Pics from Amorgos

All around the mulberry bush . . . turns out they're pretty tasty!
Some of the local wildlife--cute little kitties.
Friendly local dogs (glad they're chained).
For some reason, it's weird to see geese paddling in salt water as if it were a lake.
Look! A frog! In a pool of water! In the Cyclades!

More Pictures

That wide gulf down the middle of the cobbled street is the gutter. You can see Naxos gets a lot of rain.
Happy Mother's Day!
I think I'd be afraid of letting small children use these stairs . . .
Note how the boat level and the horizon level don't match. L would've *hated* this several-hour journey. It was a pretty big boat to be so tippy. For so long.
Look closely--it's a goat in a boat!

Horse Pictures

Fedra, who ate bamboo the entire time we were out, seeing if my camera is tasty.
At the beach.
Stopping to tighten everyone's saddles. It was just before this stop that I noticed Fedra's roundness and lack of withers--every time we trotted, I was pretty sure the saddle was only staying on with luck.
Self portrait on horse.

Back on Amorgos

This will be quick, as it's dinner time and you don't want to see Taylors when they're hungry. We're back on Amorgos, where we spent several days three years ago. We found Dimitri, the somewhat eccentric hotel owner we stayed with last time, waiting at the ferry (no sign or anything, but we recognized him, and I should note he didn't know we were coming; he was just waiting to see if anyone wanted a room . . . which is generally an effective way to get guests . . . if you have a sign . . . ), and we're even back in our old room. It's 25 Euros per night, and has a double bed, a single we use as a flat surface, a crazy, down-at-the-heels easy chair, a balcony, a teeny kitchenette, and a bathroom. Evidently, we're leaving Greece just in time--we take off the 23rd of May, and on the 25th prices double and crowds increase exponentially.

Amorgos is wetter than many of the other Cyclades. For instance, it rained here once or twice over the winter, and there are at least a handful of springs around the island. It's a long narrow mountain range, covered with crumbling terraces in the lower elevations, and with some surprisinly tall olives and even an oak in some of the narrow, steep valleys. The hilltops actually look a lot like the Scottish Highlands, only tilted a bit. Amorgos isn't quite all acute angles and precipices like Folegandros, but it's far from flat. Anywhere.

I do have a couple pictures of Fedra the horse and--wonder of wonders in the Cyclades--a frog, in a spring-fed pool of water--but I can't seem to get them off my flash drive right now.

My cold has progressed . . . on to Ian . . . so all's pretty much going as expected here. We'll be on Amorgos another 5 nights, and then we'll be starting on our way to a new part of our adventure . . .

Horse!

Erika, this one's for you.

I was thinking the other day about how long it had been since I was been on a horse (maybe two months? Maybe less? Can't be bothered to do the math . . .), and how I didn't really miss it, surprisingly enough. But then we got to Naxos, and everywhere we went--literally--we saw a sticker for Naxos Horse Riding, "horses for advanced riders and beginners," with a number to call. All of a sudden, my familiar prepubescent obsession with horses came back with a vengeance, so I called, and joined yesterday evening's sunset ride (Ian got a haircut and did some works). Iris Neubauer asked on the phone how much experience I had and I said "30 years", and she sounded excited and promised me a horse that would be fun to ride.

Iris is German, so the whole thing was incredibly well organized, and she was right--she had horses for beginners and for advanced riders, and everyone in between. I was put on Fedra (Phaedra), a lovely white and freckled Lusitano/Andalusian mix who was taller than the Naxian horses most people were on, and not quite as bomb proof (read: more fun to actually ride.). The most beginner of the group was a late middle-aged British man with one prosthetic leg; both of us had a great time, and felt that our mounts were chosen well for our abilities. Fedra was built much like my dear friend Shadow--i.e. no withers and very round after her winter of not too much work--and would probably have been a perfect horse for bareback riding through the waves, if we'd been allowed to remove saddles.

