Apologies...

Hi All-

Apologies for the infrequent posts--we have little access to internet these days which, in some ways, is a good thing.  Our little mountain top village of Drosopigi, in Greece, has no access at all.  We've come down to Gythion today for a couple of hours to check in.  Enjoy, and I'll post again when I can-

l.

Photos taken along the way

The Mani, Part 1

The Mani peninsula is the middle of the three Peloponnese fingers that stretch down into the Ionian sea.  It is a hot, dry land with mountains that reach right down to the water—guidebook authors write of its “stark beauty.”  

As we began our drive down the peninsula from Patras, where our ship had landed, we had to adjust to the Greek way of driving.  The local drivers seemed to have collectively decided that the wide shoulder flanking each of the two lanes was wide enough to be a lane in its own right, thereby turning creating a four lane road.  Cars passed each other willfully, on the left and the right.  Fortunately we had decided to take the more scenic route on smaller roads, which were much less traveled.

We stopped in XXX for some lunch and as I looked over the menu, I was once again, I was happy to be out of Croatia.  I ordered a tomato and a pepper stuffed with rice and spices and baked—delicious, and Greek salad.  Our waiter brought us a plate of watermelon to end the meal.  C.C. had lost a tooth in Croatia and had five euros burning a whole in her pocket, which she used to purchase a wooden sword to complete her knight costume.

We found an open supermarket on our way to Drosopigi, where we are staying, and stocked up on Greek yogurt, feta cheese, and other staples.  I found some meatballs that looked good and local in the freezer, but it was impossible to tell what kind of meat they were made with.  I asked the lone clerk, who had no idea what I was saying, so I set about making farm animal noises—I mooed, baahed, and oinked.  I was pretty sure they were made of beef, but making animal noises in another country is risky.  Dogs say “woof” in the US and “guau” in Mexico, for example.  Chickens say “cock-a-doodle-doo” in the US and “ki-ki-di-kee” in Spain.  So I found a picture of a cow on a box of milk. She nodded her head.  We bought the meatballs.  This is my first time ever in a country where I do not know the alphabet at all, and it is impossible even to sound out the words on signs and boxes. I’m used to being able to at least pick out the words in Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese.  No such luck here.

Our goal in choosing places to stay was to keep away from the throngs of tourists, and we seem to have succeeded.  My husband has a penchant for finding places that are perched on the edges of mountaintops, at the end of impossibly windy roads.  We have one of four apartments in a gorgeous stone building built in the traditional style by George, who welcomed us when we arrived.  His in-laws have lived in Drosopigi for generations.  The Philothea traditional houses have thick stone walls, and windows that provide amazing views of the sea below.  George finished construction late last year, so this is the first season guests have stayed in them.

Everything is simple and clean—white and off-white linens, marble sinks, a fabulous bathtub.  The window and door frames are painted Greek blue.  We have a terrace off the kitchen equipped with a table and umbrella, and a small balcony off of the master bedroom.  The kids sleep up in a loft, which they love.

We spent our first day getting settled, and drove into nearby Areopolis for fruit and vegetables, to walk around, and have some lunch.  It’s a small, quiet town, made quieter by the intense heat, which slows everybody and everything.  The metal slide and swings in the playground in the town square would have branded our children had they attempted to use it.

We ate lunch at a small taverna.  I ordered a vegetable stew made with zucchini greens and blossoms and it was delicious—who ever thought of eating zucchini greens?  Spaghetti Bolognese continues to be ubiquitous, so Milo remains happy.  We found watermelon and local cherries, peaches and plums at the produce market.  And piles and piles of greens—the ones that had been in my stew and a few other varieties besides.

The tiny church in town is of simple construction but elaborately painted, every inch covered with biblical scenes.  An enormous, rustic chandelier hangs low over the central space.

While eating dinner on our terrace, our neighbors arrived—Italian father, German mother, and 6-year old son, Oscar.  They seemed friendly enough.

The next day we drove down to Skoutari Bay to go to the beach.  “Another boiler,” C.C. proclaimed as she trudged out of the house.  It was.  39 degrees Celsius—I don’t know exactly what that translates to in Fahrenheit, but I know it’s more than 90, and that it is super hot.  Fortunately, George’s mother-in-law, Maria, had lent us a beach umbrella.  We had bought the kids flippers in Dubrovnik and distributed them on the beach.  They have become good little snorkelers on this trip, and paddles around happily for hours.  The water is very calm, and you can walk out forever without it getting too deep, so it’s perfect for them.  Indeed, given the sparse air conditioning around here, the water is really the place to be.

