June 2004

June 29, 2004

It's been twelve hours since we came to Milan, and Laura and I are still both trying to figure it out; what, exactly, is wrong with this place? It's a strange thing how cities can give off a vibe that is instantly discernable to the visitor. It usually comes at you on the emotional level, giving you the subtle feeling of "x" when you are in "y".

In Thessaloniki, the feeling was that of a laid back - almost complacent - contentment. In Athens it was a sense of brusque and agitated frustration. In Paris...well, in Paris it felt like Paris. But Milan?

Laura's thought was that the place feels like the soul is missing, which fits somewhat with the question that I've been asking since we arrived, namely; where is everyone? Maybe it was the nearly abandoned subway system (I've never seen one so empty), or the layers of graffiti that are being scrubbed off by time, and not city workers. The city somehow lacks the spark of life that we've seen elsewhere in the country, which is a strange thing for an Italian city, and especially one as renowned as Milan.

That all being said, this is still Italy, and Laura and I have both felt a corresponding feeling of being at ease...and having our bellies full of goodness. Not that getting a belly-full here is always easy...

Another tale of 'service' to be compared with being served in Japan:

Laura and I were in downtown Milan today, walking around the enormous church in the piazza and slowly cooking in the mid-day sun. After spending the last weeks wearing our jackets for warmth in Paris, here in Milan the temperature had reached 30 degrees by 9:30 this morning. After a very short time of that, we decided to get out of the sun and get a drink.

And so we went to a cafe in the Piazza; a logical choice, as we were there to see the piazza anyway. We found a perfect cafe with seats overlooking the church, sat down, and waited. And waited. And waited. (I'll limit myself to only writing that three times.) And waited. (Ah, what the heck.)

There comes that time when you wait a long time for service where you become torn between two options; a.) you yell and make a scene, standing up and demanding service, or; b.) you sit in amused silence in order to see how long they could really keep you waiting. The people in the cafe seemed to fall into two camps. There were those who had drinks (the people who used strategy a.) and then there was us.

Five minutes went by, then ten. Two girls walked in, and I found myself going through that awkward inner monologue saying "Well if they get served before us then I'll, I'll...."

Just then the waitress was released from the dungeons below the cafe, and was striding through the cafe glowering at the customers and challenging anyone to ask her anything. She rushed over and yelled at some people who had sat down with Burger King, and in the process passed three tables of helpless customers. That's when the two girls struck. Just as the waitress was about to bound from the cafe again, the girls called out for a menu just loud enough that they couldn't be ignored. The waitress glared at them as if they had just shouted "Excuse me! May I defecate on the table?" and without a word, headed for a table with a menu.

Here was my chance; to get the menus the waitress had to come towards me, giving me the coveted chance of direct eye contact.

Quick flashback to Japan:

For service in Japan there are a number of options. First is to call out "Excuse me" and one of the waitstaff (of which there are always many) will rush to your table. In other places, there is a button which you can press that will bring someone on the double. In many places, however, a slight inclination of the head or even an expression that says "Gee, wouldn't service be nice?" will have someone there asking the 'honoured customer' what they would like.

Fast forward to the present:

As I politely inclined my head, made a little gesture with the menu and smiled at the waitress, I was met by a brief look that said "I would rather die than bring you coffee...and you can bet that if I go I'm going to kill you first." She snatched a menu off the table and stomped away.

I let out an involuntary 'Oh!' as she did that, prompting Laura, who's back was to the cave troll (as I'd come to think of her) at the time to ask me what was the matter. "I don't think we're going to get drinks..." I ventured. We'd just passed the twenty minute mark at that point.

That's when things went from bad to worse. A group of people left their table, which anyone could guess would likely learn to walk on its own before the waitress decided to clear it. And then the pigeons came. At one point there were no less than ten pigeons on the table, with another twenty around the table, agressively attacking anything even remotely edible.

"Hmm." I thought, "even the pigeons get served before me" as I found myself eyeing the remnents of a beer on the table.But then in a flourish, the now raging flock of pigeons became so enlivened in their frenzy that they knocked the glasses from the table and smashed them all over the floor.

Still no reaction from the waitress.

Now the worst thing I can imagine for a cafe is for people to get up and go without buying a drink, so in a futile sign of protest - after about 25 minutes of waiting - Laua and I got up and left. As I looked back, somehow hoping to see the apologetic waitress loping after us with her apopleptic manager berating her as she ran, I realized that I couldn't even see the waitress anymore. So much for payback.

