I am a people watcher, especially when I am on my own. That's one of the reasons I rarely feel bored or lonely. People watching is endlessly entertaining, no matter where you are.
I can spend hours looking out the window of my hotel room, watching the scene laid out before me play out - a cafe bustling with customers and waiters that later empties out leaving the staff standing around chatting and smoking; a restaurant kitchen with the kitchen staff in chef's whites acting out the theater of cooking; or people in their apartments going about their daily lives (OK, don't judge on that last one. If you live next to a hotel and don't want anyone watching what you are doing, close your curtains!).
Airports are ripe for people watching, as are planes and public transit. But my favorite people watching venues are parks and other public spaces in cities that I'm visiting. You get a feel for the place just by watching the locals go about their lives.
I'm sitting in a park in Athens enjoying the warm sunshine. The weather has been cool and rainy where I've been for the last while so this sunny day is welcome. I'm watching a group of elderly men who clearly have taken this park as their own. It's a scene I've witnessed all over the world. A group of retirees commandeer a green space and use it as their meeting place - their club. They play games like chess or that one where you toss the balls. Some chat in an animated way while others sit quietly looking pensive.
I can tell that there is a power structure among this group of old guys. One in particular appears to be making the rounds, pressing the flesh and speaking to each person. He must be the mayor.
Speaking of relics (ba-rum-cha!), I am always gobsmacked by the ancient ruins in Athens, and how accessible they are. Even in the modern city, you can hardly turn a corner without seeing a ruin and being reminded that this place has been civilized for about 3500 years. Even the subway has ruins in the walls behind plexi-glass.
I'm taking a rest from a big day of exploring Athens. I'm staying at the beautiful Saint George Lycabettus Hotel situated high above the city. From the hotel, the view of the city framing the Acropolis is stunning.
My day started with me walking down the hill from the hotel toward the Greek Parliament. The sidewalks are lined with lemon and orange trees with huge fruit straining the branches. At the Parliament, the guards are in their colorful uniforms high stepping back in forth in procession.
After checking out the Olympic archaeological site and other ruins, I head up to the Acropolis. On the way, there are ruins of theaters and the view just gets better and better.
As I am wandering, I'm thinking of the philosophers Socrates and Plato and that they probably walked these same paths. As I look down the hill to the port, the Piraeus, in the distance, I'm reminded of the opening line of Plato's Republic, "I went down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon, son of Ariston, that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess...".
The thing is, when I studied philosophy in university, my professor was from the Southern United States, and he had a heavy southern accent. And his reading of these works is imprinted in my mind. So when I think of these lines from Plato, I hear them in a southern drawl - "YES-tur-dayy, I want dewn to the PIE-ray-us". It's a bit disconcerting.
Anyhoo, the Parthenon on the Acropolis is without a doubt the best-known icon of Athens and Ancient Greece. It is awesome and all but I like the areas of Athens that are less trodden. In fact, I love the view of the Parthenon from other points in the city better than being at the Acropolis itself. So after some wandering around the site and taking some pics, I head down the other side into the Agora.
The Agora at the base of the Acropolis is my favorite place to explore in Athens. You can wander alone among ancient statues and ruins and see the market plan as it was laid out thousands of years ago. And the ruins are in a green space that offers up some relief from the blazing sun. It is more park-like (and a little less dusty) than the Acropolis.
Some of the most ancient artifacts are housed in a building at the end of the Agora near the Plaka district. You can see pots and burial remains from five thousand years ago. But my favorite is a jury selection machine, I think it is called a "kleroteria", from the 4th century BC. It was used to select citizens for jury duty. It is hard to get my head around the fact that this place had such an advanced civic system almost 2500 years ago, when I think of all the less civilized times in western history during the centuries since.
I can wander around these ruins for hours on end. To me, Athens feels like one big open air museum. Today, I've covered a lot of ground.
At the Temple of Hephaestus, I stumble on a stone trail and fall into a full-on drop-and-roll situation. Luckily, no one was around to witness the debacle (at least as far as I know). I brush myself off as best I can but already I'm dusty from all the ruin exploring. In the Agora, I take the liberty of scooping a couple of handfuls of water from a fountain to clean up but with little success. I'm feeling sweaty and grimy.