When he oriented us to the building, George explained that he had installed an ecological cooling system—he didn’t like the noise and the look of portable window units.  His system had involved digging several 90 meter holes into the ground into which he had inserted some kind of poles.   Somehow, all of this ends up cooling the floors of the units, which is supposed to cool the air itself.  The key is to close up all the window shutters at night because the sun comes in full blast early in the morning.  It works, sort of.  Except that Tuesday and Wednesday were SO hot that it was 28 degrees even in the apartment.  We spent our days floating in the sea.

We woke on Thursday morning to a fresh breeze—the heat had broken!  We had promised the kids a day around the house with no getting in the car, and that’s what we did.  We read books, watched movies, went for walks, and generally lazed about.  It’s good for the soul.

Dubrovnik to Bari to Brindisi to Patras

On Friday morning we packed up and drove to the port for our next ferry—this one to Bari, Italy.  We found a cozy upholstered booth in which we set up shop for the 7 hour ride, and the time went quickly.

Bari is on the east coast of Italy, down near the heel of the boot.  It’s more a place that people come and go from rather than a destination in its own right.  We arrived at about 8 and had made a reservation at a restaurant in the center of town that sounded good in the guidebook.  It turned out to be not only phenomenal, but also by far the least expensive restaurant meal we had eaten since we left Barcelona.  Terramina is a simple trattoria with a menu that changes every two weeks to take advantage of seasonal ingredients.  Alec and I shared a plate of local cheeses garnished with perfectly ripe figs and melon.  Then a salad of chopped lettuce, apple, nectarine, and pomegranate with a bright, citrusy dressing.  Bari is in Puglia, a region of Italy that prefers short, stubby pastas.  Orecchiette is everywhere.  We each had delicious pastas, and then tiny freshly made pastries—flaky round disks sandwiched with warm pastry cream.  I was SO happy to be in Italy, if only for 18 hours.

We took our time getting out in the morning—it was another day and we’ve learned that it’s best to take it slow.  Eventually we went for a wander in the old part of the city, which was purposely designed like a maze to keep outsiders on their toes.  The church houses a portrait of the Virgin Mary from the 8^th century, and it’s said that it was created from a sketch done by the apostle Luke, and is therefore supposed to be a true likeness.  It’s a beautiful work.

Having had some experience with ferry food, we also stopped into a salumeria for bread, cheese, and meat to bring with us on the boat.  We had some lunch and stopped for gelato on our way out of town. 

The drive from Bari to Brindisi—the departure point of our next ferry—took just over an hour.  This is by far the biggest ship, and the longest ride, we have taken so far.  We have a little cabin—which is actually much bigger than I expected, with room enough for me to throw down my yoga mat and stretch—with two sets of bunk beds, a bathroom and a little window.  The ship has a disco, and even a pool on one of the decks.  We took the kids for a swim after it had been filled with sea water, just as the sun set.  They thought it was super cool to be swimming in a pool on a ship, with water all around. 

And now we are all tucked in, ready to sleep as we head south to Greece.  We arrive at 11 in the morning and, after a 5 hour drive, we’ll be set for the next week.

Dubrovnik

There had been a snafu with our apartment in Dubrovnik, and we had had to change to another place, which would not be available until the day after we had planned to arrive.  Instead of changing locations in Dubrovnik, we decided to spend a night in Mali Ston, a small village on the Peljesac peninsula, near where the ferry would take us.  Mali Ston, and its next door neighbor village Ston, are famous for their oysters and mussels.  An enormous wall from the middle ages connects the two.  We made a reservation at the “presidential suite” of the Hotel Ostrea—the oyster hotel; it was the only room big enough to house the four of us. 

After checking in, we got some lunch at a restaurant right on the water.  We started with a dozen oysters, which were fabulous.  Alec also tried some oysters with dill basil sauce, but the sauce was a bit congealed, and a too-thick oyster soup.  My mussels with white wine and garlic, on the other hand, were quite good.  We were all pooped from the move out in the morning and the heat, so we napped and read, and then headed out sometime after four to drive along the peninsula, which is a well-known wine region.  I had read that Grgich Hills, a terrific Napa Valley winery, had a sister winery there, and I wanted to check it out.

We found it, and learned that the owner, Mike Grgic, is Croatian and owns both.  He started the Napa one in 1977 and returned to Croatia 20 years later to found the Croatian version.  This one makes only two wines—one red and one white.  I find the Croatian reds to have too much of a bite for me—they are highly alcoholic and very hot in the mouth, tannic and sharp; perhaps I’d find them more appealing in cooler weather.  The white was pleasant enough, and I bought a bottle to put in the fridge and share with Margo and Gregory in Dubrovnik.  We explored Ston on our way back, Milo scootering through its old streets. 

