Tag Archives: Leisure

Tales of an Epic Vacation

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Who Loves Ya, Baby? 

Part 2   Santorini, Greece

                  We spent time in various locations and islands in Greece. The first two days in Santorini, then a ferry to Naxos where we spent four days, then we headed to Athens for a night, catching our cruise the following day.  While on the cruise, we also visited the islands of Paros, Rhodes, Crete, Kos and Syros.  In summary, all the islands were beautiful, but our four days in Naxos was my favourite. We had more time to spend to experience more of the island. The cruise ports were more highlights and tastes of Greece than actual in-depth experiences. 

                  We first landed in Santorini after our whirlwind in London of sightseeing and zombie-walking. A great opportunity to experience some of London, but something we should return to because friends are there now and just posted a picture of an Agathie Christie statue AND NOW I HAVE TO GO BACK TO SEE THAT UP CLOSE BECAUSE DAMMIT.

 Our time on the plane from London to Santorini was more like an episode from Coronation Street, than any trip I’ve ever encountered. A bride and her three kids plus groom and mothers and future in-laws were trying to figure out seating arrangements, dress storage all the while battling it out with passengers trying to pass them in the aisle to get to their seats. It was so ridiculous we had dibs on streaming season two, because damn, what a show! Would the bride make it to Greece? Would she still be getting married to Joe seated away from her and the three kiddos, in the front row? Because Girrrllll, drink all that Prosecco. You have all your shit together with the kiddos and their snacks, tablets, and headphones calmly sitting by the window gazing out at the sunshine. He was ready to throw Mama from the plane with all the “conversation” over who should be sitting in the front row with him and questioning the dress situation WHICH BRIDESMAID ALREADY TOOK CARE OF SO SIT YO ASS DOWN! Seriously, hope they had a nice wedding. Hope season two will be streaming soon.

We had the pleasure of staying at Nevma Suites in Santorini. A cliffside hotel, with breakfast and our own patio overlooking the water. Lovely.  Our first night we ate at a beautiful restaurant a little jaunt down a cobblestone pathway. The wind was gusty, but the stars were out. It was a lovely dinner. We stopped for beer and wine on our way back to our hotel at a store that was officially closed, but the owner took pity on us and let us in because a bunch of Canadians needed their beer to end their first evening in Greece. So nice! 

Our view at dinner
Our view on the cliffside from our hotel

The next day we travelled to Oia for the scenes and views and crowds…oh the crowds. When the cruise ships are in its hordes of people trampling up and down the cobblestone paths and alley ways. The sun was hot, and the winds were high. We stopped at the ruins of an old church to take some pics and wonder why we stopped at the ruins of an old church.  We took a break for lunch at a restaurant named, wait for it, the Blue Dome. By the time we had returned to our drop-off point the crowds had dissipated and it was less like the herding of cattle and more like a regular crowd on George St. Only, a little less drunk. 

Beautiful Tia

Dinner that night was at the Wine Bar. Ohhhh, the trip to the Wine Bar was an adventure to end all adventures. Wind, sun and an astounding uphill climb for THIRTY MINUTES.  I shit you not, GET A TRANSFER PEOPLE. We dressed in all our pretty dresses but sensible shoes because, “It’s a thirty-minute walk,” but THE PART ABOUT IT BEING COMPLETELY UPHILL MUST HAVE BEEN WHISPERED. I didn’t catch that. UPHILL? Fuck.  Did we take breaks? Nahh, who needs a break? We are hearty Canadians!  I did stop to admire the ladies who were getting their photos taken with the long dresses in the whipping wind over the cliffside. Probably a good idea I did not partake in such an event. One inch too far and KJ would have been decorating the side of the cliff with the dress left whipping behind.

Buh-bye KJ!

Better to be on solid FUCKING UPHILL ground. So, we trudged on. By the time we got closer to the restaurant, I was sweaty, sweary and ready to sit on the side of the road waiting for someone to take pity on me and carry me back to the hotel. Again, we are hearty Canadians, and we made it to the bar. It was small and we had a big table outside overlooking the water to see the sunset over the cliffs. Amazing. Then, the wind came up. The sun went down.

