it's all greek to me

After two awesome weeks in Italy, it was time for Aman and I to move on to “country number 18” on our list, Greece.  It was just over thirty-something weeks on the road at that point, and Aman and I noticed that we had a natural tendency to get excited whenever moving on to a new country.  Even so, we were really, really excited about moving on to Greece.  The country from which my father immigrated to the United States, I have visited Greece several times throughout my life and feel a natural bond to the Fatherland.  For Aman, Greece was one of the countries on his “top five” list.  Both of us viewed this particular piece of onward travel as a meaningful milestone of our journey given how long we had been on the road, as well as what we had been through over the summer with my knee injury and talks about go or no-go.  Both of us were also pretty stoked about eating spanakopita (spinach pie) and Greek salads for a couple of weeks.  But, most of all, we were very much looking forward to seeing my parents who were joining us from the States for ten nights.

When the day came for us to get moving, Aman and I traveled by train (from Salerno to Rome, Italy), plane (from Italy to Greece), and taxi (from the Greek airport to Athens).  A very long day, it was well after midnight and dark by the time our taxi pulled up to the Makrygianni neighborhood where we were meeting my parents at an apartment that we had lined up for a couple of nights.  Stepping out of the taxi, Aman and I were greeted instantly by the heavenly scent of fresh bread wafting out from the bakery across the street, one of the best in town.  Seconds later, my parents emerged from the shadows of the sidewalk nearby where they had been sitting on the porch and waiting for our arrival. Despite the late hour – but thanks to a mixture of excitement, some wine that we had picked up at a duty-free shop, and jet lag, on my parents’ behalf – we all stayed up for hours talking.  It was a great first night reunion. 

We devoted the entire next day to exploring two must-sees for anyone who has not visited Athens before:  the Acropolis Museum and the Parthenon.  A temple dedicated to the goddess Athena (patron goddess of Athens), the Parthenon sits high above the city of Athens as the most historically significant building of the Acropolis and ancient Greek civilization.  Conveniently, both the museum and the Parthenon were within a short walking distance from our apartment.  Along the way, we easily convinced Aman that we should stop for one of my favorite drinks in the world – Greek frappe coffee.  It took more to convince Aman that the Greeks were responsible for inventing everything from democracy (true) to the marathon (true) to the word “ok” (not true).  Yes, for those familiar with the scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the father tries explaining to his young daughter and the daughter’s friend that the root of every word comes from the Greek language, well, that is not too far off from my own memories of childhood.

Aman and Dad, discussing all things Greek over a couple of frappes:

Me, Mom and Dad, approaching the Acropolis Museum:

The new Acropolis Museum is an Acropolis-focused archaeological museum that opened its doors to visitors in 2009.  Given its relatively recent debut, neither my parents nor I had ever visited it before, but we had heard its good reviews and thought that it might be worth checking out together with Aman.  Located less than half a kilometer away from the Acropolis, the museum itself is built on top of an important archaeological site.  Through strategically placed sections of cutouts and glass flooring, you can see the excavations and ruins beneath the building when you walk in, which was pretty cool.

In the first upper gallery of the museum are some amazing archaic findings relating to the Acropolis and other important ancient time periods:

But the main draw of the museum is on the second upper gallery – designed as a configuration of stainless steel columns laid out in the exact same dimensions as the ancient pillars of the Parthenon – fifteen along the sides and eight along each end.  The architectural sculptures of the Parthenon – namely, the metopes and pediments (depicting various mythological subjects) and the Parthenon frieze (depicting the greatest festival of the city in honor of the goddess Athena) – unfold as you walk along the perimeter of the gallery.  And, from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the gallery, you can see the northwest side of the Parthenon in the distance.  It was all pretty well done, we thought as we wandered among the ancient relics that provide a glimpse of life, beliefs and traditions in a bygone world.

We saw everything that needed to be seen within the museum in less than two hours and headed, next, to the Parthenon.  Despite the fact that I was still on crutches and still in a knee brace, I thought I was holding up pretty well and insisted that I could ascend the rock (or at least, try).  But when we approached the turnstile at the bottom entrance, the ticket taker insisted that I would be far better off taking the elevator.  We agreed that it made sense to check it out given that the surface of the ground leading up to the Parthenon is incredibly slippery and uneven and involves somewhat of a good climb (it was about the same distance from the entrance to the elevator but no climb).  So Aman and I told my parents that we would meet them at the top and were quickly escorted through a restricted area on our way to the lift.  Previously unaware that the Acropolis even had an elevator, I am not sure what we were expecting.  Regardless, what we found was essentially a construction site elevator built onto the side of the rock slab (see picture above).  Oh Lord, I thought.  Not to be melodramatic, but the ride up the rock on this rickety contraption may have been the most terrifying moment of this trip for me.  Our teen-aged operator of the elevator – who freely, yet shakily, admitted that he himself was terrified of the thing – did not do much to assuage my fears. 