The sun was hotter than ever. Laura and I staggered about a little, walked in a short, halfhearted circle of the area for about twenty minutes, then decided that those beers would be really nice after all.

So we went back. We sat for another 15 minutes of pigeon induced chaos before realizing that unless we joined our mangy feathered companions in their scavenging, we would have no luck in that place. And so, after a combined wait of 40 minutes with little more than an icy glare from our Lord-of-the-Rings-esque waitress, we decided to head back to our hotel for a siesta. Who knows; maybe we can get served if we go back tommorrow.

June 28, 2004

Well, this is literally our last hour here in Paris, and I'm standing in the parking lot in front of the train station taking advantage of one last wireless hotspot before we board the train. Laura and I are both sad to say goodbye to the city, but are also excited by the idea that in the morning we'll be waking up in Milan.

It's been a funny trip so far. Where at first we were culture shocked, now we have found ourselves adapted and it even seems difficult to recall our lives in Japan...it somehow seems so long ago, though it has only been a couple of months. What we have realized on leaving Japan, then travelling again is just how long we've been away. It's strange; once you settle into a place, the hum of daily life slowly eats away time, and years can pass without you noticing (apparently). Travelling like this, however, you are given the constant sense of time passing, as each time a city is left behind you can feel your life shifting inexorably forward. If life can be measured by all of the big changes, I figure we've aged about 20 years in the last few months!

But as we ate lunch today in a little Indian restaurant near the Sacre Coeur church, Laura said to me, "We have to go to India some day." "Yeah," I started, "but first..." I cut myself off in mid sentence, surprised at what I was about to say. The words that were about to slip out of my mouth were "...first I have to go home and find myself." Go home and find myself? That's what left Canada to do in the first place, and here, two and a half years later, in a small restaurant in the middle of Paris, we realize that to find ourselves - to be ourselves - we need to go right back where we started. But first, Italy...right?

June 27, 2004

It's a quiet Sunday morning here, and Laura and I are still in Paris, though staying in a different part. This morning we are going to go to an organ concert at a nearby church, and tommorrow we board a train to leave Paris behind.

Yesterday Laura and I went and visited the palace at Versailles; home of the hall of mirrors and the treaty that was signed there. Seeing the opulence in which the latter kings of France lived was quite shocking, and it was strange to see the ongoing sense of national pride that is invested in the place, which is now a world heritage site. It seems odd to be proud both of the French Revolution, and of the wretched excess which brought it on. One has only to walk around the palace to start to think to oneself "Hmmm, no wonder..."

I also found out yesterday that though the ubiquitous pigeons in Paris won't bite the hand that feeds them, they won't hesitate to poop on the leg of the person with the hand that feeds them. Good to know; next time I'll keep my crumbs to myself!

So as I said, tommorrow we're off. We're catching a train to Milan, where we'll be staying for a few days before continuing our tour of Italy. Leaving Paris will not only mean that our supplies of Brie will be quickly exhausted, but will also likely spell the end for easy internet access (there are three wireless networks on my balcony, and another 10 if I walk 100 meters down the street!). Posts are likely to become a lot less frequent, we won't be responding to emails very quickly, and we'll be getting yelled at by a lot more Italian men.

June 23, 2004

The last few days have been so full that it has been difficult to find the time to sit down and write anything out.

Today we passed the better part of the day in The Louvre; a museum of absolutely staggering proportions. We were in there for about five and a half hours, and still hadn't seen everything by the time we left.

Going to the Louvre is an interesting experience on a number of levels. First, it is interesting for the obvious reason that it is an enormous, beautiful building of historical significance that is filled to the brim with a peerless collection of art and antiquities. It is also interesting, however, for what it says about French culture and history, that is to say, it belies a long history of conquest and plunder, and of a people with a voracious apetite for other people's artistic and cultural treasures. It highlights the French obsession with Roman and Greek antiquity, with the mystical past of the Egyptians and with all aspects of art in Continental Europe.

Finally the Louvre is fascinating as a study in high culture as an amusement park.

Never before have I seen so many people so unappreciative of such a fine collection of art. The Louvre is a victim of its own fame, though it also profits greatly by it, I'm sure. Crowds of people jostle to get a picture of the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo, not even taking a moment to actually look at the artwork itself, only to snap a shot and move on. Laura and I decided that they should devise a 'Louvre Expresse', which would contain only the five most popular works in the Louvre in a separate building, which would carry the tourists through on a conveyor belt. The rest of the wonderful museum would then be left nice and quiet for all of those who didn't care to have their photo taken in front of a work of art.