Oooohhhh beautiful sunset, can we start the bonfire now, because FUCKING COLD. Seriously, cold in Santorini?  It was more, KJ and the neighbours sitting on a patio watching the sunset with the 100km/h winds on the edge of Signal Hill, Newfoundland than heat-soaked Greece. We sat through our appetizers huddled in blankets and hoping the wind would fuck-off, but I think it got worse. We were then shuffled inside at the bequest of our newfound friend and organizer of the Wine Bar affair, whom I love and mean no harm in the above sarcasm and am eternally grateful for getting us a cozy spot inside to eat our meal and not be blown to shit in the wind. Our pics are great, by the way, especially of our hair blown about and looking like we just had a beat-down with a rabid raccoon, or was that just me? Ugh. 

So cozy!

                  We got a TRANSFER BACK TO THE HOTEL BECAUSE THANK FUCK where we proceeded to pack and get ready for our next adventure to Naxos the following day via ferry. The ferry in Greece operates a lot like Mario Brothers on crack. You play chicken with the cars that are loading AT THE SAME TIME YOU ARE TRYING TO WALK ON THE BOAT so don’t walk the wrong way or Mario can’t save the princess and he loses a life that they don’t give a fuck about so just keep dodging traffic, and people and hang on to your luggage for fuck’s sake and look out of the way. Yeah, like that.   F.U.N. 

Who loves ya, baby?

Tales of An Epic Vacation  

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Where’s the Loo?  

Part 1 London

The title says it all, doesn’t it? A vacation to end all vacations, we travelled abroad and were able to see red telephone booths (What? I like them!), drunk dancing, ancient ruins and camels with questionable behaviours that would rival any current president. Yeah, I went there. Let’s get into it.

Since the airlines in Newfoundland have decided to take pity on us, again, we have a few options to go across the pond without first travelling three and a half hours in the opposite direction, only to turn around and head back. Now, we can get a direct flight from St. John’s to Gatwick, or to Dublin. No going backwards first. Thrilling for us islanders and we took full advantage of it. 

An overnight six-hour flight and we landed in Gatwick tired, cranky and sounding like any true Brit! Fake accents, smelly travel clothes and whining about the train ride we were about to take to get into London. We dropped our bags at the hotel and hoped no one was interested in an overstuffed backpack blazoned with a Canadian flag and weighed closely to that of a small child. That was my idea of ‘packing light.’ It came back to bite me in the ass when we trudged up a hill in Greece in thirty-degree Celsius heat to get to our hotel because, “it’s only a short walk.” Fuck you, it was a LONG WALK UPHILL AND I SWEAT AND SWORE THE ENTIRE WAY.  But I digress…

London. We landed at Victoria station and tried to decide the best way to see everything in five hours or less without falling asleep standing up or being run over by wild taxi drivers or double-decker buses. So fun! We headed right, because we saw a sign that said Buckingham Palace with an arrow, so we followed that. Canadian ingenuity at its peak! There was also discussion about where to stop for lunch, since we were hungry and who wants to encounter a group of hangry Canadians. We might tell you to move out of the way instead of saying, “Excuse me!”  Totally unacceptable behaviour. Anyway, we followed the arrow, then the signs then got momentarily distracted by the multitude of pubs along the way and stopped and admired the beer, then finally got to the palace. We stopped. Took pics. See?  

Then we headed back the way we came, after some discussion about which direction that was, and then made it to a pub aptly named a Bag O’Nails.

Nice bar. Can I get the gps coordinates for the loo, please?
Yummy fish and chips because so hard to find in St. John’s!

Lovely. Who wouldn’t want to have fish and chips there? We are so adventurous!  Luckily, no nails were consumed, but there was beer. And an interesting trip to the ladies’ room which was situated upstairs and through a fire exit door, like WTF dudes?  We have to pee, and you think it’s fun to send us on a scavenger hunt to find the lady’s room? The men’s room was seriously, right across the bar. I felt a call to rise and protest, but who has that kind of time? And me without my sign. Dammit. 

We left the bar and headed in a direction I can’t remember despite my detailed notes. We did manage to find an old red telephone booth that I gleefully went inside to snap some pics and carefully sanitized my hands immediately following.

Because you needed to see me coming out of a phone booth!

