Athens

The walk from the underground station at Syntagma Square to the Acropolis Hotel in the Plaka was not far, but was made doubly difficult because of aforementioned malaka bus driver. I had to carefully pull Del’s bag by one handle shaft over cobblestone roads and uneven footpaths for about four blocks. Our room had an ex-suite - our own bathroom but across the hallway - if you stood on your toes in the shower you could see the Acropolis through the steps of the fire escape.

We’ve both been to Athens before but we just wanted to see the Acropolis again, visit the new Acropolis Museum and eat some delicious Greek food in the Plaka.

The Greeks don’t have public toilets. Our evening walk around the Acropolis and Monastaraki Square was turned into an urgent search for a toilet. Too tight to stop at any of the expensive restaurants for a beer or coffee, we ended walking back to the hotel.

Set off early in the morning to beat the crowds to the Acropolis. It was Sunday, a popular day for Athenians to visit ruins and museums. Passing a Greek Orthodox Church near our hotel, we were lured in by the most beautiful singing. In one alcove of the nearly full church, there was a male choir singing in polyphonic harmony.

Queues weren’t too long to enter the Acropolis, although it was quite a different story when we needed to exit. Many tour groups following guides holding up unopened umbrellas or national flags. I led my own tour group of one (including guide.) Eating, drinking, smoking and standing in the wrong place is not allowed on the Acropolis, and occasionally whistles are blown as minders warn tourists. Which was rather contradictory when you noticed several stray dogs lying around……(dog crap?)

The Acropolis Museum, just to the south of the Acropolis, was opened in June this year. Twenty nine years ago the Greeks started talking about building an international quality museum to display the relics from the Parthenon and the Erechtheum. Their ulterior motive was to foil any criticisms pertaining to a lack of suitable display venue, when they would request (and perhaps yet to demand) the return of the ‘Elgin Marbles.’ Many Greeks complain that it is an unsuitable modern building, but I don’t believe it is possible to build a new building which looks authentically old. It is a striking modern concrete and glass building which has an internal rising display gallery, something like the New York Guggenheim. One of the reasons construction took 29 years, apart from the Greek temperament and corruption (remember the Athens Olympics), was the ruins discovered on the building site. The very effective solution was to build on columns over the top of the ruins, and leave large glass covered viewing windows in the floor. One disturbing feature of the museum is a glass top-floor. Whilst those on the ground floor look down to see the remains of an ancient civilisation, those on the top floor look down to see a modern civilisation. Rather a windfall for the look-up-skirt fetishists.

This is where the Athenians go on a Sunday afternoon, we queued for thirty minutes, only to pay 1Euro entrance fee. A great encouragement for locals to visit, but I would have been happier paying more and not queuing. The restaurant is also very cheap and of a high quality. Some young guys had queued at entry and then at the restaurant just for a cup of coffee.

Had some Absinthe later, which is sold everywhere. Tasted like schnapps with hints of ouzo and traces of petrol in the after taste. No madness surfaced, any more than usual.

Santorini

“Slow down, Trevor, don’t be Stupid, Slow Down!“

It all started with the fastest taxiing plane I’ve ever been in, the crazy Greek pilot flew along the tarmac like he was in a racing a car. As we stood outside the Santorini terminal at 10 pm, wondering how we could get to our hotel, a minibus came flying down the hill, jumped across an island, around the taxi rank and screeched to a halt in front of the terminal. A Greek in a desperate hurry jumped out calling to us, “Fira?”, we said “Yes.” He ran across the road, grabbed Del’s suitcase and said “Ella.” While I was trying to catch up with him to discuss price, he swung Del’s (very heavy) bag up into the back of his bus by the extended handle. It broke off! The bus price was E15 for two.

When he dropped us near our hotel, I explained that I wasn’t paying because he broke our bag, he said, ”OK, E10,” I said, “I want compensation for the bag you’ve destroyed.” He shouted “Bloody Australians!” as he stormed off as quickly as he had appeared. For the rest of our stay, as we wandered the narrow and busy streets of Fira, we kept a sharp eye for the angry misantipodean melaka in a mad hurry.