The best quote of the day; "I can't get a good picture of it (the Mona Lisa), there's too many flashes going!" said a 15 year old boy trying to take a picture with his cell phone.

All that being said, the museum was incredible...almost too good. I think it would be tough to ever see everything in the place, but I felt lucky to get to see Raft of the Medusa (I had no idea it was so big!) and a whole collection of Rembrandts that wasn't even marked on the map they give out.

Monday was a different story altogether, with a different blend of culture. Monday was La Fete de la Musique here in Paris, which is a one-day music festival held throughout the whole city; both in desingnated venues and on the streets. What was so amazing about it was how freely the city offered up amazing venues - for free - for a variety of concerts. Picture this:

In the afternoon we grabbed some cheese, wine and perrier and headed for the French Senate building, where a concert of classical Yiddish music was being held in the inner courtyard.

Of course, we had to go through security and everything, as it is an actively used government building, but there it was, a concert sponsored by the French Senate itself.

From there we went to the Notre Dame church, where they had not only waived the regular entrance fee, but were also putting on a concert of organ music played on none other than the great organ in the church...truly something to behold.

From there we headed to the Royal Palace, which had opened its courtyard for another free concert by the Troublemakers, with whom I was only familiar thanks to Mike, and who put on a fantastic show to a backdrop of sculpted gardens and Roman pillars.

It all reminded me of why I love this city so much; not only is it filled with cultural treasures and so many buildings of such beauty, but it is filled with people who are not afraid to keep using those places - old and historical as they may be - as a dynamic part of their modern and ever-changing culture. My first thought on going to the Troublemakers concert (which started after 11 p.m.) was "Jeez, isn't it a little late for a Royal Palace?!" But sure enough, there was the Palace, jam packed with blasting speakers and beer swilling youth. Looking around me, the thought crossed my mind; "Wow, I guess nothing's sacred." But after a moment's pause I corrected myself; in Paris, everything's sacred, but nothing is static. Life goes on, and the history is as much a part of the present as it was a part of the past.

Now all of the amazing fun we had on Monday is thanks to one man; Aigle. We met Aigle on the bus from the airport, and then again by chance in a supermarket near our hotel. After buying Laura and I a coffee, he gave us the low-down on La Fete de la Musique and even got us a magazine with a list of all the venues...a chance encounter which resulted in the most fun I've had in Paris yet. So Aigle, if you're reading this, thank you very much!

The last bit of exciting news (exciting for me, that is) this week is that I finally succeeded in tracking down Christian Thissier here in Paris, and managed to attend one of his excellent Aikido classes. I was very impressed with the dojo, but less than impressed with my own ability to keep up with the class after a month of sitting around and eating cheese.

June 19, 2004

So as the drunks staggered home, I found a spot where I could get internet access...vive la France!

The love affair with Paris continues, and even after a couple of days here it's difficult to step out of the door without being dazzled. Laura and I visited the Musee d'Orsay, a converted railway station which now houses the world's finest collection of French impressionist art.

We spent the better part of the day basking in the genius of Monet, Manet, Sisley, Renoir, Van Gogh and Pissaro...the museum seemed to have so much stuff by Degas that they even shoved some of his pastels in a weird little back room. Much like the Uffizi in Florence, they seemed to have so much art that they didn't quite know what to do with it, and at times you'd find yourself staring at a wall jammed with Monet's - any one of which would likely get a room of its own in most other countries.

I've finally completed a second installment of pictures from our trip on the Meteora page, so check it out here. More to come soon!

Right now Laura and I are holed up in our hotel, on the Isle du Cite, trying to figure out the rest of our trip. Constantly vascillating between one plan or another, it looks like we might add a few countries to our itinerary. We had planned to travel through a lot of France, but at this stage it seems like that would cost roughly one million dollars, as we'd have to come back to Paris between visits to each of the cities...not exactly what we had in mind!

June 18, 2004

We're still in Paris, and still being absolutely dazzled by the city. I don't know if I've ever been so impressed by a place. Tommorrow Laura and I are heading to the Musee d'Orsay to check out their collection of impressionist paintings, which is reputedly excellent. Tonight, I'm going to check out a wireless hotspot that I found (under cover of darkness), and if it works I'll be putting up more posts soon!

