europe 2016, day 11: santorini (may 8)

Too tired last night to finish writing (or rather, to actually start writing) about our first day in Santorini, so here we begin another catchup entry and we'll see if I make it through all of yesterday as well as today. It probably won't happen.

Yesterday we woke up in our little bed-and-breakfast in Ersi Villa, Santorini, and immediately headed downstairs for the breakfast half of the bed-and-breakfast. What a spread. There were, pleasingly laid out on the table before us, poached eggs, apple pie, lemon bundt cake, Greek salad, ham, cheese, Greek yoghurt and honey, cereal, bread rolls, tea, coffee, and orange juice. And all made right in the b&b by the little old lady who had greeted us last night at that ungodly hour. She put plates and trays in our hand and we made a delicious meal of it, sitting in a white-walled room with the characteristic rounded ceiling, looking out to the pool and other Santorini-esque buildings just beyond the door.

After breakfast we walked to the nearby town of Fira, one of two major towns on the island along with sunset-famous Oia. Oia is the one everyone knows about when you bring up Santorini; it's located right at the northwestern tip of the island (Santorini is shaped like a crescent moon facing left). Fira, which is about a five minutes' walk from our b&b in Firostefani, is smack dab in the center of the island, on the western coast.

We had no agenda for Santorini at all - while all the other days and cities on our trip had been meticulously planned out almost to the half-hour in an extensive google spreadsheet, the Santorini tab simply had a few lazy notes like "sunset in Oia every day" (Judy) and "CHILL SO HARD" (Tiff). The loose plan for the day that emerged came entirely out of that morning's conversation with Elias, the b&b host, who gave us some helpful recommendations, and was as follows: explore Fira, eat lunch, then hike up the coast from Fira to Oia, a trek that was supposed to take us about 2.5 hours.

Accordingly, we explored. Fira is a little town, geared solely toward tourists, which makes sense. Santorini's economy is built primarily on agriculture and tourism, and you can tell as soon as you reach the edge of Fira. There's one main road, lined on either side with restaurants, yoghurt places, shops, grocery shops, and other miscellaneous stores. Lots of foot traffic - the whole place was bustling in a little town kind of way. We wandered this central area for a bit, and then made our way up - whether by accident or intention I'm not quite sure, but somehow we ended up heading this way - to the coastal paths so we could slowly start making our way toward Oia.

The coast was where it got even more touristy, with an explosion of little shops and sea-view restaurants in a seemingly neverending series of twists and turns. And all beautiful white buildings, of course, such as you see on the postcards, with friendly owners standing outside and enticing in passersby for a visit.

 

Nothing too eventful, and I mean that in the best, most relaxing way. I guess the most notable event from this pleasantly aimless wandering was Judy ducking into a shop that sold only a million different styles of white linen tops and dresses, and all of us consequently spending about an hour in there while she browsed. One more thing to add to my list of things learned on this trip: Judy really really really likes white linen tops. The owner was a good salesperson, too, which didn't help matters for me and Tiff. She kept bringing Judy new tops to try, and unfortunately all of them looked great on her, making the decision process progressively harder, while Tiff and I became progressively hungrier. Judy finally decided on a shirt (which Tiff and I both approved and voted as our favourites), and we eventually went and ate our third lunch of gyros since arriving in Greece.

On our way out of the gyros place, Tiff popped into the bathroom and told us she'd catch up with us up the street, so Judy and I went window shopping in the area while we waited. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen, and we were just beginning to wonder what kind of immense operation her digestive system was carrying out, when she finally caught up to us, with a relieved look on her face. It turned out she'd locked herself into the stall and couldn't unstick the lock and get out. So while Judy and I were examining handpainted canvases of Santorini houses, Tiff had been hanging out in a bathroom stall alternately googling "how to say 'help' in Greek" and yelling for help in her best approximation of Greek, before she was finally able to wrench the door open.

"Well good thing you got out; we were just about to come and look for you," I told her. This may have been a bit of a stretch claim, as it had taken us longer than it should have even to realize that she had been gone much longer than it takes the normal adult to pee.

"Oh, good, that makes me feel better," she exclaimed, sounding reassured that we had planned to turn back for her. I decided not to press the point in case something closer to the truth came out.

We explored the shops in the area some more, and eventually made our way out of the town part and onto the path up the coast, and the rest of our afternoon was pretty much the scenic coastal hike to Oia. Also the strenuous hike to Oia. We were all wearing flip flops, not having done any research on the terrain of this hike, and realized soon enough that this was not a "hike" but a hike, which actually, yes, involved steep hilly terrain and a lot of dirt paths and rocky roads. I was especially ill-suited for this trek in my $6 Old Navy flip flops that had no support for the sole whatsoever. But the views! The views made every painful step worth it.

It was all just coastline and water as far as you could see, a deep, rich, endless blue, blending into the sky like a giant chalk drawing by a giant chalk artist who had taken his thumb and neatly smeared the line between sea and sky. Every so often we would stop between huffs and puffs and 'ow my feet's for long enough for one of us to make an original remark about how beautiful it all was and for the other two to echo it.

We made good progress up the coast (although our sense of distance traveled was fantastically skewed and way overshot actual distance traveled), but about an hour and a half into the hike, Tiff announced that she was going to bus the rest of the way to Oia, since the hike was doing nothing to lessen her fear of heights (we had just scaled and climbed down a particularly high hill/mountain) and her back problems were unfortunately getting in the way. And also because she didn't like hiking. A minor factor which Judy and I had either been unaware of or forgotten.