At the end of the day, I return to the Saint George. When I enter the lobby, the bellmen greet me with a tight, pursed smile, and when I ask for my key, the front desk staff ask for ID. But I don't think much of it.
I head to my room, drop my things, and go into the bathroom. Cheese and Rice! I am a hot mess! I am covered in dust, making my face look like a pantomime in make up. One arm, the one I rinsed off at the fountain, looks deeply tanned and detached from the rest of my grimy self. My clothes are drenched with sweat and across my back is a pattern of dirt from my drop-and-roll on the stone path that looks like I was run over by a big wheel.
No wonder they were looking at me sideways in the lobby. Oh well, such is the life of an intrepid archaeological explorer.
Yasou, y'all!
I love driving through the Florida Keys. Wait, let me refine that. I love driving through the Keys when I am not driving toward Key West on a Friday or driving back toward Miami on a Sunday, when traffic is, how you say, "crunchy". You see there is only one road and it is a string that beautifully threads the pearls of the Keys together. But if the string breaks, there is no Plan B unless you have a boat or a pair of flippers with you.
The drive through the Keys is unique. The scenery is incredible on US 1 as you cross large stretches of water with the Atlantic Ocean on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. You see little islands with no habitation on them, sparkling blue waters with boaters fishing or diving, mangroves that seem to hover over the water, and the remnants of old bridges from "Flagler's Folly" - the rail line that Henry Flagler built to link Miami with Key West.
But I also like the places you see in between those jaw-dropping stretches. US 1 is chock-a-block full of places catering to tourists. Many of them look a bit faded and kind of frozen in time. Their exteriors are decorated with fish, shells, netting, or smiling dolphins. There are souvenir shops, motels, seafood restaurants, and businesses that are all about diving and fishing, with Tom Thumb convenience stores dotting the way; and "Hurricane Evacuation Pick Up Point" signs to remind you of how vulnerable the area is during hurricane season.
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There also is the wild life. At the top of the Keys near Florida City, you can scan the waters for salt water crocodiles - the largest population in North America. And further down on Big Pine Key and, love this name, No Name Key, there is the Key Deer refuge. The Key Deer look like the white-tailed deer common in the north but the Key Deer are a pint-sized version. I've only seen one once but driving at night I've often seen their eyes reflecting in the headlights.
Now I love nature and all (well, most) of its creatures. Even though in South Florida, as discussed previously, some of the wildlife scares me. And just as I'm coming to terms with co-existing with lizards, possums, snakes, and alligators - I still cannot step over a sewer opening on the side of a street for fear that an alligator is in there waiting to snap at my ankles - I read about some other exotic that has popped up in this tropical paradise and I get night sweats. Pythons aside, in Homestead, southwest of Miami, Nile crocodiles have been found, and they are the ones that eat humans. I used to go to an orchid show at the park where they found one (key words: "used to"). And, in keeping with the Egypt theme, Nile Monitor lizards are being sighted on the banks of South Florida canals and they eat just about anything that moves. I get dizzy just writing about it.
But at the other end of the wildlife spectrum are the warm and cuddly creatures, like the Key Deer. And my favorite South Florida resident - the dolphin.
Years ago, I was driving along a causeway that links Miami Beach to Miami and I saw a pod of dolphins swimming in Biscayne Bay and breaking the water surface in unison. I couldn't believe it. It was love at first sight.
Then a friend asked me to ride shot gun to Marathon in the Florida Keys. She was going through some stuff and had booked a dolphin encounter at the Dolphin Research Institute to treat herself. I was happy to go along for the ride, and accompany her to what I thought would be an amusement park where the marine life put on shows. After all, there was the promise of an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet at the other end.
But my expectation of the Dolphin Research Institute could not have been more off.