And we managed to see some of the highlights like the London Eye, Westminster Abbey and a Palestinian protest. Bonus!   We convinced Hubby to move along lest he forgot he was no longer in the police force and decide to “help” the other members out. The protestors seemed quite peaceful for the most part, so we skedaddled out of there and kept on walking. And walking. And walking. Until we looked like the characters from the Walking Dead and thought getting back to the hotel would be a good idea. Yay!  Now, if only we could find that….

Westminster Abbey
Big Ben!

The tube! Great. Which way? No idea, I thought you knew. Nope, not a clue. Let’s ask. Asking. Oh, the other way. Found the tube. Found the express to Gatwick and fell asleep on the train. Got to the hotel. Ate, drank, then went to bed.  That was London. A very short extravaganza of evading protests, taking in sights and staying awake long enough to make it back to the hotel without ending up in some rando suburb where we would be forced to drink beer and recite our national anthem. Although, that does sound interesting now that I see it on paper…

It should be noted that the weather was cooperative. Sunny and warm but not too hot. No torrential rain or sleet to make us want to bury our heads and drown our sorrows in beer at a pub. That would not have been such a bad way to spend an afternoon. The next day we were on a plane out of Gatwick and on to beautiful Santorini built onto the sides of cliffs with the classic blue and white structures, and beautiful sunsets. And wind to rival any Newfoundland coastline. Glad I brought my sweater for the evening out of, “This feels like I’m on my back patio forcing myself to stay outside because it’s summer, dammit!” and my walking shoes because she was steep! 

Stay tuned for our Greece adventure and why I advise GETTING A FUCKING TRANSFER TO THE WINE BAR FOR FUCK’S SAKE. My glutes are fine….

Santorini. Built on kind of a big hill.

 Pretentious Golf Balls and Wayward Golf Carts Make Golfing Fun!

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Last week, we decided to embark on a golfing day. Well, Hubby and friends decided, I just tagged along. I have never golfed before, so I was more involved with cart-driving, than the let’s-hit-the-little-white-ball-into-Neverland kinda of thing. Really, I was the fan/heckler that propelled them onto greatness. Without me, they would have felt lonely out there on that little tee box. Who wouldn’t want to hear the shouts of the one lowly fan, “YOU SUCK!” before they hit the ball?  They whacked that ball so hard I couldn’t see where it landed. I was not so skilled.

I tried a couple of shots, but I was lucky if the ball managed to roll a few inches ahead of me. I lined up in front of the ball, my hands positioned like they told me (once we figured left from right. That’s part of the challenge.) took aim and swung. All I got was air. I lined up again, only this time my club nudged the ball and it fell off the tee. Fuck. I put it back on the tee and tried again. WHACK. Two feet. I swear to God the ball refused to move. It rolled off the tee like, “Stop it lady, you aren’t worthy of my presence. Get back in the cart and stop embarrassing both of us.”  I hate golf.

Sign? What sign?

Once we figured out if I was a lefty or a righty, it was a bit better. And by better, I mean I hit the ball a few inches. It didn’t pathetically roll on the grass like a toddler and stare at me sadly, waiting for somebody to save it from being ridiculed by the other golf balls. It spun out in front and landed with a thud, and I was momentarily proud, until friends took their turn and showed me up with their prowess. HOW? How can you hit the ball? And so straight? What magic do you know that I don’t? There’s got to be a secret to this weird ability to hit a little stupid ball so far. Is it a special club? A secret swing? I know, its that glove you wear on the wrong hand, like a Michael Jackson accessory, that allows you to take better aim.

FORE! Magic…

Golf etiquette is a thing I’ve learned. Shut up while people take aim, but once they swing, it’s all hail the shouting and jeering. At least, that’s what I did. And we drove the cart right next to where the ball landed so we didn’t have to walk, like we can’t bring ourselves to hike a few feet in wet grass to get the little ball, so let’s ride around in the cart and find all the golf balls and point to them so we can hit them again. So supportive of your fellow golfers. “Here’s your ball and since it’s way back here, you can hit it first, loser.” Nice. “Oh, look your ball is in this dirt pit. Chuck it out while we watch and try not to laugh too hard when the dirt flies up and temporarily blinds you.”  “Oh, your ball landed in the trees? Just take another one and drop it inconspicuously in front of you.” It’s like you’re in the mafia and nobody saw nothin’ and nobody knows shit. Best. Game Ever.