Next morning we walked up to the caldera side cliff and were gob-smacked by the beauty. Turning right we followed the cliff top lane as it wound it’s way around small hotels, restaurants and private homes. We couldn’t stop taking photographs, around every corner there was another postcard scene. White washed buildings, blue doors and windows, twisting, intersecting and descending stairways, blue domed churches and brightly coloured bougainvillea everywhere. Donkeys, with their human cargo, traversing the 300 metre high switchback path from the port below. The clear, bright sun light was an ideal inspiration for taking photographs, over 200 on the first day. Near the northern edge of Fira, we rested from the heat at a cliff-side café with 3 tables, and watched the sunset.

Fira is a buzzing little village, teaming with tourists, scooters and cars, and open to all hours of the night. It is packed with expensive jewellery and souvenir shops, restaurants, bars and cafes galore. It is very clean, immaculately detailed, and well maintained. A marked contrast to Athens as we were soon to discover.

Our hotel was hidden down a quiet residential lane, away from the caldera view but close to the ‘plateia.’ Anything, hotel or restaurant, on the cliff side was extremely expensive ($1200 per night and $8 for a beer) so we enjoyed the views and sunsets from the cliff-side laneways and then ate great souvlakis with real pita bread and thick tzatziki for only E2.50, in the plateia.

Quad bikes are the way to move. Only E15 for a day and 80cc. Poor thing, it struggled desperately to get us up some of those long steep hills. Del had to get off and walk on one. Santorini roads are very narrow and steep at times, with switchbacks and a 300 metre rapid descent into the sea starting half a metre beyond the edge of the road. Add to that danger, cars, motorbikes and buses whizzing past with only inches separation. Del kept shouting to slow down, as we jollied along at 30k/hr. We drove to Oia (pronounced “ear”), similar to Fira with cliff side lanes, shops and cafes but not as polished, and then down to Kamari Beach for a swim and lunch. Black pebbles were a bit hard on the feet, but the lunch was delicious. We shared a plate of small fried fish, a Greek salad, yogurt and honey, and a beer, overlooking the beach. Just a breath of a breeze every now and then, warm clear flat water, and lots of umbrellas with beach chairs for hire at E7. The waiter bought us a pink Ouzo cocktail after we paid the bill. The sun was setting as we returned to Fira, so we stopped at a remote cliff top restaurant, overlooking the caldera, for a beer. E16 for 2, the most expensive beer I’ve ever bought, but worth every Euro for the view. Bright orange across the western sky, and shimmering bronze on the sea way below, as yachts and fishing boats passed through the sun’s reflection. What a day! At every bend there was beautiful scenery and, “Slow down, slow down!“ Del was glad we didn’t get a motorbike like I had wanted!

Einai orea.

A Slice of Heaven on Earth.

Surrey

The land of Round-a-bouts

Good flight from Dublin to Gatwick AP on Aer Lingus but not even a drink of water was offered!

Took ages to find our way out of the terminal and find the car hire offices (always organise before you leave home wastes time & money doing it on the spot).

Eventually hired the car then our GPS wouldn’t work. Only had a map on the netbook to follow. No street lights and round-about after round-about with only numbers to follow in hedge lined narrow streets. We landed at 17.30 and arrived at Ewhurst at 21.30, a distance of about 20Km! That might indicate how many times we got lost. So nice they still waited to have dinner with us.

Whinfields and Little Whinfields is a rambling old house in a country village called Ewhurst belonging to friends of Wendy’s. We had an upstairs bedroom. There were rooms and bathrooms everywhere. Curls (matriarch architect) lived in the roof in a self contained flat and office. Jane (& Mark) daughter No.1 lived in half of the house and our half was for guests. Bridget (& Lockie) daughter No.2 lived in Little Whinfields a small house she had built on the property. Both daughters have a studio/office between Whinfields and Little Whinfields. They meet everyday in the big house for lunch as they all work from home. Plus three big lovely dogs. What a great arrangement.

Went driving next day around Surrey. Climbed up Pitch Hill from where we got a good view of Surrey. We drove through Shere, a beautiful old village with a church that was built in 1200. We saw where the Anchoress of Shere in 1329 was imprisoned. Then onto Hever Castle where Anne Boleyn (2nd wife of Henry 8th) lived as a child. Beautiful grounds. Lakes, a moat and water features including a strange water maze. Exquisite lead light windows and carved panels in the rooms. King Henry VIII stayed there, when he was seducing Anne Boleyn

Drove to Brighton for a quick look at the pebble beach and Brighton Pier, Sideshow Alley on the water. Bought some Rock candy. Fascinating Brighton Pavillion buildings, Indo-Saracen inspired architecture.