Consequently, with some uncertainty and several misgivings, Judy and I parted ways with Tiff, with me wondering even as we waved bye to her how exactly we were to find one small Tiff in a decently sized town with 2/3 of the group lacking phone data. (We had arranged to meet at the bus stop where Tiff would get off, but who was to say how easy that would be for Judy and me to find?)

Down one member, Judy and I picked back up on the hiking trail, where we encountered a young couple saddling up on a pair of donkeys to go up the trail. We passed them, and somewhat bemusedly found ourselves keeping a steady pace ahead of the donkeys for a while. Wondered briefly should we have put Tiff on a donkey? Decided no, the bus was probably a better option. But at least if she was on a donkey we could have walked with her. Eventually we decided that the pressure of keeping pace ahead of the donkeys was too much so we let them pass in front of us, a decision we immediately regretted when we found ourselves walking directly behind three very large and smelly donkey posteriors for the next several minutes.

I would say more about this last hour of the hike with Judy to Oia, but it was largely uneventful, though consistently gorgeous. I think there was a lot of singing and faint humming. Vaguely remember Judy playing some kpop from her phone. Also met a nice middle aged couple from Canada or somewhere who had met when they were in high school. Admired us for doing the hike in flip flops; we told them we were just stupid and unprepared.

We got very excited once we emerged from around a turn and finally saw the welcome sight of the white roofs of Oia for the first time. Once they were in sight it was a short hike down to reach the edge of the town, a short hike that involved more singing - the Wicked musical songs this time, I believe - and some more spurts of kpop.

It was on this last stretch that we also consulted each other on the plan of action for once we arrived in town. We had three priorities upon arrival: 1) find a bathroom 2) find Tiff and 3) find Greek yoghurt, as I presented the case to Judy. Why can't 1) and 2) go together, she wanted to know. Good point, I agreed, and we continued to approach town, while I continued to wonder aloud whether we hadn't hugely underestimated how difficult it would be to find Tiff in this town with no means of communication.

Not five minutes after I'd uttered this pessimistic thought, we rounded another corner and there was Tiff standing about ten feet away from us, in the doorway of a - wouldn't you know it - Greek yoghurt shop, with a bathroom to boot.

Once the rapturous reunion was over, the three of us set off deeper into Oia to find a good spot for watching the sunset. As we walked, Judy dismissed every likely looking location, insisting that none of these places offered the view she was thinking of but then later admitting that she didn't actually know what she was looking for. Regardless, we soon found what it was that we had unknowingly been looking for: a huge old abandoned building (or was it just a part of the cliff/rock?) crowded over with a goodly mob of other sunset-watchers, which afforded a gorgeous view of Oia's famous white buildings hewn into the cliffside, with the sun just beyond floating down to touch the top of another little island in the distance.

We scrambled over a wall and onto a ledge that jutted out farther, where we sat and did what one does in Oia: watch the sun go down. Never a commonplace occurrence, but in Oia, Santorini, really something spectacular. The three of us sat in silence while everyone around us chattered. Judy listened to music. I wrote yesterday's journal entry. Tiff pondered complex existential questions and did math proofs in her head.

When the last bit of the sun disappeared, cheers and applause erupted, as if everyone had just finished watching a great movie or play. "Good job, nature!" someone beside me called out. It sounded more whimsical than idiotic.

Last stop of the day was dinner at a restaurant called Lotza, which gave us a nice opportunity to eat on an outdoor terrace with views of the water. Delicious mussels and shrimp saganaki, and more tzatziki, which I think we've eaten with every meal in Greece so far. Then a quick stop to pick up some baklava, and then we boarded a bus which was supposed to take us to Firostefani, where our b&b is, but which skipped it and let us off at Fira Center instead, about a ten minute walk away. Judy asked the driver if the bus usually stopped at Firostefani and why we had skipped it but the driver shooed her off with a surly "bye bye goodnight" which rudeness had her steaming for a while. There were a lot of loud 'urrrghhhh's and 'hella rude's coming in a steady stream from her general direction for the first half of the walk back, until she decided she was over it.

Got home and ready for bed by about midnight, with Judy and Tiff both dropping off about an hour before I was prepared to sleep. I was finally just about to lie down myself, when I felt a horribly familiar nausea come over me that I couldn't ignore. I knew what was coming - my dinner - and dashed to the bathroom. Here is the unglamorous part of traveling that you don't see on Instagram: kneeling on the bathroom floor at 2am with your head in the toilet for an hour and a half, trying to distract yourself in between heaves by going back and forth between reading "Anne of Green Gables" on your phone and googling "how do you know when you've finished vomiting?"

I was evidently the unlucky one, physically, on this trip, and I reflected that between my crippling cramps in Amsterdam; the nasty swollen pus-filled bug bites on my legs (oh yes! That happened) from Athens; the mysterious, also pus-filled heat blisters that appeared out of nowhere on my ankle; my painful sunburn which might have made a family of lobsters mistake me for one of their own; and now my food poisoning/indigestion/apparent newfound intolerance for seafood; it seemed I had been designated the sacrifice to the gods to take on all of the physical pains and discomforts possible on our trip. No blisters, bug bites, cramps, sunburn or puking for Tiff and Judy, for which I am convinced they can thank me, seeing as I clearly took their portion.