 Searching out the balls was the best. I was tempted to ask if we could do donuts on the course, but I thought we might get banned from the place, so I kept quiet. I wouldn’t want Hubby and friends to get kicked out on my behalf. Hubby wouldn’t let me drive the cart too much due to the winding cart paths and many hills. I guess off-roading with golf carts is frowned upon. I would think if people were out and had a few drinks in them, a few wayward golf carts were probably abound. We had the first tee time of the day, so no drinking at 8:00am, kids, we are a right proper sport. At least wait until 8:30am. Probably a good thing we were sober, and Hubby drove. There were a few bridges, and I could see me tipping that cart into the water. It would be interesting watching the maintenance guys drag a cart from the creek while Hubby tried to defend my driving. “No, really, she just drives like that all the time. Sorry, ‘bout that.”

The golf cart I was allowed to only drive on the paths. Boring….

All in all, a great day. The weather cooperated with no wind and a good temp. We had a few rabbits watching from afar, but generally an empty course. Probably why they let me take a few shots. Nobody would see me roll the ball off the tee and they wouldn’t have to explain my presence. “Yeah, we had to bring her.” Like when your mom made you take your little sister to the park, and you had to explain to your friends, but you would rather have lost her to the monster in the woods.

Kinda like that.

I admired from afar…and heckled a little bit.

European Adventure Episode 4 –Italian Santa is Enshrined in a Random Church in Italy and I’m Not Sure I’ll Ever Recover

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                Our adventures didn’t end once we were off the ship. We had a couple of days in Rome before heading back home, so we were determined to make the most of them. Fully healed and recovered from my previous traumas, we stepped off the train in Rome and were instantly overwhelmed by traffic, noise, and people. Or at least I was overwhelmed. Not sure about the others. I could say who gives a shit if they were overwhelmed, it’s all me here, but I’m a much a better friend than that. Kinda.

                On that note, we got to the hotel, dumped our luggage, and started walking. I was a mere monkey on a string and followed the well-heeled travelers among us who assured me we were on our way to the Colosseum. The walk to the famed ragged stony structure was adventurous. The sun was beaming, the crowds were streaming, and we were sweating. All signs of a good walk to a major landmark in Rome. I was awed by the buildings and wanted to snap pics along the way, but the determination to strike one landmark off our list before lunch was strong. We walked and walked and when I thought we were finished, we walked some more. And then as quick as turning a corner, there it was in all it’s glory. Just standing there waiting for us. “It’s about time you guys showed up. It’s hot out here. I was wilting under this hot sun, you know. What took you so long? You stopped for pictures along the way, didn’t you? Rookie tourist mistake.” Only, all of that was in Italian and strongly telling me off with some spicy words thrown in for good measure.

The Colosseum in all it’s snarky hot glory

                We stood in awe, snapped a ton of pics, moved along to another part of the grounds and on our return walk realized The Boss had been in town the night before doing an outdoor concert. The stage was just coming down and we walked around the barriers and could imagine what it must have been like to attend a Bruce Springsteen concert in Rome under the stars with the Colosseum as a backdrop. There were rumoured sightings of him at a hotel which we staked out with the rest of the crowd because you know, when in Rome and all. But he was in hiding or simply wasn’t there and we moved on. We had stuff to see!

                The Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, Vatican Square, eating Gelato in the middle of an alley were all part of our treks; destinations we had planned to see and went searching for.

The Pantheon
The Trevi Fountain

But sometimes it’s the things you aren’t looking for, the things that present themselves in unusual ways, that are the most interesting and entertaining. And memorable. Like falling off a train or getting lost in a city or near misses from buses that make you appreciate the unusual, the inane and the unique. I think I bring that to the table most times. But not always. Things pop up or you stumble upon an interesting building or an old, abandoned arena or an apparent arbitrary church with no real tourist attraction other than it’s a beautiful church. And an Italian Santa happened to be ensconced in its walls in statue form, lying in state in some sort of weird shrine to Christmas. I guess they felt the nativity scene had been overdone and why not include Santa in our little church of wayward angels. I think it was a church dedicated to all the angels who weren’t as cool as Gabriel or Michael. Those whose jobs were a little less on the monumental-save-humanity scale, and more on the making-sure-the-trees-leaf-this-year scale.