Back to Henfield to ‘The White Heart’ pub to meet up with old friends of Steve & Wendy’s and then to Paul’s cottage in Ashhurst. Listened to Leonard Cohen drank tea and wandered around his lovely garden and house in the country.

Took all the household to dinner at their favourite pub ‘The Parrot’ in nearby Forest Green. Delicious dinner of organic home grown food. No sign of a recession in this part of the country.

Dublin

Cousin David Rowe picked us up from Bewley’s Hotel at 8am, and took us home for an Irish breakfast. We could have (should have) gone to sleep to ward off jetlag but we decided instead to venture forth to explore Dublin. It was a beautiful day, the third summer’s day for Ireland, sunny and 18C. After a day of walking around, no hat, no water, full sun and jetlag, I was the first Australian to get sunstroke in Ireland!

Our hosts, David and Veronica, not only catered for our every whim, but had an encyclopaedic knowledge of Irish history, and so were able to satisfy our every interest. Their house is called ‘Glenfarn’ and is on the southern edge of Dublin, next to open fields and beyond the mountains of County Wicklow, and only 8 kilometres from downtown.

Ten years ago Aunty Jean was in Wexford researching Rowe family history, and was given the name of David Rowe, who had just conducted a talk for the local Historical Society in Wexford. David has also been doing Rowe genealogy and was surprised to be discovered by a descendant of the long lost arm of the Rowe’s. Around 1876, James Henry Rowe left Ireland, without word of his destination, headed for Australia, and never made contact with the ’relies’ again. So, after Jean and my Mum, Pat, I was the third of the “lost Australian Rowes” to return to Ireland.

We were driven south to Glen Cullen, and a little pub called Johnnie Fox’s Pub, built in 1798. It is the highest pub in Ireland and full of interesting local bric-a-brac. One old sign of note stated that “All Persons Must Wash Weekly.” Morning tea in the sun with beautiful views of the Sugar Loaf Mountains. In Dublin, after walking through St Stephen’s Green, we visited Trinity College, one of the original top university’s of the British Isles. The Book of Kells, a sumptuously illustrated text in Latin of the four gospels, is displayed here, and upstairs is the magnificent Long Hall of the old library, which was founded in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth. Christ Church Cathedral is the oldest church in Dublin, original parts dating back to the 11th century. Even older, is the crypt underneath the Cathedral, brick columns and arches forming the buildings foundations, which is currently utilised as a museum and an atmospheric function space.

We took David and Veronica to an area known as ‘Temple Bar’, so called because it was a sand bar on the River Liffey. There is a bar called ’Temple Bar’ in Temple Bar, but we went to ‘Farrington’s Temple Bar’ in Temple Bar. We were there for a Guinness of course. I’m not a regular Guinness drinker, but I could be if I could drink Dublin Guinness. Then up the road for dinner at the ‘Elephant and Castle’, a very popular Dublin restaurant.

David and Veronica’s backyard is a rambling tree-lined, half acre garden, which is just ideal for enjoying long Irish breakfasts and relaxing, so we did. Much later we were taken to nearby Powerscourt Manor, a luxurious country mansion, dating back to 13th century, and currently owned by the Slazenger family. In 1821 it was paid a royal visit by King George IV . King George was hosted for lunch and afterwards was to be entertained at the nearby Powerscourt Waterfall, the highest waterfall in Ireland. The owners had dammed the river in order to make a more spectacular flow of water over the falls. Fortunately, for the King, he fell asleep after the large meal and missed the spectacle, where the bridge on which he was to be standing was washed away.

Our last evening we were fortunate to meet other members of the Rowe clan. The Dublin visit was an extra port tacked on to our busy itinerary, and was far too short to achieve anything but a mere glimpse of Ireland. We are extremely lucky to have local relatives, and to experience the generosity and gentleness of the Irish people. We will be back to see Ireland proper as soon as able.

New York

I F YOU HAVEN’T GOT A LOT OF MONEY IN NEW YORK, THEN YOU’D BETTER HAVE A LOT OF TIME; AND IF YOU HAVEN’T GOT A LOT OF TIME, THEN YOU’D BETTER HAVE A LOT OF MONEY

From Niagara Falls we took the relaxing slow trip with Amtrak down to New York. A big comfortable train with nobody on it because everyone drives in the US. Emerged from deep underground at Penn Station onto the corner of 8th Avenue and 31st Street, to our long awaited first glimpse of Manhattan - litter, dirt, noise and chaos, but it was exciting. We needn’t have been concerned about finding our hotel, spotted it straight away on 8th and 30th.