Two am with bits of undigested shrimp floating in the toilet and a mouth full of vomit taste was not exactly what I'd been expecting for Santorini, but I figured there had to be a price to pay for such a perfect vacation, and this somehow must be it. And with that thought in mind, and Emily's admonitions via Facebook Messenger not to sleep on my back lest I choke on my vomit in my sleep, I finally crawled into bed exhausted and thoroughly grossed out at 3:30am.

It was all worth it to live a day like this one, I reckon.

europe 2016, day 10: athens (may 7)

It is 11am on Sunday, May 8, and I am sitting at a table outside on a balcony in our bed-and-breakfast in Santorini with what I am well aware is a view anyone might envy me. The view was new to us this morning - we arrived here from Athens late last night (our flight landed at midnight) so we couldn't see anything yesterday except some twinkling lights indicating to us where all the houses stood on the island. Our taxi ride from Santorini Airport in itself was quite the adventure, though. For one thing, the driver paid no heed to the double yellow lines on the road that I am fairly certain mean the same thing here as they do in America, and swerved around Santorini's winding roads and hills at a reckless pace. He also had any number of friends calling him every few minutes - what they had to talk about at midnight I can only imagine; all I could understand was "Hela!" and "Ciao ciao ciao." Halfway through the ride I saw Tiff reaching surreptitiously for her seatbelt. Wise decision, I thought.

When we arrived at our B&B (Ersi Villa), the reception was dark and the door locked, though our host Elias had told Judy he would be waiting for us. We stood there a little disconcerted for a few minutes wondering what to do when a little old lady with tightly curly hair emerged from around the corner in her pyjamas and wordlessly approached us, beckoning us to follow her. It turned out that she was Elias's mother, and that Elias himself wasn't there "because it is Saturday night." An understandable explanation.

She took us up to our room, cautioned us not to drink the tap water as it's salty, told us breakfast would be from 8:30am to 10:30am, and left us to collapse onto our beds. That was all last night (May 7) in the dark, so waking up today and going outside to actually see what our surroundings looked like was a load of fun, and sheer delight.

--

Break above represents Judy calling me to join her in going to talk to Elias, our host, about things to do today. And now I'm sitting and writing this on a rocky overhang on the edge of Oia watching a beautiful sunset -- but hang on a second here and let's back this up to yesterday's full day in Athens. Santorini will come in its proper place and time.

We started our day early, leaving our Airbnb (and our backpacks, which we would pick up later from our host George), and set off for Hadrian's Arch and the Temple of Zeus in central Athens to meet our guide for the walking tour we'd booked, Bill-or-Jimmy. Ours ended up being the Jimmy half of Bill-or-Jimmy, and we started off on our tour with him in what might fairly be called the most eclectic group of tourists ever assembled. Jimmy himself was a rare gem. Born and raised in Australia to Greek immigrant parents who later moved back to Greece when he was in his early twenties. His story goes that not long after they moved, he flew out to Greece for a visit (after much urging from them) and apparently was seized when he landed at the airport - wanted for mandatory military service, as his parents had registered him as a dual Greek and Australian citizen. I imagine such a moment would have had a life-shattering shock, but it seems to have worked out well for him, as he's still living in Athens and settled with his own family twenty years later.

We started our tour with the background on Hadrian's Arch, built by - wouldn't you know it - the Roman emperor Hadrian when he came to rule. Hadrian was a philhellene - a friend/lover of the Greeks and Greek culture - and the one to take up again the task of finishing the Temple of Zeus after work on it had been halted. The temple was the first thing you would see through Hadrian's Arch upon entering the central city from the outskirts.

After Hadrian's Arch and the Temple of Zeus, we headed to Zappeion Hall, the first building to be built for the revival of the modern Olympics in the 19th century, and whose benefactor, Evangelos Zappas, is known as the founder of the modern Olympic Games. As the aristocrat who instructed the stadium to be refurbished in marble and the one to sponsor the costs for doing so, he is also where Greeks get the phrase "Who's going to pay for the marble?" - today used to ask someone how they plan to pay the price of an expensive purchase. For instance, a father might say to his son who has just told him he wants a new car, "And who's going to pay for the marble?"

I like this phrase. I think I will start incorporating it into my daily speech whenever I can.

From Zappeion we headed to the Olympic Stadium itself. It was a grand sight. The stadium seats 60,000 people, which is an insane number. I have trouble picturing what 600 people looks like, let alone 60,000. Tiff bought a giant spanakopita from a food stand there and shared it with us.

Next we headed to Syntagma Square. Syntagma means "constitution" - the square is a symbol/celebration of when the Greeks demanded and received their first constitution. Parliament buildings are there, as well as the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Got to see the interesting spectacle that was the changing of the guards at Syntagma, and Jimmy explained to us the symbolism behind all of the pieces of their uniforms, fantastically bizarre ensembles which would have gotten ripped to shreds by the judges on Project Runway. The red hat symbolizes the blood shed during the 400 years of oppressive Ottoman rule. The black dangly tassel type accessory hanging from their hats stands for the tears shed by mothers during this reign. The kilt has 400 curls, or pleats, or some such thing that you could fit 400 of onto the fabric, another representation of the 400 years, and the shoes have large pompoms, because everyone loves a good pompom. As a side bonus, these pompoms are also where soldiers could hide small daggers for hand to hand combat. Killer shoes.