* * *

Alec, Milo and C.C. swam right after breakfast on Tuesday, floating in the water for a long time as an antidote for the heat, which is oppressive even in the morning.  The hotel internet finally got fixed as we were packing up, so we stayed in the room an extra hour to pay bills, respond to pressing emails, and download a bunch of movies and books for the next leg of our trip.

The drive from Mali Ston to Dubrovnik took less than an hour; we found the house Margo and Gregory had discovered for us all, down a pedestrian alley off of a busy street, then up some stairs and through a gate that led to a beautiful garden and large house.  They rented an apartment on the first floor, and ours was on the third floor, the top of the house.  It was perfect—neat and cozy under the eaves, with lots of light.  And the air conditioning worked just fine.  Going back to the busy street and turning right took us to the old city in a 5 minute walk.  Going down to the pedestrian alley and turning right led to a beautiful park with large old pine trees and more steps leading down to the sea.

Dubrovnik—and especially the old city—is gorgeous.  We have been in a whole slew of medieval walled cities this year, and Dubrovnik’s is by far the most magnificent.  The white stone buildings, the red roofs, the siting right on the edge of the water.  It’s gorgeous.  We had dinner outside on a plaza—mediocre pasta with mussels, a good salad—and wandered through the streets before turning in for the night.

* * *

I woke up early the next morning—before anyone else—and decided to put on my sneakers and take a brisk walk before it got too hot.  I found myself pulled toward the old city again, which was blissfully quiet.  Dubrovnik is a popular stop for cruise ships, and by midday the old city teems with tourists, buskers, vendors.  I found a farmer’s market in the center and bought sweet strawberries, blackberries, apricots and fresh flowers.  I picked up staples at the market on my way home, and got back to find everyone waking up and hungry for breakfast.

We decided to bite the bullet and explore the old city for an hour or two, before the heat went from oppressive to deadly.  C.C. was on a quest to find some knight and mythical creature figurines for her castle.  It seemed like a reasonable quest, given that we were in a medieval walled city.  We had no luck.  We asked a shopkeeper if he knew of any place that might sell them.  He shrugged and told us that Dubrovnik had had a largely peaceful history, so no knights. An hour of exploring was my limit—the streets were becoming more and more crowded with cruisers.  It’s beautiful, but the souvenir shops dominate, all selling variations on the same striped sailor shirts, red and white checked soccer jerseys, coral jewelry.  I needed to get away from the throngs.

We spent the afternoon at the swimming area closest to our house, a cove with a ladder going right down from the rocks into the sea.  A water polo court is set up a little way out.  Men play cards under a shady awning and drink beer or coke.  C.C. asked if she could join the water polo team and Alec told her she would have to be able to swim a kilometer in order to join.  “How far is that?” she asked.  “About 20 lenghts of this court,” he answered.  And off she swam, her efficient little dog paddle back-and-forthing for 20 whole lengths without stopping.  Pretty impressive.

* * *

We had decided to babysit for each other on the next two nights, and Wednesday was our night to go out.  Alec and I drove to Lapad, a neighborhood to the west of Dubrovnik, parked, and took a long walk on a trail edging the water.  Then we returned to the old city to check out an exhibition of war photographs that is reputed to be successful because the Serbs complain that it is too pro-Croat while the Croats maintain that it is too pro-Serb.  The images are haunting; it’s hard to believe, walking around now, that the country was ravaged by war only 20 years ago.  I had to leave before taking it all in—it was just too much.

We had dinner at a restaurant called Proto, which we had seen written up in the New York Times.  Despite the decent review, I kept my expectations low.  The setting was beautiful—a lovely terrace on the second floor, with a view of the lit up buildings and rooftops.  We took a risk and tried something called Adriatic scampi as a starter—a cold salad of shrimp, wild rice, melon, and avocado enrobed in a creamy dill dressing.  Although the dressing was a bit too ample for me, it was quite tasty.  We then shared a grilled scorpion fish and a dish of shrimp and tomato with polenta.  Both were solidly good, if not spectacular.  I will not miss Croatian food.

* * *

The old city of Dubrovnik is enclosed by a truly spectacular wall.  At two different points you can climb up a set of stairs to get to the top of it—a height of about 6 meters—and find a path that takes you around the whole city—about a mile and a quarter in total. We got up early on Thursday morning in the hope of getting there by about 8 am, when it opens. The kids protested, but we forced them to come with us.  Although they kept up the whining as we walked—too hot!  When will it ever end?!—we managed to enjoy ourselves.  The wall provides impressive views of the old city and the new city beyond.  Some of the rooftops are bright orange, others more timeworn; the orange ones were destroyed in the war and rebuilt recently.  There are a lot of orange roofs.

There was nothing to do but swim again in the afternoon, to get cool, so swim we did.