We set off to explore and found ‘The Chelsea Hotel’ in Greenwich Village. It is still full of wacky art, but undergoing management changes to get rid of it‘s eccentric residents. After commenting on a Brett Whitely hanging behind the front desk, the manager, realising where we were from, took us into a back room and showed us another Brett Whitely. It was leaning ignominiously against the wall in a corner, behind various pieces of junk, awaiting a new space to be hung. Over half a million dollars just plonked there.

We had been advised that the wait to ascend The Empire State building was least during the evening, so we got in line. First there was a queue to get in the front door, more a melee, then up stairs to the queue for the security screening (20 mins), buying a ticket queue (20 mins), queue for the lift queue (20 mins) which only went to the 80th floor, another queue for the second lift to the 86th floor (20 mins). Then all we had left was the queue to get down queue! It took two hours to get up and back and no escape or seating once you started. We could have bought a ticket outside the front door at double the price (US$40 each) which by passed all the queues, hence the above quote. It is debatable whether the view was worth the 2 hour ordeal, it was freezing on top, but it’s a view that can be found nowhere else.

We staggered down to Times Square with 5 million other people and lots of rubbish. The lights were fascinating and there was much excitement. People just hanging around and watching the lights. We were hanging around and watching the people.

New York is full of litter on the streets, dirt and grot in the underground (we were unfortunate to need the use of a lift in which someone had urgently defecated), and large piles of big plastic bags outside businesses waiting to be collected. Wendy was in turmoil and attempted to clean up the city.

Visited most or all of the must-sees, Wall Street, the Stock Exchange (with it‘s high security perimeter fence - and there‘s probably nothing inside anyway), Ground Zero, Central Park, Battery Park, Bowling Green Park, walked over the Brooklyn Bridge, wandered around the shops in Soho and took a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. We visited the Guggenheim Museum on 5th Avenue, a beautiful building but not much art on show as half was closed preparing for a Kandinsky exhibition. The Metropolitan Museum of Art could justify a week of visits, but we saw some amazing impressionist art in a few hours, including one of Van Gogh‘s ‘Self Portraits‘. Our last visit was the Museum of Modern Art, where we saw Van Gogh’s ’Starry Night’, Jackson Pollocks, Matisse, Miro, Picasso, Rothko and others.

We paid our respects at ‘The Dakota‘ and at a mosaic plaque, ’Imagine’, in memory to John Lennon nearby in Central Park. We were lucky enough to be in Central Park on a Monday of the long weekend, and locals were out doing everything. Cycling, walking, rollerblading, riding in horse carriages, rowing boats, sailing model yachts, disco skating, picnicking, busking and enjoying the park on a warm summer’s afternoon. For dinner we had delicious corn beef and pastrami on rye sandwiches in Katz’s Delicatessen in Lower Eastside. Katz’s is a well known institution in New York, frequented by Lower Eastside locals and celebrities. The ‘cutters’ made our sandwiches from delicious beef (probably from Australia) piled 3” high, with a side plate of pickles. Interesting little shops, bars and eateries nearby, packed into the back streets. Had to have a drink in ‘The White Horse Tavern’ where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death. Had also been frequented by Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison, Jack Kerouac and others. Lovely apartments in leafy lined streets. Whilst changing trains on the way home we emerged from the subway near Washington Square, and wandered up to one of the buildings of the New York University. After chatting to the doorman he invited us into the foyer of the “Professor’s Residence” to see some tables and a chest which were 500 years old.

New York is crowded. People everywhere you go, bumping into them, jostling in queues, noise, sirens, people matter. Amazingly this didn’t seem to bother anyone but me. Everyone is amazingly friendly, polite, patient and helpful. There is no road rage, violence or abuse in the streets, or drunken idiots. I only heard one swear word the whole time. We felt completely safe everywhere, including the subway. It is amazing how so many people can live harmoniously together in such an intense environment. We have a lot to learn. We were told that the motorcades of police vehicles with lights and sirens blearing were “on manoeuvres“. Is it possible that the fire trucks we frequently saw racing through the busy traffic were only on there way to Mackers!