In Marathon, we pulled off US 1 into a gravel parking lot next to an unassuming building. In the middle of the lot, there was a big, faded statue of a smiling dolphin. I had passed it many times before. Inside the building was a gift shop and a desk where my friend checked in and I paid my admission fee. The staff told us that we were free to roam around until my friend's scheduled time for her encounter.
We walked through doors outside and followed a path to the shore of the Gulf where there were pens housing dolphins. But this was not some shiny attraction where the marine life were in glass-walled pools. The dolphins were in the Gulf waters doing their thing; and they seemed genuinely happy.
There were not a lot of visitors on that low season summer day and I wandered off to an area by myself. As I stood by the shore, a dolphin appeared swimming along with one side of it's head out of the water, seemingly staring at me as it passed. It circled around and did it again. After a few rounds, I smiled and waved to it, and to my astonishment, it seemed to react. It began swimming faster and circled back again and again. I felt this connection. It even appeared to be smiling.
A staff member came by with a bucket full of food and I asked her what the dolphin was doing. She told me that dolphins have better eye sight than humans and that, indeed, she was checking me out. I just about burst into tears. I felt like Dr. Dolittle. I was interacting one-on-one with this animal.
After that, I couldn't get enough of the place. Each hour staff members conducted seminars about their work with the dolphins, interacting with them, and I soaked each one up, flitting about among the pens.
I then took on camera duty as my friend had her dolphin encounter. The dolphin she was to interact with, Tursi, was pregnant and the staff were trying to limit her activity but they couldn't keep her down (the dolphin, not my friend). She kept jumping out of the water and doing flips, showing off (the dolphin, not my friend). My friend got to kiss her and swim with her, and the experience left her feeling renewed (my friend, not the dolphin).
I left the place feeling elated. I thought I was going to some theme park but, instead, I had an unforgettable experience at a place with incredible staff doing incredible work.
I've been back many times since and have grown to love the DRC more and more each time. I returned a year after my first visit, and Tursi had given birth. I saw her with her young calf, Gambit. Shout out to Tursi and Gambit!
And each time I return, I go to a pen where no one else is and chat with a dolphin as it circles around checking me out.
The thing about the DRC is that it is about the dolphins, not the visitors. You are an interloper. The staff are dedicated to the dolphins and the fee you pay is to support their work, not to make a profit. It is an awesome place and, hands down, my favorite Florida "attraction". If you are in the Keys, check it out, and if you do, talk to a dolphin and please give it my regards.
http://www.dolphins.org
I am lucky. Growing up, my family always had a cottage to go to on weekends and for vacation.
The first one was a cabin that my folks built next to a creek on some brush land. My dad cut cedar logs and my mom, my sister, and I (and whoever my parents could conscript for the weekend) chinked cement between them (well, truth be told, I didn't do much of that but there is a photo of me doing it at least once). The cabin was pretty simple but it and the land around it were idyllic.
What an awesome place for a young kid. My sister and I had a tire swing, a log teeter totter, and a tree house. We'd explore the land and the creek (when it wasn't dried up). We didn't need toys to be entertained. There was always something new to explore. Buried under rocks in a field, we even found old household items from a farm many years ago - rusty buckets and tools (good thing my folks kept up our tetanus shots) and pieces of colored glass. Our archaeological dig took several days, but once done, we pieced together an old perfume atomizer. We even found the metal top. We glued it all together and my sister kept it in her room for many years, until it met its second demise due to a dusting debacle.
This past winter when I was home for the holidays, my dad, my nephew, and I snowshoed into the old cabin. It's still standing after all these years (a testament to my Dad's building prowess - he's not an architect but he is an engineer and he loves to clap a right angle), and while the trees look a lot bigger now and the area around the cabin has grown in, the place instantly brought back great memories of family times there.
When I was a bit older, my family sold the cabin and bought an A-frame cottage with 175 acres of forested land on a beautiful lake. They still have the place. The cottage had been closed up for many years with the contents left to stew, so we had to gut the place and start from scratch. But soon enough, my mom, who has a knack for decorating, turned it into a cozy place and we had great family times there in all seasons. We still do.