June 17, 2004

It's morning here in Paris, and I'm sitting in a prison-style cafeteria in a prison-style hostel. After great deliberation on how we should proceed to our next destination, Laura and I decided to make the hop to Paris by plane, and save the two-way journey on land. From here we'll work our way back down to Rome...we hope. Things have changed slightly since we were, at long last, successful in setting up web banking and found out just how bad the exchange rate has been while we have been here. Who knew? Our casual estimations of our remaining funds proved to be very wrong, so now it's time to tighten the belts.

Paris is amazing. No superlatives would be excessive in describing the awe inspiring beauty of the place, and passing from one street to the next, one is constantly dazzled by the dramatic whole of Paris, which is made up of so many beautifully interconnected parts. Everywhere you look, there are statues, monuments and buildings, any one of which could make a city famous; together, they make Paris.

Rumours of the surliness of Parisiens seem to be false, and I would suggets that anyone firm in that belief should visit Athens and then reconsider their opinion. People here seem helpful, friendly and kind, and no one has yet insulted my French (though I'm sure many were thinking it!).

Last night Laura and I sat for a picnic while watching the sun set behind the Eiffel Tower. This picnic was decidedly more modest that our picnic fiasco in Florence. The prices are quite reasonable on all the right things, for example one Euro for a brick of brie, three Euros for a bottle of wine (I saw another bottle for one Euro fifty!) and 83 cents for a litre of Perrier...quite a nice way to eat on the cheap!

The surprising thing about the park over looking the tower is that, while it is a peaceful picnic spot by day, by night it becomes filled with people who come together to dance, to drink and to play music. By the end of the night when we packed things in, the park was packed with a party that showed no signs of stopping any time soon.

The Tower itself far surpassed expectations. While being a plain, only somewhat interesting structure by day, it becomes a true marvel by night, as the vast structure becomes lit from within, metamorphosizing from an iron hulk to a luminous column of light. Add to that a spectacular sunset in the background, and a broad, manicured park designed to emphasize and enhance the structure, and you have a beautiful and dramatic space that is - so far, for me - beyond comparison.

Part of the reason we had to pack things in a little early was that a.) like all prisons, our hostel had a set time in which you had to be in bed, and b.) I had to wake up at 5am the next morning. That would be today.

Contrary to what you might think, waking up at five in the morning does little to ingratiate you with other people in your dorm room, but my plan was to get across town to visit an Aikido school run by a widely renowned teacher here. Regrettably, after incurring the wrath and ire of my roommates and trekking across town in a daze, I found out the information on their website had, in fact, been false, and there were not actually any classes at 6:45 in the morning. But if at first you don't succeed...

Leaving Greece was sad, but it has been hard to dwell on it after landing here. As if to say goodbye, the flight attendant on our flight from Santorini to Athens dumped an entire tray of drinks (mostly orange juice) over my head as I read my book. Some pages in said book are now a strange orange colour, and for my part, I too had a slight orange colour as we arrived in Paris hours later, ready to begin the hunt for a hotel room (not easily done).

June 12, 2004

Recipe for a good day; ask a local. We started off the day here on Santorini with the vague notion of renting some bicycles and scooting around the island, but all that changed upon meeting Phil over breakfast this morning. His accent was non-distinct, suggesting somehow that he was an Englishman who had never left the island, and we only came to talk to him because he warned us as we left the cafe this morning not to rent scooters. We got to talking, and that's when he decided to help us out.

"If I had a day off with my wife on this island..." he began, and the rest went a little something like this:

First you get on one of these...

...and go to the volcano to climb around, before swimming out to here...

...to have a dip in the natural hotsprings. After your cruise, you should try some of the local seafood in a place like this:

These places are great, because they get their food from here:

From there you should head up (hopefully with a bottle of wine) so that you can watch the nightly spectacle which makes the island so famous...

And then after that, when the sun is down and the lights start to blink on, you will have had a perfect day on Santorini...

Thanks for the advice, Phil.

June 11, 2004

So here's what happens when you decide to save a few Euros...

Yesterday Laura and I took the ferry from Piraeus port in Athens (ergh, Athens!) to the Island of Santorini in the Cyclades. The fare, including a bed, for the 9 hour journey was 31 Euros each, or 51 if we got a private cabin for the two of us. If we took the cheaper beds, we would be sleeping in separate, sex-segregated cabins for three people. Laura said it was up to me, as the women we've met so far have been far more agreeable than the men, so it was me who was gambling.