Our ride wound through rustling, creaking bamboo forests (I have a scrape across one cheek from an errant, wind-blown stalk that makes me look at bit like the Joker), around fields full of world-famous (so we were told) Naxian potatoes, and eventually onto the beach for a sandy gallop and a trot back through the shallow waves. Fedra really was pretty calm through everything until we got to the beach, and then some flapping flags freaked her out and she pranced around a bit and pretended they were going to attack her. She was irritated at me for not letting her gallop ahead of everyone else when we galloped (we were second in line after the guide), so she pranced around a bit more and tried to kick the horse behind her. At the beach we paused for 15 minutes at a cafe and had sodas and water and used the bathroom; when I got back on, Fedra, impatient to be on the move again, started digging holes in the sand with her left front hoof. This was all fine until she caught her foot on some long slender stick which evidently reminder her of a snake; she leapt around a bit like a big goof for a few seconds, but then calmed down again and the return home was uneventful.

On the ride I met a young American woman, K (or C?) on her first trip to Europe. She joined us for dinner, which allowed us to order more than the usual two dishes, and, since we had someone to talk to, actually made dinner last more than about 20 minutes. Also, the proprietor gave us a a 1/2 liter of wine on the house (to go with the 1/2 liter we'd bought), then dessert on the house (something his children had made up for his wife to cook for them--cookie crust, thick custard middle, pink jello top), and some little shots of Kitron, the local liqueur, also on the house.

In all, a fine Naxian day (aside from the fact that I have a cold).

And a couple corrections, which Ian pointed out (my fact checker, i.e. me, isn't as careful when she's typing directly into blogger at an internet cafe): The place we stayed on Folegandros was Anemomilos Apartments, and our conversation about St Pantalaimon actually had me saying "St Pantalaimos," to match "St PantaMIMEus," because that's what the St was called on our map. But I think everything else is more or less correct.

Thanks for reading!

And, the last pictures for now . . .

Me in a narrow street . . .
House for sale on Sikinos!
Late ferry unloading on Sikinos (we were at the one restaurant in town, looking down on the scene)
Ian coming out of our bathroom in Lucas rooms. Note the interesting shelf and mood lighting above his head.
On the ferry to Naxos, where we are now Conversation: Ian: "I seem to remember a place that I think is a barber shop . . . or it's a gyros place." Me: "Yeah, I know what you're talking about . . . I can't remember either."

Turns out, the place is Mustache Gyros. Yum.

Well, You Were Tired of Me Writing, Right?

That's our studio perched there on the top of that distant cliff.
Here we are on Sikinos now, at the lovely and friendly Lucas Rooms.
A carving on a random stone in the middle of an old footpath. How old? Could be days, could be millenia.
This tractor is likewise old.
And this donkey is about to add to the population.

Yet Again, Even More Pictures . . .

Sprite's Limon Plantation.
Another sweeping view.
Calin scratching a friendly goat. After she was done, her hand smelled like cheese.
The Church of St Pantalaimon, in its pastoral setting.
The pool at our hotel. The rock was really cool to play on.

Still More Pictures . . .

Calin's deciding whether to jump. Ian's deciding whether to push her.
Sheep will graze anywhere. Here, they're below our bedroom window.
Breakfast on our balcony.
Late evening, everything turns blue.
This truck was evidently here when they repaved the road.

More pictures . . .

More beautiful clear water.
Bell tied to keep from ringing in the Meltemi, the wind from the north that blows all summer because of the Sahara.
The view from the top of the highest peak on Folegandros, which I hiked up a couple days ago. In the far distance is the Panagia chuch above Hora, where we stayed.
Another church.
Brave little flower!

Pictures!

I was walking on a low road . . .
The courtyard of the church of St Pantaleimon. Conversation: Calin: "Who's Pantaleimon the patron saint for?" Ian: "I don't know." Calin: "People who play Charades." Ian: " . . . " Calin: "Oh, I'm sorry, that would be St PantaMIMEus." Yeah.
Ian hiking down a hill. Or up a hill.
Hippo Rock.
Wading in clear, clear water.