An outside view of the church
Entrance to the church

                When walking into the church, there were crowds sauntering around, the doors wide open to welcome visitors. Frescos adorned the ceilings and statues along the walls. We followed the crowd, thinking this was a famous church with amazing architecture and stained glass. It was and as we descended deeper into it, there were what appeared to be altars at different areas of the church, all with the angels standing guard barely dressed and looking at their feet, or gazing skyward in a winsome I-wish-was-as-cool-as-the-angel-of-saving-the-universe. We couldn’t figure out what the name of the church was, but we did find a plaque on the outside of it.

The beautiful ceiling

               

One altar within the church we happened upon had a statue lying as if in a coffin, dressed in red with a white beard and elf-like shoes. SANTA! Could it be?! But why would a statue of Santa be here in some random church in Italy? An Italian Santa!

Affectionately named Santa Antonio

                Perhaps an artist decided that there were enough Baby Jesus statues adorning all the churches across Italy and he wanted to dedicate his Italian Santa statue as an homage to Christmas, or, to warn Christians the evil of Christmas.  I mean, what better way to honour Jesus and Christmas at the same time than a statue of the big guy honouring THE BIG GUY. Happy Birthday Jesus and Merry Christmas Heathens, here’s Santa Antonio. His last wish was to be dressed in red and immortalized in this church to remind you Christmas is hedonistic. And apparently, very dead. Enjoy yourselves, but remember Santa Antonio is here waiting for you to kneel at his statue and repent for all the presents you didn’t give your mother. Now, go over to the other side of the church and visit the Baby Jesus statue and wish him a Happy Birthday.

                We had difficulty recuperating following our discovery of Santa, but we decided to look around a bit more before we just up and left without so much as a Merry Christmas.

                *In truth, it appeared to be a beloved Cardinal, who must have dedicated his life to the religious teachings to his community. This was their way of honouring his memory. But I still love the Santa angle.

After doing a bit of searching, this translates to, “I will be favorable to you at Rome.” Meaning, When St. Ignatius had a vision of Jesus carrying the cross and saying this to him. He then started the Jesuits.

                See? Sometimes it’s the usual things that pop up in a trip that make it memorable. And despite our obvious delight at seeing Santa immortalized in a church, we remained as respectful as we could muster. The shoes, though!  We snapped some other pictures and said, “Ciao,” to Santa Antonio and took our leave.

                We were unable to get in to tour the Sistine Chapel or the Vatican, but I hear it is phenomenal. And, based on my assessment of the previous church, it may be better I go with a guide or someone more schooled in religious figures lest I twist a beloved Cardinal or Bishop or Pope into some strange version of a Christmas Elf or the Easter Bunny.

European Adventure Episode 3 – You Gonna Drink That? Tuscany is My Motherland

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            Following our days of hiking up the hills of Cinque Terre and the stairs that led to heaven, only to have to turn around because SOMEBODY went the wrong way, we were able to venture back to the ship virtually unscathed and ready to tackle the next day.

I don’t mean to overshadow our time doing the three towns of Cinque Terre. They were lovely, we shopped, and we climbed, and we ate. All the things one does in Italy. I didn’t want to bore you with, “Well, in this town we climbed a million stairs, climbed upwards among the cliffs, took some pictures then walked down again. The end.” Makes for a lackluster story. Especially since there was no falling, tripping or being thrown from an overcrowded bus. I know, it’s shocking but I really fared quite well. And that’s thanks largely to Hubby and friends who lent arms, elbows, shoulders, and other limbs to assist lest gravity had stepped in to overtake me leaving me to tumble down all the lanes, steps and cliffsides. “Watch out! Rolling Canadian incoming!”  

Cinque Terre and those amazing cliffsides that no one wants to see me roll down!

The following day, we connected with our tour guide Sara who drove us to Pisa and on to Tuscany for some wine tasting.       

            The day was cloudy and rainy which made for a quick trip to Pisa. We ventured around the tower, took the customary, “Oh-no-the-tower-is-falling-let-me-hold-it-up-with-my-little-hand-and-make-it-all-better!” poses, bought a souvenir, and tried to get our own Gene Kelly to do his singin’ in the rain routine, but he wouldn’t bite. Woulda been the best pic.

