys, a Canadian, and of course, a couple Aussies. The Americans played duets on a violin and a Chinese instrument. It was cool to hear “Blister in the Sun” by the Violent Femmes on an erhu.

The city is famous for its six hills. I climbed to the top of three of them. On top of one is a giant statue of a Russian soldier to honor their help in liberating the country. It was a perfect spot to relax in the shade, take in a view of the city, and rest after the sweaty climb to the top. I also took in the ancient amphitheater, the Roman forum, a couple beers, a kebab, and a bit of Scotch that the other Americans were trying to get rid of before they moved on.

Talking to people, it seems like I am going the wrong direction. Everyone else had just come from Istanbul and that is where I am headed.

Day 276 Sofia, Bulgaria

To me, Skopje, Macedonia has a much better feel than the Greek cities I visited. It looks cleaner and the buildings are more attractive. The joke in Greece was that the only things in worse shape than the ancient Greek buildings are the new Greek buildings. There is a substantial truthful basis for this joke. I was happy to jump a bus to Bulgaria.

Bulgaria is known for its countryside and natural splendor. Not anything over the top, must-see, only very lush green mountains and valleys. I was told by some people that the Black sea coast is nice to see, but then they found out that I went to the coast of Italy and Greece, and then they said that maybe I could skip it. From what I saw of the countryside from the bus, it looks like life is still very close to the land in most areas. It certainly is very green here, with dense forests covering the mountains and hills.

Who else is visiting Sofia, Bulgaria these days? The guy I can’t seem to get away from, George Bush. His European tour is coinciding a little too much with mine. I hear that they loved him in Albania. Bulgaria greeted him more like every other country has, with protests. I guess we have not given Bulgaria as much money as Albania.

On a whim I went and saw Spiderman 3 at the mall here. It was one of the nicest theaters I have ever been in. It even had assigned seats; I got to choose from a computer display when I bought the ticket. The mall could have been in any rich country, you would never guess that it is in a country as poor as Bulgaria. The movie was okay, predictable, and trite with good action.

Day 273 Feeling Insecure in Thessaloniki

I went for the cheap hostel option in Thessaloniki. I don’t need much and thought I would get the basic accommodations for my 13 euro. I was right and wrong. Right in that it was basic accommodation and wrong in that my definition of basic accommodation includes a tiny amount of security and hygiene. The hostel is always wide open, including all the rooms, and is only attended for a few hours in the morning and evening. Another traveler mentioned that everyone gets robbed here so don’t leave anything alone. Great! On the outside of the usually vacant office there is a sign that says to throw your stuff on a bed and they will be back later. The beds were more like stiff bundles of fabric than mattresses and the pillows were fabric covered flagstones. The bathrooms were scary. The shower was four floors down in the basement (dungeon) and was apparently very scary. After seeing the bathrooms, I decided not to try to shower there. People coming back from the shower looked more emotionally traumatized than refreshed.

I came to Thessaloniki primarily to see ancient Vergina, the burial site of the father and son of Alexander the Great (they are 90% sure it is them). After securing my pack with my exo-mesh bag, I headed out with a couple other guys, an Aussie and a Spaniard, and all of my valuables. It took two buses and hours of waiting to get there.

The tombs were covered by a giant tumulus, which is a really big mound of dirt and stone debris designed to impede tomb robbers. The modern discoverers removed the mound and built a museum in the same shape and covered it with dirt to simulate the effect. The artifacts they found are incredible. Gold, silver, ivory and other artifacts were plenitful and elaborate. The underground tomb entries are like decorated building facades. No photos at all were allowed so you will have to use your imagination. It was very cool and worth the visit. We ended up having to wait for almost 3 hours to get the first bus back and then another hour and a half to get the second. It was a whole day and 26 euro for 45 minutes of splendor. Fair enough except the bad thing is that I missed the train to Macedonia and had to stay another night in the “hostel.”

My Canadian friend Chad warned me about the Greek people’s “obtuse way of treating you well.” Except for the hostel in Corfu, (and people trying to get you into their restaurant) all through Greece I felt like I was one of the faceless masses of tourists. People very often would provide whatever service they were business of providing, but I was lucky if they even bothered to look at me.

One American guy I talked to that is living in Greece thought that the Greeks are afraid of being too friendly because it somehow shows weakness. I think that they are too jaded and do not see any reason to try to be friendly. After all, if someone doesn’t like the way they are treated, does it matter if they go away and are immediately replaced by another tourist? It appears that the Greeks feel they have no reason to charm people that they see as an endless stream. I do not know if it is because all the countries in the area have a history of hating each other and that causes them to be closed and cautious with strangers or if there is something else. Greece was great for the beaches and sea, not my favorite for the people (the warmth of the Brasilians is hard to beat).

Day 272 A Few Nads Too Many

It has been a while since I have been in a big museum and the Athens Archeological Museum does not disappoint (and the museum was free today). There are many great pieces that are worth studying. Of course there are also tons of figurines and pottery that quickly all look the same. I applied my normal advice. Just keep moving. Only stop at what jumps out at you. Trying to absorb everything is looking for burnout and a boring experience.

I do not understand the ancient Greek fascination with the male body. Almost every single depiction of the male body had the genitals exposed. This includes scenes where it doesn’t seem appropriate; the lower flap of what few clothes they wore is always open with the goods hanging out for God and everybody to see. And then you look at the depictions of woman, and almost without exception, they are wearing heavy wool garments. Maybe the women were not attractive back then. Or maybe the Greeks were just really screwed up.

I didn’t think I could get tired of phyllo based food products, but I think the oil and fat is getting to me. I am really longing for fruit and vegetables. The salad choices here are pretty limited in most places; you have you choice of chef or Greek salads (surprised?).

