Kinerific Adventures

A California girl, a Montana boy, and their adventures in the big world

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A sunrise walk to Skaros rock, found some remnants of another Venetian fort, changed into some stretchy pants (just me, not Justin), and waved goodbye.

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Do you really need to do sunset in Oía? I’m skeptical but we did it anyway. And the answer is yes - despite the wind, rain, girls taking selfies and guys hitting on them, it was perfect.

Justin’s camera went on a brief strike after we took it out in the rainstorm in Athens but miraculously revived once we reached Santorini. Justin’s camera and wife have much in common.

We happily fled Oía and its cruse-shippiness after blue hour and drove down questionable concrete switchbacks to Aēdáni, a restaurant where the No Smoking sign is blatantly ignored by local patrons, and where everyone who turned to look at us when we arrived was still there when we left.

We awoke to a thunderstorm and its aftermath of rainbows, sunshine, and mammatus clouds:

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Especially now in retrospect, it was surprisingly ok to sleep in McDonalds in the Athens airport. I feel like we earned some traveler cred and we made it to Santorini for sunrise.

I wanted to hate Santorini, really. So much hype, so many Americans, so expensive. But I love it. Little pathways everywhere, achingly beautiful views everywhere you look, and adorable cats that are not too ubiquitous.

We stretched our legs going for a quick run, stopping to eat a couple of figs from a tree, then swam in the pool and now can’t drag ourselves away from the view.

Sitting here at Afroessa, it turns out that the pool bar is closed and the water is too cold for most but perfect for a post-run ice bath, so we basically have just outside our room a private pool overlooking the caldera.

sigh...

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OK, Santorini, you win. 😍

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But in lieu of our adventures, here are some informative charts from the museum - it gives Joseph’s adventures some more meaning and sheds some light on the ten plagues. I remember learning a lot of this on the Met tour but feel like I could use a refresher.

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Not an epic adventure day. This café in the Olympic park of Galatsi was the high point, and it was only a 3. But where you are matters less than who you are with, and I’m extremely fortunate to be here with this guy.

That being said, I may have had a small cry when the Olympic Air rep told us just now that no, there is nothing to be done to get you on an earlier flight and sleeping overnight here in the Athens airport is your best choice.

So our caldera view hotel room sits empty while we watch airport buses exhale their frustration at the unhappy Greek man collecting luggage carts. But we’re together, the McDonalds has an open booth, and shared misery makes for good bonding.

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Some days it is like this:

your Santorini trip is cancelled because of a cyclone in the Mediterranean

you cannot figure out country codes to call your credit card company about refunds

your hosts are too generous and wonderful and you just can’t eat any more

the roads are not runnable

... so you go to the National Archaeological Museum and find a treasure trove of artifacts. The pieces they have unearthed from sites here in Greece have been restored with such attention to detail that I almost don’t believe they’re thousands of years old. I want someday to meet the artisan of this ancient piggy bank.

Anyway, we may still find our way to the islands but are keeping an eye on the storm. An 8-hour adventure on a Greek ferry in a cyclone, while good fodder for stories, isn’t sounding super appealing. 😊

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The Medicane meant that the Acropolis was only peopled by the most determined tourists, the kind who find hilarity in absurdity and who staunchly follow through with their hired tours or amateur photo shoots. And us.

The new Acropolis museum down the hill is perfectly designed, informative, interesting, and weather resistant. We visited there first in the hopes that the wind would abate and the clouds might clear. As soon as we exited the warm, beautiful, dry museum, the clouds darkened. We looked at each other, stalled with some coffee, pulled up our hoods, and went for it.

After marveling, shooting, laughing, and stumbling through stacks of ruins, we survived the most treacherous part of our trip - reenacting the latter part of Acts 17 on the slippery rocks of the Areopagus. The famous chunk of rock looked so benign from above, but even the cab ride back to Galatsi was harmless compared to medicane winds on centuries of tourist-smoothed marble.

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All we knew is that it was kinda windy. Then someone said “cyclone” so we googled and found this from AP news:

“Meteorologists warned of the high probability that a Mediterranean cyclone known as a medicane — which combines the words Mediterranean and hurricane — could form Friday in the Ionian Sea southwest of the Greek mainland.”

But really... “medicane?”

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More travels in the Peloponnese - Ancient Corinth, the Corinth canal, and an interesting run along the Vouraikos gorge railway.

It’s mind-boggling to imagine the history here - the walled cities protecting and enduring and then falling and being rebuilt - they just meant someone a thousand generations ago seeking security. And now in the shadow of those crumbling walls people go about their lives hoping for that same security in a different form. It’s very humbling.