The cottage was accessible only by water. When we first went to look at the place, it was winter and we had to walk across the frozen lake to see it. When we stopped on the road across the lake from the cottage, one of the locals came out and asked if he could help. When my parents told him what we were doing, he said that we could park at his place and come into his home to warm up and use the washroom. Can you believe that? We were complete strangers to this man yet he was so kind. It turns out he and his wife foreshadowed the many great people we would meet and befriend at the lake...well, except for this one dodgy guy...but let's not go there.
Our first summers at the lake were during my formative tween and teen years - I call them "The Times I Grew Into My Face". You see, when puberty hit, my nose and ears grew substantially before the rest of me did. Eventually, overcoming the Dumbo Effect, I grew into them and looked (somewhat) normal again.
Summers were spent swimming, windsurfing, water skiing, and hiking. Winters were spent shoeshoeing and snowmobiling.
My sister and I each had our own bunkhouse, which was like having our own place - pretty cool.
Sometimes, it was stressful to pack things up on a Friday evening and tackle the traffic to drive out of the city and head for the cottage. But once you got into the country and got your first glimpse of the lake, all that melted away.
The cottage has evolved during the many years my family has owned it. Despite locals saying it was impossible to build a road to the cottage, my resourceful pop surveyed one and had it made. My folks also have added on to the cottage to make it more comfortable and to accommodate extended family. But the original A-frame remains.
This year, even cell-phone service is coming to the cottage. Before that our only means of communication was a cb radio or walkie-talkies to friends across the lake. If I needed to make a cell phone call, I had to drive an ATV out our road into the deep woods, up a washed out trail to the top of a hill (the highest point in the area), and stand on the ATV in a clearing to get a cell signal. One time when I was up there talking to someone, I looked over and saw a huge buck standing at the tree line staring at me. He must have been thinking, "What is that nut job doing? Humans are c-r-a-z-y!".
These days, I don't get to the cottage as much as I'd like. But I try to spend a week there each summer. I load up on good food, good wine, and good books, and settle in for some top-drawer R&R.
Each day typically starts with coffee and breakfast on the front deck, maybe followed by a kayak ride. Next on the agenda is dock set up for a day
of reading and listening to tunes, interspersed with a dip in the lake, and maybe some windsurfing or a paddle in the canoe. After lunch, a nap in the hammock is usually in order. In the late afternoon, the bar opens during dinner prep. Dinner usually includes something on the barbecue and a good wine is de rigueur. After dinner, it's time for a camp fire on the rocks in front of the cottage at the edge of the lake. You lean back and, without the light and air pollution of the city, see more stars than you ever thought could exist. At night when your head hits the pillow, you fall into a deep sleep - the silence is intense, broken only by an occasional loon call.
This is indeed a big, beautiful world and I've been privileged to see so much of it. But the cottage remains one of my favorite places. Good cottaging is an art form and Canadians are masters at it.
I've been on a lot of trains lately while traveling throughout Europe. Sometimes, the people watching is more entertaining than the scenery.
I've been hop-scotching through Eastern Europe and now am on a train from Prague to Berlin. We've just passed from Czechoslovakia into Germany and are stopped. What unfolds is a repeat of the drama that has played out at all the borders I've crossed by train on this trip. Border guards from the country we are departing come on with guards from the country we are entering and they pass through the car checking passengers' papers. The guards from one country inevitably try to outshine the ones from the other, preening in their uniforms with stiff backs, upturned noses, and an officious air - Que es mas macho. They scan the passengers and if they stop at you, they snatch your passport, snap it open, and look you over - up, down, and sideways - and then stamp it with a flourish and move along.
Anyhoo, the consolation with this border crossing theatre is that you end up with a cool passport stamp with a little picture of a train engine. It looks like a piece from the game "Monopoly".
Generally, I'm not a chatty person when I travel. In fact, I tend to be downright stand-offish. After a cursory nod and smile to my seat neighbor, I usually put on headphones and begin to read something - the equivalent of a "Do Not Disturb" sign.