Of course, there is a possibility that Jimmy just made all of this up to make the terrible fashion nightmare that was the soldiers' uniforms a little more justifiable. But that level of fabrication wouldn't even be worth the effort. At least their hats were slightly less ridiculous than those of the Buckingham Palace guards.

We were allowed to go up to stand next to the guards for pictures, Jimmy informed us, but strictly prohibited under any circumstances from doing any of the following things while we stood next to them:

1. Touching them
2. Throwing up a peace sign
3. Giving a thumbs up
4. Making any sort of gesture with our hands, really
5. Taking a selfie with them
6. Grabbing their noses and yelling "got yer nose!"

That last one might not have been stated explicitly as a forbidden activity. Easily inferred, though. Guard positions are highly respected in Greece and it's not just any old Joe who can become one. To qualify to become a guard you have to be over a certain height (I believe 180cm), at least fairly good looking, and able to pass a series of rigorous examinations. Tall, handsome, intelligent Joes only. As such, they must be afforded the highest respect. No selfie stick foolishness, or nonsensical hand gestures, please.

Also, apparently, if you broke any of those rules, the guard would have the right to bang his weapon on the ground loudly to a) let the supervisor guard know he was being disturbed and b) give the rule-breaker a heart attack. When Judy went and stood next to him to take a picture, half of me was hoping she would accidentally bump into him so I could see him bang his weapon and give her a scare. The other half of me was thinking, wow it's super hot and I could really go for a milkshake right now.

After Syntagma, we made a quick pit stop so we could all take a bathroom break, and also so we could get our second cup of frozen Greek yoghurt. We then headed back toward Monastiraki Square (heading back to Monastiraki was a recurring theme all throughout the day) but took a different fork, following the road that led up to the Areopagus, or Mars Hill. Along the way up we also got a nice view of the Agora, which was pretty dang cool. Seventh grade social studies vocab quizzes coming to life!

I spent a good portion of the hike up to Mars Hill lamenting my decision to wear jeans instead of shorts because it ended up being much hotter than I'd expected. Tiff's biggest regret on our trip is the time and money spent on Skansen in Stockholm (which she has brought up, I want to say, about once a day since then); mine is easily any time I don't dress correctly for the weather. Time spent doing something not super fun? All good, still a pleasant memory. Four euros on low quality, instant hot chocolate? Fine, at least it warmed me up when I was freezing in that forever-line waiting to get into the Anne Frank house. But skinny jeans when I could have worn shorts, and I am a duck dying in the rain. My usually sunny outlook on life turns dreary, dampened by the constant aggravation and despair over the fact that I could have been nice and cool but am sweating instead. It's somehow the one thing I can't be optimistic about. 

In spite of the heat, we reached the foot of Mars Hill soon enough. The first thing we saw upon arriving was a plaque embedded into the rock which had the message that the apostle Paul preached on that rock a couple of thousand years ago to the Greeks. Does it get more surreal than that?

We climbed up to the top and were greeted with breathtaking views of the city of Athens and a lovely view up to the Acropolis and Parthenon (unfortunately closed for admission because of the government strikes). The view of Athens itself was so pretty. Did I write last night that Athens wasn't pretty? Well, I was incredibly stupid. Athens is beautiful. There are no buildings higher than the Acropolis (there's a law to prevent any from being built in order to preserve the view), no skyscrapers blocking any horizons, and instead you can see everything for miles and miles of uninterrupted landscape. Or cityscape, whatever. 

And to be looking down at all this magnificence from Areopagus, where Paul preached to the Greeks about God the creator of the universe - his famous "to an unknown god" sermon - well, there aren't really any words to adequately describe what that feels like. Before sleeping last night I read Acts 17, the passage that details Paul's preaching on Areopagus, and tried to let it sink in that I had been able to stand on that very same hill just hours before. It didn't.

We spent a good deal of time up there, enjoying the view, walking around, taking pictures, reflecting, marveling. Said goodbye to and tipped Jimmy, who had been a really excellent tour guide, and he gave us a recommendation for dinner on Adrianou Street, giving us a business card for the restaurant and telling us to tell the owner that Jimmy had sent us, so we would get well taken care of. We thanked him and then left Mars Hill, headed to a popular hole in the wall place for gyros (again) called O Kostas.

We then took the increasingly familiar trek back to Monastiraki to hunt up the smoothie place we had found the day before for more Greek yoghurt and smoothies. Spent some more time popping in and out of the shops like so many whack-a-moles constantly appearing in different places, with a particularly long stop in one very colourful, very pretty shop full of scarves and tea towels. I think that was Tiff's heaven. 

Next stop was the Acropolis Museum, which was thankfully still open despite the strikes since it's a privately owned institution. The Acropolis Museum is fairly new - built in 2009 on the slopes of the Acropolis - and displays all of the statues, friezes, and artifacts that were found in the ruins. Super interesting stuff. The bottom floor had glass squares laid in so you could look down below into the archaeological site of the ruins of an ancient Athenian neighbourhood, and some random everyday artifacts on display. First floor was filled with statues that were around the Acropolis, and the top floor was the Parthenon Gallery. There was a reconstruction from all the salvaged parts of the massive frieze in the Parthenon of the entire frieze as it would have looked in the temple, with giant slabs of sculpted marble all hanging all around the gallery. Some panels were empty - the missing panels are on display in the British Museum, which bought them from Lord Elgin, who came and took them from Greece to take back to England. Something the Greeks are none too pleased about. I saw the missing sculptures when I went to the British Museum a few years earlier; I had thought that they looked very majestic and impressive. They would have looked even more majestic and impressive in their rightful place in the Parthenon Gallery.

