Kerkyra

Wow, just when I thought I was done, done, done with Corfu. My neighbor (who I barely knew) moved out and left some crap in the hallway. I picked up some old foreign bills thinking what the heck. They sat, somewhat crumpled, on my desk for a while and I went to get rid of them, noticed the denominations (100, 500!) and hesitated. Then I stared at them for a bit and suddenly gasped -- seeing a perfect etching of of the stunning and unforgettable view of Corfu's Old Fort on one of them. example Wow. I don't normally attach meaning to this kind of coincidence. So... I won't. Yet.

Corfu Again

I guess the reason it took so long to post this is that much of my trip to Greece felt so quickly like a dream. A good dream, yes, but a dream. Hazy, not quite real and, in retrospect, really hard to capture.

Maybe it's the light, maybe it was the book I was reading*, maybe it was the too-good-to-be-true encounters... Who knows. I think what I'll do is just transcribe the notes I took from my little blue notebook bought in the only deli-type storefront mini-market I found in Old Town Corfu.

Lawrence Durrell's Prospero's Cell -- a "guide to the landscape and manners of the island of Corfu"

First, though, the romantic and true beginning. I'm not exaggerating and while it now feels really like a dream, this is what happened. After uneventful flights JFK to Paris to Athens to Corfu (phew) I dropped my bags at Hotel Astron (near the New Fort) and walked up through somewhat familiar windy streets to the cafe I thought G (from last trip, captured somewhere in this blog, nothing terribly important) might be. He was there, standing at the cafe where he works, back turned to me. Almost exactly like I had left him a year before.

I called his name and a little later we were zooming via scooter to Kanoni, arguably one of the more romantic places in Greece, a little island with a little church under the moonlight in a huge bay.

We canoodled for a bit and took off again through the streets of Corfu.

Because my friend worked a lot (mostly at night) the rest of the trip revolved around my obligatory solo site-seeing day trips (including to what --I was told -- is one of the most beautiful beach areas of Paleokastristas, which was ... nice.. pretty. Hills tumbling into the ocean. That kind of thing. Lovely.)

I'm not sure that the best part (worst? well, most real) for me wasn't trying to find the bus station (Blue. Or... Green. Can't remember but just that wonderfully simple) in the seedier, "realer" part of Corfu... downtown, perhaps? And then traveling with the locals, with stops to pick up and drop off piles of newspapers. The ticket man smelled quite ripe but won me over with his astonishingly impressive knowledge of NYC (he'd never been there but knew all the boroughs by name and racial makeup). All in all, a nice day trip (and for under 3 euros vs. 25+ for a cab. Yay me.)

There was also a super-long walk to what I was told was a very interesting historic place, the birthplace of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh and father of Prince Charles, a mansion poised above the large harbor of Corfu). The place was nice but nothing rivaling the Spreckles (sp?) in SF or a million French chateaux... But the Corfiots do seem very proud that PP was born there... and good on them.

As a side note, I nearly died there. The sidewalk ended at one point past the long and beautiful curve of the harbor and walking up a curvy road at twilight meant cars came THISCLOSE to wiping me out, for nearly half a mile, so... not so fun.

The best night for me began with G and I and three of his friends (truly nice guys). I found myself with them zooming by car to god knows where (and yes, I had a moment of wtf am I doing?) but we ended up in a bar featuring the most amazing George Michael impersonator. So dancing, drinking... what more could an American girl possibly ask for on a warm, starry night in Corfu?

Solo meals were a delight and a trial (see notes below) and usually centered around La Spianada, the expansive esplanade that serves as the focal point of Corfu Town, with its Italianate architecture and French-inspired boulevard-ness). Moments of pure touristic wide-eyed wondering combined with inward-looking moments of vacation-tempered contemplation. How happy I was.

High points of my al fresco dining included dealing with stray cats (one actually jumped on my table as I tried to eat sardines). Pigeons were also a problem, as were wasps, and ubiquitous African peddlars of bootleg DVDs. No biggie though.

RANDOM NOTES.

Breakfast - Greek salad (they contain no lettuce! and believe it or not, too much feta. Oh, but the olive oil... mmm)

Dinner: Resto Rex on Kapo St. Very good. Taramasalata! Finally! I thought there might be a shortage.

Changed hotels from Astron to Cavalieri (more stars, for whatever that's worth) as the former smelled bad. Sorry.

I try so hard not to be perceived as an Ugly American that I sometimes forget to have fun. Hey, look at my shoes, people! Not ugly. And NOT American...

Definitely hearing a few American voices (nice, actually). Wonder if I'd ever recognize a solo female U.S. traveler like myself. Sad that I'm not sure I would. Or that there ever are any...

Great mussels a la Grecque (tomato base with melty feta). Waiter spilled water on my iPhone. Insult to probably imagined injury.

What to do with myself tomorrow? Albania?