We navigated our way to Athens yesterday, where the constant wind and enormous gusts mock our attempts to sleep or walk. But our eating has been unhindered.

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Whether or not you like Greek coffee, you should drink some while you listen to the symphony of the turquoise Aegean sea. Just don’t finish it.

This part of Greece reminds me so much of Santa Barbara and San Marcos Pass, except then there’s Monemvasia, which is like if Morro Rock were a medieval fortress.

The narrow stone streets of the lower city are lined with shops and restaurants, and the ruins of the upper citadel wide open to today’s gale force winds.

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When we told Andréas that we were going to Monemvasia, he showed us a picture of a nearby beach on the tiny island of Elafonisos. It was enough to convince us. So we went there, swam in crystal clear water with a pirate ship, had some souvlaki, and watched the sun set and the moon rise.

We haven’t yet made it to Monemvasia...

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These seem to be the rules for driving in Greece:

1. If there are children nearby, drive the posted speed limit

2. Otherwise, determine a safe speed for the circumstances

3. Drive 20kph faster than that

4. Reduce speed slightly when you pass a Stop sign

5. In the countryside, take your time and enjoy the scenery

6. Unless there is someone ahead of you, in which case you MUST pass them

7. If there is any doubt whether your car can fit in a space, follow exactly the directions of the five men who have appeared to help you

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These are the Xídis. They are wonderful.

In MEPS we work with Ben. Ben is from Cyprus. Ben came by the day before we left: “There is a place for you to stay in Argos.” Apparently Ben spoke with Alekos Anastasiadis, who spoke with Giannis Koutsogiannis, and we are to call Vagelis Koutsogiannis who is an elder in the congregation of Giorgos Xídi, and we will stay there.

Our flight was delayed, so when we called Brother Kousogiannis from Athens, it was already 8pm, and we would not reach Argos until 10pm. Was that too late?

“It’s OK. You will come for to sleep and eat. I give you other number. Go to Argos, ask for hospital, call number, turn on flashers, and wait. What your car? What you drive? Lamborghini? Ferrari?”

So we did. (It is a white Citroën, not as peppy as our Fiat panda, but not too bad)

And somehow in 3 minutes a tiny white Suzuki came flying up next to us, a tall friendly white-haired man with a cell phone to his ear jumped out, shook Justin’s hand warmly, motioned to follow him, and tore off through the narrow streets.

Then some gesturing that seemed to indicate that we should park here, and some yelling and another man banging on the hood of the car (who turned out to be Brother Xídi), and another man jumping in the next car and some backing up and other cars whizzing by.

And then an entire delicious meal outside on the terrace, which we devoured with incredulity and gratitude.

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Because if you really want to do it right, of course you need giant fireballs to accompany Queen in the Piazza del Signori on a Saturday night in Verona

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Riding through old Verona on a fifty pound bike for €2? It’s a no-brainer.

We were reluctant to leave the Dolomites, but we had heard good things about Verona and so found Edo’s guest house offering gated parking in a great location. Since we already had acquired one unjustified parking ticket in Italy during a 15-minute espresso break, we went for it. (In case you are wondering, if you ever get a parking ticket in Italy, go to any post office within 5 days and you can pay a reduced amount.)

Once we saw our first Verona Bikes, we knew it was the right choice. We got off the main vias and piazzas, docked the bikes, took lots of photos, meandered our way to the beautiful 2,000 year old Arena, and mingled with thousands of people waiting for Laura Pausini to take the stage.

But little did we know that the best music event was yet to come...

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You can either have good cappuccino or buses that run on time.

We stood around Passo Pordoi for a good 30 minutes before figuring out that the posted schedule was inaccurate. Fortunately we weren’t in a hurry, and the chairs across the street were especially inviting with a weissbeer.

Eventually the bus came, the grizzled driver told us many words and gestured wildly, and then finally gave up, typed something in to something else, and took our tickets. We sat and I took out my last snickers bar. Nothing beats a snickers on the trail - we learned that in Nepal.

“Signora! No something something pizzeria, restaurante!! Eh autobus, no?”

OK. No eating on the bus. Got it.

Later at a stop he came back and gave a sweeping motion and chewing gesture and laughter and I think if I were younger and a boy he might have smacked me on the back of the head. It was fun.

They say you should learn in every language how to say “where is the bathroom?” but so far more useful has been “I’m sorry. I am a dumb American.” It’s amazing how far that ingratiates you with the locals.