But since they couldn't be on display there, I liked that the Acropolis Museum had those empty spaces instead with the signs saying those pieces were in the British Museum. Like a super passive aggressive dig at the British.

I also saw the remnants of the sculptures depicting the great contest between Athena and Poseidon for the patronage of Athens, and Athena's virgin birth from Zeus's head. I love Greek mythology because it makes so much sense.

We spent about an hour and a half at the museum, then headed where else but back to Monastiraki, which was quickly coming to feel like our home base in the city. Collectively decided to go to the restaurant Jimmy had recommended for dinner, which was at 9 Adrianou Street. After a bit of walking, I saw number 9 and exclaimed, "It's this one!" We were peering at the menu stand to see what the prices were like when the host, a bronze-skinned old man with an excellent white mustache popped up and greeted us effusively.

Wanting to confirm that this was indeed the place we were looking for, Judy asked him, "Do you know Jimmy?"

"Jimmy, yes!" he responded enthusiastically.

We looked at each other and shrugged; this must be the place, we acknowledged. Before we had a chance to hesitate, we found ourselves being seated at one of the many outdoor tables with a nice view of the Parthenon, our host pushing together two tables to give us the best view and most comfortable seating - "for Jimmy's guests!"

It was only after we were thus seated that we questioned whether this actually was the right place, as the name didn't look quite like the one we had on the business card, though the address matched. Judy decided she was curious and wanted to check, so up she got to investigate. She came back to our table a moment later, laughing, "Guys, this isn't the place. It's the one right next door."

Tiff's and my responses to this discovery were typically characteristic. She immediately became somewhat disgruntled, assuming our host had lied to us about knowing Jimmy just to get butts on seats. I wasn't convinced this was the case - he had responded so surely and easily - he could very well know Jimmy too, he was just next door - innocent until proven guilty, I pleaded. Either way, we'd already sat down and Jimmy's-friend-or-not-friend had brought us water, so it was too late to back out. It didn't really matter, though. The food was delicious - tzatziki and stuffed tomatoes and pork gyros - the view still beautiful and surreal, and the atmosphere simultaneously lively and mellow.

As we were paying our bill, our host came and brought us a platter of fruit for dessert, free of charge. "For Jimmy's guests!" he said happily. This seemed to change Tiff's mind about him.

"I guess maybe he does know Jimmy, then," she said amiably, spearing a strawberry on her fork.

Strangely enough, this free dessert had the opposite effect on me, and the doubt crept into my mind that perhaps Tiff had been right and he had only pretended to know Jimmy to get us to sit down. It seems we'll never know for certain, but regardless of whether or not he actually knew Jimmy, he treated us as if he did, which is what counts, I suppose.

After we polished off our fruit, we headed back to Monastiraki Square for the final time, this time to meet George, our Airbnb host to pick up our backpacks, which he had very kindly stored for us while we were sightseeing and driven to bring to us. We met him and his pretty fiancee, whom Panos had told us he'd been with for nine - nine! - years. Even at a first look, George seemed the polar opposite of Panos - steadier, perhaps inclined to a quieter, more stable lifestyle than Panos, who seems much more a friend-of-all-the-world-adventure-is-out-there type of guy. But George and his fiancee were both lovely, and we were touched once again by the kindness of everyone we'd met in Athens.

I think that is one of the biggest reasons I loved Athens as much as I did - so much more than I had been expecting to. At every turn, we were met with unfailing warmth: Panos, Maria, Steph, Jimmy, Jimmy's-friend-or-not-friend-we'll-never-know, George. There was not a moment of any hour while we were in Athens that some kind soul was not taking care of us, or instructing someone else to take care of us, and it made all the difference in the world.

Thank you, Athens.

europe 2016, day 9: athens (may 6)

Today was a highlight day. One for the books. I'm in Athens right now (what a thing to be able to say!) in another lovely Airbnb - not as delightful as the Brussels one, but still nice - and it's difficult to realize that I was just in Belgium this morning. But I was, and there you have it - the (insane) nature of traveling around Europe.

We had another early start in Brussels today, but not as early as it was supposed to be, seeing as all of us overslept and woke up at 6:45am, which is when we had intended to leave the apartment. With some noteworthy hustling on everyone's part, we were ready and out the door to Gare du Nord in 20 minutes. Once we got there we played my favourite game of Pick the Shortest Line and failed spectacularly, choosing the one line with the lady who took the same amount of time to buy her tickets as five people in the line next to us. It took an eternity but we finally got our tickets, and made it to Brussels Airport in a timely fashion.

At the airport we saw evidence of heightened security in light of the recent attacks - lots of armed soldiers everywhere, for one thing, though I'm not sure how much safer that made us feel. Got through to our gate without too much trouble. Judy set off the metal detector and got a patdown, which made me feel safe - you never know, with Judy - and Tiff got her juice confiscated, which made her feel sad. On the plane at 9:30am and all three of us immediately knocked out, waking up three hours later in Greece.