But at times, despite these defences, I am defeated by a seat mate that is illiterate in body language. One such time was the other day on my train to Prague. My seat neighbor was "James" from Southern California. He was a gentle guy and laid back but, Shazam!, could he talk. He started talking to me even with my headphones on and rarely took a breath thereafter (He must have a lot of pent up energy from being so laid back). He spoke at length about being at Prague Castle and went into great detail about how, despite wandering around for hours, he couldn't find a castle at Prague Castle. Well I know that I saw a castle when I was at Prague Castle. I know because I almost got arrested there. Indeed, I came pretty close to seeing if there was a dungeon in the castle too. But I just let James run with it.
Then there was the train to Salzburg. A couple sat in front of me. The man kept taking out some nasty smelling meat concoction, schmearing some on bread, and eating it. I couldn't ID the protein but it was unbelievably foul-smelling. When he opened the container, there was a collective groan from the other passengers but he didn't give a hoot. His wife caught on and tried to get him to put it away. But he wasn't having it. When we arrived in Salzburg, I got off the train so fast I left behind the novel I was reading AND my iPod.
And then there was the overnight train I took from Zurich to Paris. The train was all but empty when I boarded and I had a compartment to myself. Later a backpacking student joined me but he was tired and cashed out quickly. I don't sleep well on planes and trains but eventually, I dozed off too. When I woke, many people were in the compartment and more were coming in. We were getting closer to Paris and the train was becoming a commuter one.
This lady sat next to me, took off her shoes, and started rubbing her feet. Then she put on socks and curled her legs to put her feet up on the bench seat next to me. Now, I run hot. I'm almost always warm. And people who are cold tend to gravitate to my heat. So the next thing I know, this lady's feet are snuggling against, and then under, my thigh as she dozed. I'm not a feet person, even when they are familiar feet, and I'm certainly not a feet person when they belong to strangers. But I didn't know what to do. By this time, the car was crowded. There was nowhere to go, so I just let her have at it. I paid it forward and let her use me as her foot warmer.
But I digress. Back to the present. On this train from Prague to Berlin, there is some beautiful countryside. In Germany, I keep seeing Victorian-style grand homes on hillsides. Some look abandoned and haunted. They seem so out of place in this part of the world.
My attention shifts to three sixty-something couples sitting near me. One of the women is knitting up a storm. It's about 10:30 in the morning. She looks at her watch, puts down her knitting, and from her knitting bag, she pulls out beers for the group. She pours beer into cups for the ladies and gives the men bottles. From her bag, she then pulls out brown-paper-wrapped little bottles of some booze - I think the name is "Underberg"? She pours it into small, plastic shot glasses and passes them around. With raised glasses and a hearty "Prost!", they all down the shots and chase them with the beer. The lady then collects the glasses and bottles, stashes them back in her bag, and resumes her knitting while they all sit in silence. End scene.
I wonder how that morning kick will affect her knitting? If more of those beverage breaks are in the itinerary, her grandson's Christmas sweater may have a cowl neck...and only one sleeve.
Dia Dhuit!
I've flown into Belfast for a family wedding of dear friends. The overnight flight was a good one. But as I wait in line at UK Customs, there is an officer who keeps looking at me, and not in a good way. She looks like the British actress Brenda Blethyn - petite and unassuming but with a determined pursed lip and an inner bad-ass bubbling near the surface. Sure enough, I end up with her to be processed. I make it a policy never to take a border crossing for granted, so I'm on my best behavior. She swipes my passport and stares me down. She looks briefly at the screen but otherwise locks in on me. I feel like I need to apologize but I don't know for what. Eventually, she relents and nods me through. Good grief. Do I look that dodgy?
Despite no doubt having a million last minute wedding things to do, my friends are at the airport to greet the flight. Classy. They sit my bleary-eyed butt in their car and we zip off to run some errands in Belfast. It is a beautiful warm, sunny day - a great way to frame my arrival. Immediately, I'm struck by what a vibrant city Belfast is - nothing like my impressions from the news stories years ago during the Troubles. The city has transformed in such a short time.
My friends have rented a cottage outside of Belfast. The drive to it is through bucolic farm country that is breathtaking on such a sunny day. The roads are reed thin. There is emerald green everywhere. Already, I'm in love with this place.