I saw everything I really wanted to see in Athens. It doesn’t have as interesting character as do the other big European cities.

I will be taking a six hour train to Thessaloniki on the northeast coast and then will head to the Macedonia.

Day 271 Athens, Greece

I took the underwhelming 8 euro walking tour to see the refurbished old Olympic stadium, a few statues, an arch, a few columns, a park, and shopping areas. The “tour guide” was a young guy with a nasty hangover and no sleep, and thus had difficulty being an efficient and informative guide. It was supposed to be a tour of all the important archeological sites, and yet, somehow we never even went near any museums, the Agora, the Acropolis, or much else. The best part was when he showed us were to get the best and cheapest gyros around.

I headed up to the Acropolis on my own, paid the 12 euro, and climbed the hill. The Acropolis sits upon a huge rock above Athens, providing an unobstructed view of the overcrowded valley. About forty percent of the country lives in the greater Athens area. The city looks like it goes on forever.

Even though the place was covered with cranes and scaffolding, I was impressed. They are doing a multi-year restoration project that requires the dismantling and reassembly of the buildings; quite a job when you realize the size of the buildings. I can only imagine how much work it was to build the place up on the hill in the first place without the aid of modern equipment. I sat in awe for a while, admiring the Parthenon, caryatids, columns, friezes, and the view. With that done, there is not really that much left to see in the city. There are a few more slightly interesting structures and the archeological museum. I have already seen some phenomenal ruins on my trip and I did not feel like seeing slightly interesting structures. The museum on the other hand is supposed to be good.

There are many kinds of hostels and the Athens Backpackers Hostel falls almost directly into the 20 something party palace. I only say almost because they have a kitchen for people to use. Other than that, the place is geared toward the gratuitous consumption of alcohol and the abuse of aural senses. In the evening I went up to the roof bar, had my free ouzo shot and a cheap beer while sitting crossed legged on a cushion and chatting with people, (the view was good) and then I went back down to sit in the window of the lower bar.

I was enjoying free-range bandwidth, trying to process photos for the galleries I have been neglecting, as an assortment of people stopped by, puzzled that I was working, and kept trying to get me to join in drinking games. They had to yell because the volume of music and other people yelling over the music. It was easily in the hearing damage range. I had to assure them that, yes indeed, I really had to work, and that I would otherwise love to join them. I think I spent as much time convincing people that I wanted to work as I did actually working. I went to bed early (10:00) and then got up at 2:00am to call Patricia; the time zone difference can really be a pain sometimes.

Day 271 More (or Less) Bus Fun

When they said I could get a direct bus from Corfu to Athens, I said, “What?” How do you get a direct bus from and island with no bridges? The bus takes the ferry, that’s how. The bus left 30 minutes late, which is not unusual, drove two blocks, and we all got off, which is unusual. We got off to buy ferry tickets, got back on the bus, drove another block, and we got off again to board the ferry. On the other side we got on the bus again and were on our way. Why we didn’t just catch the bus on the other side I will never know.

It was an twelve hour overnight bus with too little leg room and too many people. I was not comfortable and slept fitfully. In the middle of the night, during one of the few times I was sleeping of course, one of the tires directly under my seat blew with a loud bang. We stopped at the next rest stop and all had to get off so the bus could go find somewhere to fix the tire. I was not feeling cheery at the time, sitting on a curb, wishing I could sleep, and having no idea when the bus was coming back. It was only a half hour, thank god.

We got into Athens and I found the center city bus that went to within a few blocks of the metro, took the metro, and walked to the few more blocks to the hostel. It was seven in the morning and too early to check-in and they were not sure there was a vacancy yet. I was thankful that it was a relaxed hostel; they said to have the free breakfast and crash on a couch until they could find me a room.

Day 270 Corfu, Greece

I crossed the Adriatic sea between Saranda, Albania to Corfu, Greece in a sleek futuristic looking hydrofoil ferry in only 20 minutes. I wandered the old city for a while, amazed at the incredible number of trinket shops, the most I have seen in any one place, found some oppressed bandwidth in dire need of liberation, and then called my hostel with Skype for my free pickup.

The Sunrock hostel is 30 minutes away on the west coast, perched above one of the nicest, fine sand beaches on the island. The hostel is run by a family that has an organic farm and serves great organic dinners and breakfasts as part of the 18 euro a night. They were out of dorm space so I got a free upgrade to a private sea view room with bath. Very nice. The first thing I did after dumping my bags was go the half kilometer down the beach to the cliff diving spot. It was only about 20 feet (6m), not too high but still high enough to be fun. The water is so clear that it doesn’t look deep enough even though it is about 25 feet deep. Later, I bought a mask and snorkel from the hostel (a mere 5 euro) and explored the submerged rocks and marveled at the colorful and not too shy fish.

The next day, I rented a scooter for 17 euro/day and explored the island. I have missed riding on my scooter so tooling around Corfu in perfect sunny temperatures was a delight. I found many more lovely beaches, drove through shady and serenely quiet olive groves, ate a cheap and tasty gyro at a local’s dive, and removed some skin from my arm. It was great cruising the island except for that last part. On one of the steep switchbacks returning from a secluded beach, some idiot young guys in a black car came flying around a corner as I was slowly making my way up. I was already on the far outside and still had to swerve more to the edge. Luckily, I wasn’t going very fast at all (and they did not hit me) but I had to lay down the scooter. The bruise on my arm is worse than the lost skin. It was a brief blip and didn’t ruin my day. I just thought, oh well, $&#@ happens, an kept going. When I returned the scooter there was no way for them to know that I laid it down because it was already so thrashed (whew!).

The island is known for being a party island is overrun by hedonistic and often drunk 20-somethings that have left their inhibitions at home. I loved the water and the natural beauty, but I was eager to leave after a couple days.