The tower is peeking around the corner to say, “Bonjourno!”

From there, we ventured into the countryside of Tuscany. To say it was breathtaking is an understatement. We were awed by the lush farmland, the cypress trees lining the drives into the vineyards and the sprawling hills. Amazing scenery.

            We ended up at Palagetto winery which Sara had selected as we wanted something traditional and intimate. Surrounded by greenery, tall trees, and little flowers, it was the perfect country setting for wine and company. We entered the front doors and were greeted by our hostess, Gina (Cannot remember her name, so I invented one. She looked like a Gina to me.) She escorted us to a room off the main where a round table set for seven awaited us. Surrounded by oak barrels full of wine, it was as if we had become a part of the operation and were settling down for a break from a morning’s work.  

            The family tradition has been passed down to the daughter of the owners, Ariana, and at the tender age of 28 she is making her own mark on her parents’ legacy with new wines using new methods. We were treated to both wines, traditional and new, which they served with cheeses and bread and their honey which they also made onsite. We tasted the white wine as well as red. We ate and drank as if we belonged there.  All sumptuous and we had a difficult time tearing ourselves away from the lovely atmosphere. And all that wine. The poor souls among us who weren’t wine drinkers, had to donate their glasses to worthy causes like me…and their spouses, although, how could you not drink that wine? Dude. It was WINE. IN ITALY. That’s like going to a Chinese restaurant and ordering a hamburger. IT’S JUST NOT DONE.

The honey and cheese. Yummm…
Inside the winery with all of that wine…
The reason for my existence. I love Tuscany

            I don’t think I need to elaborate on the enjoyment of the wine tasting. My only regret is that we couldn’t stay longer, like a day or a week. Tented out in the vineyard, maybe? Ugh.

            From there we went on to San Gimignano. A small walled city steeped in a history I can’t remember and fraught with shops and restaurants. The wine was great and probably inhibited me from completely downloading the history of the town into my memory, so you can see a bit of it here.

San Gimignano. The walled city

Sara booked us in a small little hole in the wall off the beaten path for lunch, Il Feudo. It appeared as if it had been a church at one time. The original brick gave the space an antique vibe with the white tables and chairs setting it off nicely. The floor was a grey tile with white pillars seeming to hold up the ceiling. Paintings adorned the walls with built-in coves containing statues which brought the idea of a church basement into view. Quaint and bright with great food, we enjoyed our lunch.  And if you are wondering if I had wine with lunch, do you even know me?! Italy. Tuscany region. Lunch. So much wine, so little time.

So good…

Sara returned to retrieve us, and it was time to head back to the ship. I hated leaving Tuscany and all that wine to just sit there. I mean, can we take a barrel or two with us?

No. No we couldn’t and as dismayed as I was to just LEAVE like that, no farewell toasts, no drunken slurring of That’s Amore, we had to head back sober and with all faculties intact or face the alternative of not getting back on the ship to finish our Italian journey. For me, the debate was real, but I was with other people and hated to have Hubby get on that ship and endure the last few days alone. Without me being there to pester him and entertain him with all my wobbly walking and graceful pratfalls, he would miss me! Maybe.

So ended our Italian Wine Tasting and Touring. I will need to go back as there were way more wineries needing my attention. I need to wander through the vineyards, taste the grapes, pour the wine, and drink my face off. Isn’t that what happens in Tuscany?  We drink, we eat and drink and eat some more? Wander the countryside barefoot in a flowing skirt and large hat in the hot sun, wine glass in hand waiting for the handsome farmhand to…

Wait. Sounds like a new idea for a book. Gina and Tomas, ill-fated lovers who are destined to be together under the Tuscan sun, the only thing standing in their way is the Vineyard overlord who refuses to allow his daughter to marry a lowly farmhand. She boldly decides to strike out on her own. She and Tomas will start a new winery with new methods that will challenge her father and all his traditions…

 OOoohhh…

The gals with Sara, our tour guide extraordinaire.

If you are planning a trip to Italy, I highly recommend a tour guide like Sara. You can book her here. She was very thorough, full of history and a joy to be with!

Ciao!