We'd originally planned to take the metro from the airport to our Airbnb, but our host, George, contacted me the night before our flight and told us that there were strikes planned on pretty much all forms of public transportation for the weekend that we would be there. So the metro was a no go, but on the bright side, we got to have the true Greek experience of not being able to take public transport anywhere thanks to strikes.

Thankfully, George arranged for his friend, Panos, also an Airbnb host, to come and pick us up from the airport and take us to our apartment for 40 euros, which was cheaper than a taxi. The main problem was how to get in touch with this Panos, of whom I knew nothing besides his name and the fact that he was going to meet us at exit five. This turned out not to be that big of a problem, however, as we did have a cell phone number, and we realized Tiff could use international data to iMessage him.

Tiff texted him and he immediately called; she handed the phone to me and our conversation went something like this:

"Hi, this is Panos!!!!!!"

"Hi Panos! This is Yurie. Are you here at the airport? We're outside exit five right now."

"I'm on my way - I will be there in two minutes! Exit five, yes??"

"Yep!"

"Okay very good. And you have to cross the street since it's a taxi line right outside; I will pick you up in the middle lane."

"Got it. We'll cross and wait for you there."

"Great, I will see you girls soon! Also, can you take a picture of yourself and send it to me so I can recognize you?"

No, actually, I can't, because I look like I just walked through a hedge backwards and haven't showered in five days, I wanted to tell him.

Instead I said, "Oh!....Sure." And hung up.

"What did he say?" Tiff immediately asked once I handed back her phone. She had been - I won't say paranoid - extremely cautious about texting the number and giving away too many details about ourselves before we could verify it was actually the person we were supposed to get in touch with. I had tried to argue that this caution was unnecessary given that it was the number George gave us directly and short of someone ambushing Panos on his way to the airport and stealing his phone and posing as him, there was no reason it wouldn't be the right guy. To no avail. But it's always good to have one paranoid person in the group.

"He said he's on his way. He sounds nice. And you need to take a picture of me."

"What?"

"He asked me to send him a picture so he can recognize us. Judy, do you want to be in this picture with me please." It wasn't really a question.

"Nope," Judy said promptly, and sidled away from me.

So I proceeded to pose awkwardly for a terrible photo which Tiff took and sent to Panos, after which we stood outside and looked out for a grey Kia. After several minutes, we saw him approaching, and as he pulled up to the curb the first thing he said was, "I liked your selfie!"

Panos turned out to be a big Greek guy, I guessed late twenties, with a broad and easy smile and a cheerful, welcoming manner that made all three of us feel at home in this country at once. A gift, that. We all piled into his car cosily and had a very enjoyable forty minute drive into the city. Panos is one of those naturally great, comfortable conversationalists in whose company it's impossible to feel ill at ease. The ride passed cheerfully with him cracking jokes, singing along loudly to the radio, asking us about ourselves, airing his thoughts and opinions freely, and telling us his own endless supply of travel stories. He's a full time Airbnb host with several listings that he manages at once, and also runs his own business in hospitality that involves helping and coaching other hosts to provide the best experiences for their guests. In the past two years, he has met nine hundred people, and in the past six months, visited twelve countries. Let's put this in perspective. In the past two years, I would guess that I've met about seventy new people, and in the past six months, I've visited five countries (but for most of the year, that number is zero or one).

When we got to our Airbnb, Panos let us in (he and George are best friends, and he helps George out with his guests quite frequently when George is unable to meet them, it seems) and gave us the quick walk through. He also invited us to a dinner he was planning for that evening, an invitation we readily accepted.

This settled, Panos went on his way, and we three got cleaned up and ready to hit the city. We called an Uber - since the strikes ruled out every other option - which, amazingly, or perhaps not so amazingly, which is the amazing thing, cost only five euros for a fifteen-or-so minute ride into the city center. Tiff was particularly excited about this - I could tell because she kept reminding us of it every twenty minutes for the rest of the afternoon.

We got dropped off at Monastiraki Flea Market, a giant flea market surrounding a central square that we had wanted to explore today. We immediately picked a street to disappear down, and wandered leisurely around, exclaiming all the while the surrealness of being there. This, we would say to each other, this is unreal. Amsterdam and Stockholm and Brussels were unreal but this is the unreal-est unreal. From the central square where we started out, you could see the Acropolis in the distance, and that alone was cause for all of us to really freaking flip out about where we were.

After not too much time meandering, we decided we wanted gyros and stopped at a little gyros shop to eat. It was upon taking our first bites that we all three simultaneously fell deeply, irrevocably in love with Greece. Heaven inside a pita for the too-good-to-be-true price of 2.50 euros. Every bite after the first one reaffirmed for us the fantastic decision we had made to add Greece to our trip.

Following the best three dollar meal we'd ever eaten, we resumed our wandering through the market streets, stopping occasionally to look around cute or interesting shops. The narrow side streets that all lead into each other and that are all lined with little shops reminded me very much of Seoul, especially Myeongdong. Right down to the persistent shop and cafe/restaurant owners who walk alongside you and try to coax you inside - though here it's mostly men, not women, and they are more charming and jolly than aggressive. The cafes and restaurants were especially pleasant to pass by - outdoor tables galore, live music, delicious looking food, clinking of glasses, a lot of laughing.