Here I am about to make the snail’s pace crawl straight up into the air.  Not sure whether I am laughing, screaming or about to cry, but it was probably all three.

My trepidations aside, we made it to the top alive.  There, we found my parents waiting and chuckling about my shock-ridden state.  We all had a good laugh about it and I rallied in time for a photo session, before we took a walk around the ruins.

For anyone who has never been, the Parthenon was virtually destroyed in 1687 and has been restored several times since (sometimes better than others; restoration efforts done in the 19th century were so bad that they caused more damage than they repaired).  It has also been badly damaged by pollution over the years.  Currently, the structure is under serious reconstruction so there are cranes and scaffolds aplenty.  But it is still a marvelous sight, and the views of the sprawling city below are amazing.

  

Thankfully, the rickety elevator ride down the rock was less frightening than the ride up.  We all regrouped at the bottom, where it was decided that some food was in order after the long day of sightseeing.  Making our way back in the direction of our apartment, we stopped along the way at one of the many tavernas in Makrygianni serving typical Greek cuisine – bread, salad, appetizers such as tzatziki (yogurt, cucumber, and garlic dip), melitzanasalata (eggplant dip), baked dishes such as moussaka or pastitsio, and grilled dishes such as souvlaki.  Some of my favorite dishes in the world!  Luckily, Aman is pretty fond of Greek food too.  We ate our scrumptious fare and continued to catch up with my parents before returning to the apartment and getting ourselves organized for the day ahead, which was scheduled to begin with a 5:40 a.m. flight from Athens to Limnos, the small island in the Aegean Sea where my father was born and where our group would spend the following week together.

Up next:  our adventures in three very different Greek isles: Limnos, Mykonos and Santorini.

costiera amalfitana

Aman and I rounded out our time in Italy with seven nights on the Amalfi Coast, a region that we had heard many good things about.  Gorgeous, breathtaking, spectacular, unbelievable… these are just some of the words that come to mind when we think of all the ways in which we had heard the Amalfi Coast described to us in the past.  We like places that fit that description, we thought.  Let’s check it out and see what all the fuss is about. 

From a strictly geographic perspective, the Amalfi Coast runs along the southern side of Italy’s Sorrentine Peninsula, and consists of several towns, including, among other lesser knowns, Amalfi, Ravello, and Positano.  Salerno is the main town south of the peninsula, with Naples being the main town that sits to the north.  The entire region faces the sparkling blue Tyrrhenian Sea to the west.  It takes about an hour, more or less, to drive from Salerno or Naples to Sorrento and about the same, again more or less, to drive from Salerno to Naples. 

The first decision we faced in planning our trip to the Amalfi region was picking a town in which to stay for the week.  Not to be ungenerous, but we heard that Naples was a bit dodgy so we quickly ruled it out as a home base.  And, after due research, it seemed as though there was no consensus about what is the “best place to stay on the Amalfi Coast.”  (Yes, that was one of our exact Google search phrases.)  So we took all opinions that we could find into careful consideration, as well as general information about the availability of accommodations and rental cars, and finally settled upon Salerno, where we lined up a good looking, reasonably priced apartment.

We arrived in Salerno on a particularly hot afternoon with instructions to meet the apartment owner, Marco, at Teatro Verdi (i.e., the Salerno Theater), a well-known landmark, since we were told that the apartment could be difficult to find for a newcomer.  Leaving the train station and driving north along the town thoroughfare, we passed the bright blue Tyrrhenian Sea to our left and a relatively steep mountainside to our right.  The town of Salerno – with its narrow cobblestone lanes (in spots, wide enough for motorbikes and pedestrians only), and blocks of old-fashioned apartment buildings (many of which had laundry stringed along their balconies) – started from the shore and ran right up the steep slope of the mountain.  Naturally, this left me (doing well, but still on crutches, and still in a knee brace) with a mix of emotions:  i.e., this is SO COOL versus I really hope our apartment is located somewhere along the lower reaches of this freaking mountain.