The cottage could not be more perfect. It is situated on a hill with beautiful views, all the amenities, yet an old world charm. The owner even comes by and sets a peat fire each morning to take the chill off. There are stables and an area to dine al fresco. Entirely charming. I can tell this is going to be a memorable experience.
With the help of my friends, I've booked a room in a castle nearby - Killyleagh Castle in the town of Killyleagh. I'm told it's the oldest inhabited castle in Ireland, with parts of it dating to the 12th century. Right up my alley - an adventure in the making. Before dinner, my friend drives me over to pick up the key before the caretaker leaves for the day.
The castle is situated on a hill at the top of the town. It is surrounded by an old stone wall. We enter through an impressive gate into a huge courtyard that leads to the castle. The castle reminds me of a Loire Valley French chateau. We park and wander around the back of the castle to a service entrance that is open. A charming lady in rubber boots greets us, gives me a key, tells me that the room is in the gate house, and cautions me not to expect too much. She also tells me that there is no one else staying at the castle that night. Sounds good to me. I'll be the Lord of the Manor.
She was right about the room. It is indeed "modest" - a tiny room with water-stained stone walls, a damp smell, and a tiny cot-like bed. But I'm all up for the adventure of staying in the castle by myself. The room is in the wall of the gate entrance so I guess I'll be pulling sentry duty too.
That evening, my friends host a great dinner at their cottage for out-of-town guests. It is beautiful. I don't know where they find the time to do all of this. They even give us welcome bags with information about Northern Ireland and some treats.
After dinner, they drop me back at the castle. Now that the sun has set, the place has an eerie feel about it. But I'm excited. Jet lag be damned. I'll conduct a paranormal investigation like those tv shows. A place this old must have ghosts.
I settle into my room. I put my suitcase on the only chair, and arrange things the best I can in the tiny room.
I walk out into the vast courtyard. There is not one light on in the castle. The light in my room in the gate house is the only one I can see.
I begin calling out for spirit activity, and taking pictures to see if I capture anything. Nada. I walk outside the castle gate. Even the town is now silent with few lights and no one to be seen or heard, not even a barking dog. And there is a mist. Spooky. I wander some more, calling out and taking pics. If anyone is around, they probably are afraid to approach the guy talking to himself and taking pictures in the dark.
After awhile, I return to my room, disheartened that I didn't connect with any spirits. Nothing like on tv. Now, speaking of spirits, and in the interest of full disclosure, the welcome bag from my friends included a bottle of wine. Earlier I had cracked it open and had a glass to steel myself for my vigil. Now I had another glass.
The room had no tv or anything to entertain me so I thought, why don't I try and connect with spirits in the room. I begin calling out, "If there is a spirit here with me, please make yourself known. Please give me a sign. I come in peace. I do not mean you any harm.". I mean, what was I thinking? Why am I telling the spirit I don't want to harm it? I should be more worried about it harming me. Maybe jet lag, wine, and fresh Irish country air are not a good mix.
Anyhoo, I repeat this calling out a few times. Just as I'm about to give up and call it a night, I ask again, "Please give me a sign. Make yourself known.". Just then, right before my eyes, my heavy suitcase flips off the chair that it was resting on and lands upside down on the floor. I freeze. For once in my life, I do not jump and scream. I just stand there looking at the case. I am stunned. I don't know what to do. No one is going to hear my scream. There is nowhere for me to run.
I then process in my head that a spirit has done what I've asked, that it probably took a lot of effort, and that I should be polite. I don't want to tick it off. I thank the spirit for giving me a sign. I say that I am going to bed now and that I need no more signs whatsoever. Nothing at all. I wish the spirit a good night and pleasant dreams (?). I then try to invoke some protective white light thing that is a mix of what my yoga guru says and what I've seen on tv. I think I should have done that at the beginning of the vigil. Dag-nabbit.
I don't pour another glass of wine. I just swig some from the bottle.
Oh, and I sleep with the lights on and one eye open. Don't judge.
Slainte! Erin Go Bragh!