Athens doesn't strike me as a very pretty city the way Amsterdam was, or even particularly clean, but what you do get here is the distinct awareness of how ancient the city is. And largely because of this it has a flavour that the other cities we've visited don't have. Also - maybe because of the grubbiness and degree of non-perfection here - I felt oddly at home today walking the streets. It really did feel like Seoul in a lot of places.

Stops we made included a smoothie place for a strawberry smoothie that had Greek yoghurt in it - deliciously fresh - and one of the many shops selling about a thousand varieties of olive oil so Tiff and Judy could pick some up for their mums and so I could pick up some gifts as well. By the time we were done at these places, it was approaching late afternoon, so we started making our way toward the area we were supposed to meet Panos for dinner, near the Acropolis.

We stopped once again near the Acropolis Museum, this time for some frozen Greek yoghurt with nuts and honey which caught our eye. One spoonful and I was convinced that this was what the ancient Greek gods subsisted on. Bye bye forever, Chobani. Bye bye forever, Yogurtland. Bye bye forever, any other yoghurt of any kind, Greek or otherwise, that is not actually eaten in Greece.

After this perfect little rest stop, during which we all lamented that we would never be able to eat yoghurt in America again, we explored the surrounding area for about another hour and then headed to the restaurant Panos had picked for dinner. He was already there before us, and once we arrived he introduced us to his friend Steph, who had recently moved to Athens from London, where she'd been working in product management in the tech scene. She told us she had quit her job to go traveling, fallen in love with Greece last October, and decided to come back to live here for a spell. She now works with Panos as a host as well - he seems to have a talent for drawing people to him and sparking enthusiasm and energy for the things he's enthusiastic and energetic about.

Once the introductions were made, Panos put us in the care of Maria, the restaurant host/server, while he and Steph finished up some work. Maria ties with Panos for my favourite person that we've met so far on our trip. She was a petite blonde woman, wearing tightly fitting overalls that looked fantastic on her, talkative in the same way as Panos which made us all feel instantly taken care of, and bossy in a delightfully motherly manner.

We went ahead and ordered while we waited for Panos and Steph to finish working. Tzatziki, lamb, and moussaka (which took Maria a few minutes to teach us successfully how to pronounce with the correct emphasis). Again, could find fault with nothing - the tzatziki and bread in particular were perfect.

Panos and Steph joined us soon after, and ordered their own food, which they readily put on our plates as well. With their added company, an already lovely dinner became even more enjoyable. After having been only with each other in our little bubble of a trio for the past week, it was refreshing to have outside company and really interact with new people beyond casual conversations in shops and hostel shuttles. Both Panos and Steph are easygoing and open, and have traveled extensively, and consequently both had a lot of stories to share. Dinner flew by in a pleasing blur of great conversation and delicious food, with Maria checking on us periodically to admonish us to give her empty plates.

We finally parted at around 10pm, saying bye to Panos, Steph, and Maria - who gave us all hearty kisses on both cheeks as she hugged us bye - and hopping into another Uber back to our Airbnb. Feel like I got to experience a lot of the famed Greek hospitality firsthand today, and was very blessed by that. I'm inspired by people like Panos and Maria and how easily they welcome others - hoping to carry some of that spirit back with me to California and into my own life.

Athens, I'm in love.

europe 2016, day 8: brussels (may 5)

All a little laggy this morning after our late night last night and definitely overslept past our planned 10am departure time. Impressively enough, we made it out the door at 10:30am, and walked a way into the city to catch a bus to the Royal Greenhouses of Laeken. We ran into the minor problem along the way of not being able to find the bus stop anywhere, though, despite the best efforts of the concierge - whose name was Edwin - at the Sheraton Hotel to help us. Such lost tourists as us cannot be helped, I suppose.

Eventually we gave up looking for the bus stop that would not be found, and opted for the metro instead. We jumped on the first train that pulled into our platform, but Tiff, who'd been examining the metro map, decided that it wasn't, in fact, the right train (for the record: we later confirmed that it was), and walked off it and back onto the platform, saying over her shoulder, "I don't think this is the right train." Judy and I didn't follow her fast enough, however, and the doors shut between us, leaving Tiff alone on the platform and Judy and I still on the train.

On the second day of our trip, while we were on the metro in Stockholm, I had half-seriously, half-jokingly proposed that we come up with a plan for what to do if we ever got separated on public transport, which Judy and Tiff had agreed to. What nobody had been expecting was for this to actually happen, so when the doors shut between us on that platform in Brussels, we looked at each other with something akin to amused consternation, and, emergency plan clean forgotten, Judy and I gestured wildly to Tiff to stay put, since we would come back to get her. Tiff gestured wildly back that she would stay right where she was, so we could go back and meet her there. At least, this is what I was going for with my vigorous pointing and waving, and how Judy and I interpreted Tiff's gesticulations in response.

Fortunately, we all seemed to have been on the same page with our sign language, as Judy and I got off at the next stop, crossed the platform for the opposite train, and returned and met up with Tiff without any problem. After that little misadventure, we got on the next train toward Bockstael, and from there took a bus to the greenhouses without any further hiccups.

The Royal Greenhouses of Laeken are within the park of the Royal Palace of Laeken, and are usually not open for visitors, being a private garden. They are made open to the public for two weeks out of the year, however, and today was the second-to-last day of that two week period, so we were incredibly lucky.