Aman and I were standing in the shade of a tree outside the Teatro Verdi, hiding from the baking heat, when Marco walked up.  He took one look at me and, in very broken English, asked whether I had an accident.  When I said yes, but started to explain that it happened several weeks ago and that I was doing much better since then, he told me to speak more slowly...  The thing was, his English was not very good and, we would find over the course of that week, that not many people who live in Salerno speak English.  (Nor did it seem like they had a need for it – from what we could tell, Salerno is a very authentic place to visit in the region; you are more likely to come across local residents rather than other tourists when walking about town or hitting the beach.)

Marco graciously grabbed one of our larger bags and led the way on foot to the apartment.  He said that it was not far away, as we turned down one of the cobblestone alleys leading away from the main road and up the mountainside.  For my part, I tried to stay positive and focus, not on the fact that it was incredibly challenging for me to walk uphill on crutches, but on the fact that I was making progress.  That is, no way could I have accomplished the same feat a couple of weeks earlier.  (It had been three weeks since the bicycle accident in Amsterdam, at the time.)  For his part, Aman walked a few feet away, eying me closely and making sure that I did not tip backwards from the weight of the pack on my back…  After a few minutes, we reached a public elevator (oh thank you) that would take us up a few street levels.  Marco explained that the elevator was only opened at certain times in the morning/early afternoon and late afternoon/early evening.  Otherwise, we would have to take the long route, using the cobblestone lanes that crisscrossed the steep slope of the town. 

When the elevator stopped, we found ourselves across the street from Marco’s apartment building, a spacious open loft on the second floor with full-size balcony doors overlooking the narrow gray lane below and providing a glimpse of the sea and the port in the distance.  It was perfect.  Most of the immediate buildings on our street were painted bright yellow – in the day, the sun brightened whatever corner it touched, and, at night, the streetlights turned everything golden.  The streets were generally so quiet that you could hear the neighbors’ voices floating sweetly in the air whenever someone was having a conversation nearby.

By day, with a view to the sea:

And, at night:

Aman and I spent that night and the next day poking around Salerno… during elevator hours, of course.  Our apartment was quite close to the center of town, where we had access to some lovely restaurants, as well as the Lungomare Trieste, which is reportedly one of the best promenades in Italy.  It stayed pretty quiet during the hot afternoon hours – again, we did not stumble across many other tourists in Salerno, and the locals seemed to observe the time-honored tradition of having a big lunch followed by a good nap in the afternoon.  As a result, many shops and restaurants were closed during the daytime.  In the evenings, however, the town and the promenade, in particular, would come alive with people and activity, and offer pretty views of the quiet sea and the surrounding coastal towns all lit up in the night.

After a couple of days, it was time to pick up our rental car and explore the broader region.  On the morning in question, Aman set out early for a jog to the car rental office, which was near the train station.  Upon return, he was disappointed to report that we had been upgraded to a “better” vehicle.  Yes, normally, one would be excited about a luxurious rental car upgrade, but Italian streets are so tight, the smaller the car, the better. 

So whereas we were all giddy about touring the coast like a local in one of these:

It was more like this:

Never mind, we still had a blast.  Aman and I climbed in the car later that morning and set a course for Sorrento.  No, we did not have a GPS, nor was it necessary.  On the Amalfi Coast, it is perfectly reasonable to plan a strategic direction mentally.  It is not hard to execute either, as there is only one land route that runs along the coast.  So, with the help of intuition and these signs that were posted along the way, we winged it just fine.

The drive itself was, well… gorgeous, breathtaking, spectacular, unbelievable… basically everything we had heard that it would be.  The route, which is impossibly narrow throughout, bends naturally and, at times, sharply along the stunning coastline that divides the dazzling blue sea, on one side, from the verdant mountains, on the other.  The Amalfi Coast is known for being a major producer of limoncello liqueur, and lemons, one of the region’s most widely cultivated crops, could be seen growing in terraced gardens along the entire way.

          

Bright flowers could be seen and smelled almost everywhere along the roadside too:

We passed several small fruit stands as we drove between towns and could not resist stopping by at least one, where we bought grapes, peaches, apricots and vine-ripened tomatoes.

After passing through Maiori, Minori, Amalfi and Positano along the southern shore, we turned inland towards Sorrento, which sits on the northern side of the peninsula.  A busier tourist town, we found parking and strolled through the streets for awhile, before we turned our attention to a good meal and, of course, the sea.  Set at the bottom of a cliff, there was not much beach but still, this was one of the most amazing seaside recreation areas that we have yet to encounter.  (Thankfully, an elevator can be used, for a small fee, to access the area otherwise I would have never made it down to the pier where I relaxed under a bright blue umbrella as Aman took a swim nearby.)