I opted in favour of saving the extra money for beer and rolling the dice...after all, I figured most of the people on the boat would be tourists, anyways.

There is an awkward moment when you realize that someone about whose sanity you have been jokingly questioning is, in fact, insane. I came to that realization at about 11:30 last night, as my inward grin at the quirkiness of my cabin-mate turned to a worried scanning look around the room, checking for any unstowed sharp objects that might be turned against me in my sleep.

My companion was one of those people who spoke amiably and unceasingly to any who would listen (e.g. a person who was locked in a small room with him for 9 hours), whether the person spoke Greek or not. Unfortunately - or fortunately, I'll never know - I don't speak Greek, so the few words I did understand only served to mystify me more as he kept clasping my hands, patting me on the shoulder (where his hand seemed to linger just a little too long) and blathering on in a steady stream. He mentioned something about the captain, motioned about slitting his belly and mentioned something about Euros. After our first exchange he left the room hastily, apparently to talk to the ship's captain, and leaving me with the confused impression that perhaps he was off to tell him that he was going to kill me for my money. What made it confusing was that he was smiling as he said it all.

I spent dinner with Laura, telling her that I wasn't so keen on going back to my cabin, joking that I thought my bunk-mate was crazy. We parted with Laura saying, "He won't try to talk to you if you're reading, will he?"

He did. As I lay on my bed reading my book (which is fantastic, by the way) he came into the cabin spewing something excitedly in Greek, laughed when he saw that I was reading, then took my book to verify that there was type on the pages while rubbing my shoulder.

Interrupting what seemed like an endless dissertation on the uncooperativeness of modern ship captains, I quickly asked, "So you talked to the captain?"

"Ne (yes)" he replied.
"What did you ask him?" I pushed on, anxious to press the advantage.

He started laughing that laugh that says "you know what I asked him" while shaking his finger at me. Giving me one last sly look, he released my shoulder and left the room, shooting one last look over his shoulder as if to say "as if you don't know what I was talking to the captain about!"

I decided that it would be best if I was asleep when he came back.

When he did come back he was in a heated discussion with someone, and despite the fact that the lights were out and I was clearly in bed, he continued his debate without lowering his voice. The conversation had been going on for some time before I realized that it was entirely one-sided. He must be on the phone, I thought, and opened my eyes halfway to see. From where I was on the top bunk, it was difficult to tell, exactly, what he was doing on the bottom bunk opposite me without giving away the fact that I was awake. After some time, however - and much to my dismay - I realized that no, there was no phone, either.

Uh-oh, I thought, that's not funny. The chatter continued, and he seemed to get more excited, becoming angry and upset and raising his voice. I raised my head, and we made awkward eye contact. His expression at that moment is impossible to describe, but somehow conveyed his thoughts that if he moved fast enough, perhaps I wouldn't be able to see him. He ducked out of sight, then dashed for the bathroom. Once inside, he ducked his head out again to see if his daring manoeuvre had, indeed, fooled me, then slammed the door and immediately began flushing the toilet again and again.

Hmm, I thought, this isn't exactly an ideal situation. When the flushing stopped and he came out of the bathroom, he began his strange bed-making-ritual. Forcefully tearing all the bedding from his bunk, he began throwing everything on the top bunk, angrily starting up his unfinished argument with our invisible third bunkmate.

Mustering myself with the very harshest words a Canadian can say to someone, I lifted my head and said, "Could you please be more quiet?" Though he didn't openly acknowledge that I had spoken, he peered at me out of the corner of his narrowed eyes in a look that said I may have to kill you for interrupting my bed making, even if the captain doesn't agree!

At that moment, I was contemplating how much 20 Euros really was worth. If, at the ticket office, the woman had asked me if I wanted a mental institution, or the 20 Euro upgrade to Laura, I would have taken the latter. But she didn't put it that way...and there I was.

To make an already very long story slightly less lengthy, the 'ritual' lasted for about an hour, involving beating of the pillows, immaculate folding of the sheets, then the tearing up of everything and a start from the beginning. The whole ritual was done while continuing the verbal tirade, despite repeated entreaties on my part for him to be quiet. I didn't sleep until he was done, mostly for fear of waking up and realizing that his bed-making ritual had been turned on me, and finding myself mummified in my bunk.