Had to ask for water again It's ok. I need to cultivate 3 new attitudes while dining alone. 1) I'm alone. I'm that cool and I know it. 2) I'm alone and I don't give a shit. 3) I'm simply superior to you because of either #1 or #2.

Serbian beeyotches at next table. Older man with stance and pants. Cream-colored jeans take some balls to wear at that age.

Americans ARE loud. Wine + jetlag = BAD

One night. Amaze (think that's the name of the place) on the water in the shadow of the Old Fort. Lights glimmering on rippling waves. A moon. Sitting on outdoor couch overlooking a small section of what is the Ionian sea. Idle talk, questioning glances.. filakias.. moments I'll never forget.

Neat to meet M. on Hotel Cavaliere balcony. 70-something man from DC (wife, Carol, inside getting ready for bed). He'd wisely purchased a small, plastic (4 euro!) chair for the tiny balcony he and C had enjoyed every year for the past 10. He apologized for his bare knees; he wasn't wearing pants. (!)

How much to tip. "Whatever you want" is NOT helpful. I settle on 10% or slightly more for waiters if they are nice. Cab drivers are NOT to be tipped. I hear. However, I tip Mario because he's nice. Though I thought maybe he'd pick me UP from the beach he dropped me off at (a sad beach, nice water but sad slightly dirty sand). It was a nice dream.

Met an ex-Air Force guy, 55, on the magical and deserted (that night) rooftop restaurant of hotel when I thought I was alone. A simple cough from the far corner of the roof and an amber glow alerted me to him. I called out hello and he invited me over to chat. He flies Gulf Stream planes now, for a very wealthy Lebanese fmaily.

He showed me cell-phone pics of his knee (he'd had a recent operation to repair it following a series of combat wounds. It was fixed up to the tune of a quarter million $ of government money with titanium rods and a ball and socket mechanism.) So I got to see the inside of a man's knee under operation (graphically) and after. Cool. Gross but cool. He's a walking modern medical miracle, actually. A mere 90 days after this amazing operation he had hiked up to the top of Corfu's Old Fort. Incredible.

Maybe the most interesting thing, to me, was the man's utter amazement at his own life. He was humbled, he said, by his own fortune and nearly overcome, every day, at his luck. He was quick to point out, however, that it didn't come overnight. He had worked hard for many years, had sacrificed family time and personal safety and .. was honored to be able to pass that experience and wisdom to his daughters.

I climbed up to the top of the Old Fort, too, alone on a clear blue day -- and with inappropriate high-heeled sandals. So there! Neat views, lots of tourists, quintessential Kerkyra experience.

Beware: it's much harder coming down.

More pictures here

I'm Hungry

It's funny -- I was posting my lame Greece videos on YouTube and stumbled across this one, at Yanni's restaurant in Paxos. We were right there! Same guy! Same restaurant! Like it was yesterday...

Notes on Greece sailing trip

Travel tales -- unless you're a Paul Theroux or a Bruce Chatwin or a Henry Miller, etc. etc. -- are like dreams: no one REALLY wants to hear them. The best tellings come out in dribs and drabs, detail by detail over a lifetime of recounting. So I'll keep it short. Pictures here.

I chose to go to Greece on somewhat of a whim -- an email from a stranger in NYC about a sailing opportunity in the Greek islands. I'll give you a few highlights but not everything here. I won't talk about my traveling companions much but can tell you I learned from them and am grateful. I learned that I'd rather travel alone. No indictment implied, just the certainly that I'm at my best with companions who, like me, have an insatiable curiosity about others, about history, politics, literature and who can talk all night with passion and yet know exactly when to enjoy the silence. Notes:

• Greece in early September is hot. HOT HOT HOT HOT. The kind of hot that makes your face sweat and rivulets run down your back.
• Athens is sprawling and not terribly pleasant, with pockets of wonderfulness. The view of the Acropolis is everything it's made out to be: indelibly memorable and not to be missed at night.
• We took a bus across Greece to the Ionian and it was fine. One bathroom stop in 5 hours -- loved that! The bus station in Athens is like bus stations the world over: sad and dirty and fume-filled and confusing but this one had stray dogs to look at and the best coffee we had in Greece, bar none.
• In the tiny town of Vounitsa, we had to ask for a ride from a stranger who had wild hair and was covered in grease (ha). He turned out to be educated, bright and sanguine and a lovely man who drove us 14 kilometers and refused our money when we reached our port town.
• Our sailboat at Vounakis on the Ionian Sea was lined up with twenty or thirty or forty cookie-cutter boats and I didn't -- and never did -- feel its soul. I'm spoiled by a lifetime of learning appreciation for the "authentic" from my parents and carried with me an unfortunate sense of loathing for the fiberglass, everything-automatic, overly electronically-equipped vessel.
• Our one night in the port was a blast. After the rest of the crew (who had rented a car for the ride to Vounakis) left us (E. and I) I befriended two chaps from Manchester on a nearby boat who were finishing their own adventure (as part of a flotilla of sailboats -- something I'd not heard of). We spent most of the night with them, met the rest of their friendly flotilla-mates and generally drank too much and had more fun than I've had in nearly a year. Cheers, Philip and Patrick from Manchester -- and thank you.
• Our crew was eclectic and generally kind. Our conversations (for the 3 nights I spent on the boat) were completely forgettable. No books, no politics, no poetry.
• We got in some sailing and it was great. We averaged a paltry 3 knots, unfortunately, and had to motor, mostly, to our first stop, at the beautiful island of Meganisi.
• Swimming was a highlight: the water was warm and clear and an otherworldly blue (cobalt and seaglass green). Unfortunately, it was too warm for me (not refreshing, really) and the amazing cobalt blue reminded me of 2000 Flushes from my childhood.
• I left the boat at the island of Paxos (where I also left my heart). I needed to go to Corfu (had always had a thing in my head for the island) and the crew was experiencing some dissent and I was too hot and needed some downtime. I figured this out after a hot hike up the highest hill to a lighthouse that I couldn't access (Greek Army/Navy, I was told). I had meandered up, up, up and found myself gazing at the ancient olive trees and the winding paths and zigzagging stone walls and felt an incredible peace for the first time since leaving New York.
• Corfu. I felt very much at home there, despite the heat. It's an amazing place, with an Old Town like most Old Towns that charmed immediately. Our hotel, Hotel Astron, was perfect: not too expensive but newly renovated with a cool marble lobby and even cooler room looking out to the sea and the New Fort. I highly recommend it.
• A highlight of Corfu for me was a solitary afternoon. I decided to visit Kanoni, mentioned in The Colossus of Maroussi by Henry Miller which I had been re-reading (or trying to). Another was a late night of wine and music near the top of the New Fort with a couple of local boys.
• After 2 nights in Corfu, we flew back to Athens to start our long trip home. We had a scary time in the taxi on the way from the airport to our hotel near the Acropolis: the car died, right in the middle of a tunnel, with a blind turn behind us, motorcycles and Mac trucks whizzing by at 90 miles an hour. I really thought there was a good chance we'd be killed. But we weren't.
• The flight from Athens to JFK is an appalling 10.5 hours. I can't recommend Delta for a trip this long (horrible in-flight entertainment, so-so food, expensive drinks).
• Finally, I don't know that I'll ever set foot in Athens again but plan to (god willing) return to both Corfu and Paxos in the off season one day soon. Yassou!

Backtracking

I've been reading backward lately. Backward and forward and back again. I begin New Yorker stories toward the end, read to the end and then go back the beginning. And I'm starting to do this with novels. It's completely unintentional but somehow rewarding. I'm sure the writers wouldn't approve but too bad.

I didn't update last week and I know you're all bereft. I was processing the wonderful 4-hour lunch I had with my two new buddies (from the gym). We sat outside at Bar Pitti and I felt like the luckiest girl on the planet.

And celebrating the successful outcome of C.'s scary operation. That is one strong, cool chick. I spoke to her while she was at the hospital and she sounded so... normal. In pain but truly sounding like herself. Which, of course, she is.

August in New York. Hm. No one's gonna make a song outta that one. And if I see one more girl wearing a skirt and boots in 90 degree weather, I don't know what I'll do. Nastiest trend EVER.

Okay. Counting the days until Maine on Thursday for Dad's birthday. I got him a vintage breadmaker on eBay and will pitch in for a slick automated wood-splitter. In return, I hope to get a boat ride.

Here's what sucks. Well, for me anyway. One of my few good girlfriends left in NYC just got a new job. In BEIRUT. Teaching at an American University. Good for her... "Sure, I'll visit you!" Well, you never know. If I make it back from Greece, I may have the travel bug bad. And according the fabulous Travel + Leisure, Lebanon is a cool place to visit. Most of the time...

Oh dear. My doppleganger Facebook friend, Kit Thompson in Brighton and Hove, UK, has listed her status as "is a tremendous ball of lesbian fail." That can't be good, whatever it means.

Mashed Potato Wrestling

Well, this is just great. Just when Maine is starting to get a reputation as a cool place, where smart people go to get away or to live a life of simplicity, honesty and beauty, along comes mashed potato wrestling to ruin it. From Boston.com:

Mashed potato wrestling is making its return to this year's Maine Potato Blossom Festival in Fort Fairfield. The festival in northern Maine's potato country is now in its 61st year paying tribute to the state's most valuable crop.

It's almost official. On Wednesday I can book my flight to Athens for the week of sailing the Greek Isles in mid-September. Yikes! It's gonna break the bank and I have no idea how long I'll actually be gone (I think it's stretching beyond my requested vacation week -- oops). But oh well. The nice captain sent the funniest e-mail, apologizing that there's only 2 heads on the boat, instead of the advertised 3. Not knowing him well (or even having met him yet) I refrained from the obvious joke(s).