Later that day, we took the same route back, mostly following the southern side of the peninsula as the sun began its descent for the day, and gawking (me more than Aman, who was driving) at the amazing views of the sea and the quaint little towns nestled in the folds of the green mountains.

We hit the coastal road again the next day, and headed for Maiori.  Smaller and perhaps lesser known and less visited than the more popular towns of Amalfi and Positano, Maiori has the longest stretch of unbroken beach on the coast.  And, based on our drive the day before, it looked as though it would be much easier for me to access the beach in Maiori than any other town.  (The beaches of Amalfi and Positano both involve steep climbs along hidden paths that start from the side of the road and wind their way down the rocky roadside cliff.)  We stayed on the beach for hours, enjoying the afternoon – Aman in and out of the water, and me under our red and white striped umbrella.

Two days of driving along the coast and sampling the local beaches was very relaxing and great fun but, on our third and last day with the rental car, we opted to hit the autostrade (the highway), and make a very important trip to Naples.  Our shameless mission: pizza.  That’s right, pizza.  Because everyone knows that the best pizza in the world is made in Naples, the birthplace of pizza, and we were so close by…  how could we not attempt to verify such an important claim?  Besides, it was not as if we could have otherwise spent the day touring Pompeii – although it is supposed to be a really cool thing to do if you are in the area, one of the most common remarks about touring Pompeii is that it involves a tremendous amount of walking.  All things considered, I was doing well, but I still could not get around without my crutches and my knee was still in a state of near-constant, low-grade pain.  A full day of walking in the sweltering heat was not possible.  Naturally, pizza seemed like the reasonable alternative.

Driving into Naples was interesting.  Sprawling in size and not the most picturesque of places we have been, we could sadly see why it earned its status of ill repute.  Though hard to describe, there was a noticeable sense of grittiness and it just felt like a place where you did not want to make a wrong turn.  Of course, we pulled into town with the names of the three most top-rated pizza places in Naples and not much else.  (Seems like we got a little too comfortable winging it on the idyllic coast for two days…) 

One of the first things that we did was to stop at a tourist / souvenir shop and buy a street map.  I waited in the car, while Aman ran inside.  After a few minutes, I saw him walk out to the sidewalk with a young woman that worked in the shop who was giving him some very detailed directions or, at least, that is how it seemed based on her hand signals...  it was as if she was saying:  turn left, then a traffic circle, take the second exit, three blocks, veer right… Since it all looked fairly relevant, I sat in the car and paid close attention.  Aman came back to the car, minutes later, with an annotated street map in his hand.  Shaking his head in disbelief, he put the car in drive and turned left at the nearest corner.  Okay, new plan, he said with a laugh.  We need to find the next traffic circle. Picking up the map, I casually replied, Yeah, that’s what it looked like she said.  And then take the second exit, right?  Aman shot me a baffled how-did-you-know-that look.  I think I picked up about 85% of that conversation based on her hand gestures alone, I said.  But where are we going?  Aman explained that, based on the friendly shopkeeper’s advice, we absolutely could not go to any of the places that we had researched.  Why not, I asked.  She said they weren’t safe, Aman replied with a laugh.  In fact, she said that we “would-a get-a popped-a” if we went looking for those places.  As he told me this, Aman imitated the hand gesture that went along with the shopkeeper’s statement – her index and middle fingers pointed in the shape of the barrel of a gun and her thumb as the trigger.  Let’s get our pizza and get out of here, I said. 

To Naples’ credit, the pizza did not disappoint, not even with our outrageously high expectations.  We found a random place in the direction of a safe neighborhood where we were advised to go that served delicious paper-thin crust pies topped with amazingly fresh ingredients.  The place was nothing special, but it was easily the best pizza that we had all summer.  We also had a spectacular view of the waterfront as we ate, which was really cool.  It was another hot day and all of the locals were playing along these giant rocks in the water.

Pizza mission complete, we jumped in the car after lunch and drove back to Salerno where we spent our last two days in town, not doing much other than relaxing with the locals.  We tried the town beach (which we thought was okay, but not the best on the coast), wandered up and down the narrow sloping lanes that ran between our apartment and the sea, and sampled some top-notch fare at a couple of the family-run trattorias and osterias by the shore.  It was all deliciously low-key, which was appropriate since that is sort of what the whole Amalfi Coast experience seemed to be about, at least for us.  A place that, in our opinion, lives up to its golden reputation, this is one region that Aman and I definitely hope to see again one day.