And that is how I came to Santorini. A great entry to Greece, and an equally great entry to the island.

Santorini, despite being a terrible tourist trap, is a place of exceptional beauty. With whitewashed houses and churches perched atop cliffs of volcanic rock, the island somehow manages to maintain its charm despite the hordes of people desperate to extract your money from you. The touts at the waiting for the bus came at us so thick that I switched to Japanese and pretended not to speak English, shouting "Eh? Eh? Eigo wakarahen!" as they shoved their cards in my face. It seemed to work pretty well.

It's hard to believe that just yesterday we were in Delphi. The journey here was a long and strange one, with very late buses ("Ah, you're waiting for the Athens bus? Ha ha ha. Don't worry, you have lots of time!"), sketchy ticket offices (who don't ask you if you want the 'institutional' or 'non-institutional' tickets) and, of course, sketchy roommates.

But Delphi itself was a marvel. It was a marvel of the old (incredible ruins telling of a civilization of great dignity and grace) and a marvel of the new (a box-like museum costing two million Euros, that so far has only one room and one statue).

The experience so far has been of immense help in researching my book, and yesterday as I stood and took in the view around us I wondered how I could have ever ventured to write it without coming here. Seeing the ruins has both made me feel incredibly near, and immeasurably far from those ancient peoples of Greece, and I feel immensely lucky to have had the opportunity to come here.

On that note, I feel I should say a belated 'thank you' to everyone who was so generous at Laura and my wedding. Coming to Europe has been a dream of ours for such a long time, and coming here has not only fulfilled that dream, but helped me in reaching my other goal of writing my book. Thank you!

June 10, 2004

We are now in the ancient town of Delphi, after having taken the trains and buses here from Meteora. The town is perched high in a range of mountains, around 700 meters above the valley below, and looking out over some spectacular scenery. This area is not only of great interest because of the ruins that are found here, but also because it is a setting for a good portion of my book. So far, touring around in Greece has been a great help in my research.

Meteora was a place beyond comparison, offering views the likes of which I have never seen. As soon as I get the chance, I'll be putting up a page about the place.

Also, please check out the wedding page, which Laura has updated, and now has a tonne of pictures, as well as James' much sought after poem.

June 4, 2004

Taking advantage of the port yet again, here I am to put up another post. We had a little rain here in Thessaloniki yesterday, giving me the chance to put together a little bit of a post about the first part of our trip; Colle Lungo in Chianti, the vinyard where we first stayed with my parents on arriving in Italy. As beautiful as Greece has been, it's still hard to find anything to compare with that place, and looking at the pictures made me want to go running back to see if we could beg for jobs there. I'll work on putting together a permanent link on the right for the page, but for now, please check it out with the link above.

Tommorrow Laura and I are headed for Meteora, a region in Northern Greece renowned for its dramatic scenery and impressive mountain monastaries.

We've settled in well in Thessaloniki, and I'm amazed at the difference in feel between here and Athens. Today, if the weather holds, we'll head up to the fortress on the hill to check out some of the history and culture of the area. If it rains, we'll just go buy a magnum of the cheap, local wine. Either way, everyone's a winner!

June 3, 2004

***This just in! We found a wireless hotspot in the Thessaloniki port! Free internet for all!!***

Again, a couple of days since I posted, but here goes. We're now in Thessaloniki, in the North of Greece. We left Corfu...two? three? days ago, and just arrived here from Athens late yesterday evening. We had a long, jolty train ride through the Greek countryside which was somehow more reminiscent of riding a horse at times, but which was interesting nonetheless. We passed through a great deal of territory in which my book is set, so I spent most of the six hours with my face pasted to the window.

It was also one of those turnaround moments you often have in a trip. The whole reason we were on the train was because we were on a mission to get out of the country. After relaxing on Corfu, Athens was such an unpleasant place that we decided we both liked Italy better, and we should go back. But it's just at those moments that you always seem to meet the right people, in this case a young Greek girl named Laura. After a long conversation I started to feel considerably better about where we are, and indeed, her assertion that people in Thessaloniki are more laid back than their Athenian counterparts so far seems to be true.

That being said, seeing the Parthenon and the Temple of Olympian Zeus in Athens was a life changing experience, and it's something off my life's 'to do' list. One more down! If there's a rainy day soon (or if we end up taking the 30 hour train trip we're considering) I'll put up more about this absolutely stunning structure. It left me with a lot to say.