Afternoon Stroll

Every afternoon, after Ian's finished his morning works, we take a stroll somewhere new on the island. These strolls generally involve elevation lost and gained of several hundred vertical feet. Occasionally we have a dip in the crazy blue Aegean as our reward . . . for the downhill. As you know, we live at the top of a cliff. We've frequently marvelled at the uphills, and how it appears we're merely scaling a cliffside. It's also amazing how fast you can go up a hill, particularly when it's essentially like climbing a rude set of stairs. At times, it seems that the environment here is made up of only 5 elements--sun, rock, thorns, plummeting cliffsides, and goats. Of course, we climb in sandals--Ian in Chacos, me in the new open-toed Keens.
We're always smugly exausted and can't believe we went so far by the time we get home.
Yesterday afternoon we set out in a new direction, following a trail to a little settlement, and eventually planning to hit a beach, then wend our way along an easy (i.e. paved) road the one km from the beach to the port, and catch the last bus the 3 kms back to our clifftop home. As we reached the middle of open, hot, thorny countryside, we came upon a quartet of middle-aged Europeans; two Brits, and two French.
"Are you out for a long walk?" the British man, wearing hearty hiking boots, shorts, and a purple tank top, greeted us.
"Well, uh, I guess so." Ian and I were non-commital. We have no idea how long our walks are. We usually forget to have a watch with us, and frequently we lose track of distance as well. "We're planning to take a trail down to Livadi beach."
"OH!" said the man. "You can't take that trail in those shoes! It's a trail, but it's like hiking there," and he waved at the rocky, thorny hillside behind us.
We tried to explain that we hiked every afternoon in such conditions, but he would have none of it.
"We walked up it," he said, "and the trail's easy to see, with piles of rocks and red paint dots marking it," (way more information than we usually get for trails!) "but it's way too long. And those shoes won't work."
"Maybe you should walk up that hill to the church up there instead," his wife suggested. "That would be nice."
"We would be completely lost, wandering around," the French man said, "if we hadn't found these people." His wife nodded, and also looked askance at our footwear.
"Mmmhmm," we said, and "Have a nice walk back." We parted company, found our trail, and had a glorious afternoon leaping down a rocky track, then swimming in the clear chill waters of Livadi Beach.
The patronizing of the English man was very, very mild . . . and therefore practically unnoticeable . . . and so therefore all the more irritating. "The thing that gets me," Ian said, "is that he said it was too far."
But then, I'd probably feel superior if it was two pounds to the dollar instead of the other way around.

Beautiful Folegandros

Travel in Greece in May is pretty much ideal. The weather gets hot but not scorching during the day, and the nights are cool, and therefore comfortable for sleeping. The first half-dozen tourists are trickling in, but for the most part the squares are still sleepy and occupied primarily by locals.
A few things I'd like to share:
1. Doing laundry in a sink by hand is tedious. However, it does allow for the upper body workout mostly missing from our hikes.
2. We're staying in a place called Anememolos Apartments, on the top floor, in a little studio. We have a sweeping, flying view off the top of a cliff out over ridiculous swimming-pool blue water. Misty distant dream islands float on the horizon, which appears to be rising up as your eyes follow it, presumably due to the shocking drop to the rocky beach directly below. Looking landward, thousands of years old ghosts till hundreds of acres of steep terraced hillsides. Sheep graze contentedly on a precipice below our window. The shower is like showering in an airplane would be--there's a tiny porthole window that looks out over open air and sea, no land in sight at all. Also, the shower is about 2 1/2 feet by 2 1/2 feet square, so it's about the same size as an airplane shower would be.
3. Our morning breakfast is Fage yoghurt (10% fat, YUM), with fresh fruit and local honey, eating on our flying verandah.
4. Donks (to borrow a term from Swallows and Amazons) are everywhere, comical ears pricked forward, snuffling at my cupped hands with their velvety muzzles, carrying old men and water along precarious trails to even more precarious flocks of goats, greeting each other joyously at dawn across the curved, steep, echoing hillsides.

And some Words of Wisdom:
I was out for a solitary hike yesterday morning while Ian worked. At one point, I turned west across the ancient terraces, choosing to avoid the church and farmyard to the south ahead of me. I lost my way, but after bumbling along for a bit in the thorns and granite and slate gravel, I came upon a clear track leading back in the direction of home. Soon, to my relief, I came upon a pile of donkey poop blocking the trail (goat poop, we've found, is no indication of a safe route for huumans). As I stepped over the pile and continued, I thought "Ever so often, a pile of shit lets you know you're on the right track."
And then I thought "Whoa, Calin. Deep."

Pictures from Milos

Boats don't have to be huge.
The valley we walked through . . . four times in two days . . . part of the reason I'm tired . . .
Nearing sunset.
Half litre of rose.
The catacombs (unofficial. Empty.)

The most beautiful dock we've seen. And ducks. And a cute boat. And crystal clear water.