The gardens date back to the 18th century, but a new complex of greenhouses was commissioned by King Leopold II in the late 19th century, changing the architecture of the gardens entirely and giving us what we saw today. Apparently they're world-famous (although if they are, how come I'd never heard of them before?), which makes me even more appreciative that we got to see them.

Once we entered onto the main grounds, we found ourselves starting on the one set path marked off through the greenhouses which ensures that everyone sees everything and in a somewhat orderly fashion - great for people like me who want to make sure they've seen everything and are prone to panicking if they feel like they've missed something.

We followed an adorably stylish family with a precious little girl and boy for the first half hour, hoping they wouldn't notice or find it odd that the same three Asian girls were somehow always just behind them. (Almost unnecessary to record, but Judy took multiple pictures of the children the whole time we were behind them - without getting caught, for once.)

The greenhouses were huge, warm, and just soaked in sunlight. There were any number of serene landscapes on all sides: a big blue lake, huge fluffy pink blossoms, and softly rolling greens which unfortunately I was prohibited from rolling down by signs forbidding people to walk on the grass and by my own moderate sense of decorum.

The walk through the greenhouses slowed down for a good while about halfway through because people moved slowly through the major ones that were filled to overflowing with flowers, so there was a lot of standing and waiting at one point.

"What's the bottleneck?" Tiff asked, after about half an hour of inching forward in a neverending line to get into the first of this complex of greenhouses. There was a little boy restlessly fidgeting and yowling to his mother a few places ahead of us. Expressing just what we were all feeling.

"Probably just everyone stopping for five seconds at each point to take pictures," I guessed - and I was right,  as we discovered once we finally stepped inside. But you couldn't blame everyone (including ourselves) for all the picture-taking - it really was stunning. Unbelievable array of flowers and plants they'd cultivated there, from all over the world. Pinks and whites and oranges and greens everywhere you looked, every corner you turned, a new explosion of colourful blossoms and baskets flowing over with petals.

We traveled through pleasantly and just as slowly as the people before us, and emerged back at the entrance to the greenhouses at around 2 something. The bus back to the city center wasn't coming for a while, so we passed the time with some waffles and ice cream from nearby vans, and arrived back in central Brussels a little after 3. Headed promptly for the restaurant recommended to us by Mariano, Fin de Siecle, as a popular Belgian restaurant, and there we had what I consider to be the best meal of the trip so far. Some kind of special magical sausages with mashed potatoes made with leeks, and their salade maison, which had fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, prosciutto, parmesan, lettuce and olives - both dishes which sound deceivingly ordinary but were anything but. And it was lovely to just sit and talk for such a long time as well, take it easy for a short period after a whirlwind past week during which we were constantly on the go.

After our afternoon lunch, we walked back to Grand Place to do some chocolate shopping (most important activity in Belgium, if we're being real). Found ourselves on one street leading into Grand Place that was just lined with chocolate shops, and we darted into one after the other, sampling and buying various chocolates, which totally sucked. Kidding. Hugely enjoyable, more like.

Spent a good bit of time at one shop called Elisabeth, where the packaging was just amazingly pretty. Bought a couple of small gifts there, then headed back to Neuhaus, which we had planned to do the bulk of our shopping at. After Elisabeth, though, we all unanimously decided that Neuhaus couldn't hold a candle to their presentation - and their actual chocolates were yummier too - so we turned heel and back we went, and the lady there laughed to see us back so soon. We assured her that it was her giving us free earl grey truffles on our first visit that had won our hearts completely. We then proceeded to collectively spend over $100 on chocolate, which is an appalling sum, but it's Belgium, so how can you blame us, and I argue it was acceptable given that it was mostly for other people.

One hundred dollars' worth of chocolate in hand, we went back to Grand Place again, and I discovered a Laduree, which sent me into fits of rapture.

Pit stop for a couple of macarons, and then we plopped ourselves down at an outdoor cafe/bar a couple of streets over for some more of Tiff's favourite activity, namely, sitting and eating. Tiff and Judy then proceeded to astonish me with their seemingly endless capacity for eating french fries (mine had been exhausted a few meals ago), while I contented myself with my second strawberry juice in two hours. This one arrived with a little kebab of gummy candies on a toothpick lying across the top of the cup, which was somewhat perplexing, but lovely and whimsical.

We sat and ate/drank very contentedly while people strolled around the little square area behind us, haggled at the market stands, and rolled past on skateboards. Left around 7 and headed in the vague direction of home, but the sunny weather was too good not to make some more of it, so we sat on the steps near the royal library with a nice view over the city skyline, joining various groups of friends and canoodling couples scattered about.

Once the sun moved down a bit we actually pointed ourselves toward home, stopping, miraculously, only one more time to buy snacks for tomorrow. Came back a little before 9, and packed up for the last leg of our trip in Greece, for which we are leaving tomorrow morning. All carefully rearranged our packs so it's all our warm clothes at the bottom and summer clothes on top, with our $100 worth of chocolate stored away safely as well. Precious cargo, as Judy refers to it. If I get stopped at the airport because my pack is too heavy, the last thing to go will be the chocolates. Will happily chuck half my clothes if need be, but I defy any TSA agent to throw out the chocolate.

Leaving our lovely Belgian vintage nest home at 6:45am tomorrow. Not looking forward to the early start, but can't wait to be in Greece, a country that's always been high on my wish list of countries to visit before I die.

Bye beautiful Belgium - thanks for having us!