tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86903025334686191402024-03-06T19:11:45.344+13:00Dancing in Bare FeetAn ongoing story of love, music, exploration and creating La Dolce Vita.MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.comBlogger267125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-73356286188569089082012-01-02T09:36:00.000+13:002012-01-02T09:36:16.901+13:00Finding BalanceHello? Are you still out there?<br />
<br />
We made it home safe and sound... erm, 3 months ago. It was weird getting home, I thought it would be a culture shock having to stay in one place more than 5 days but no. It was as if Europe never happened.<br />
<br />
I started back at my old work place, in an entry level position, 2 days a week, and I started working from sun up to sun down the other 5 days a week on building my nail business and... now we're here. Quite literally.<br />
<br />
Christmas Day marked the first day where I didn't work at all, which means I worked 87 days in a row. The 2 weeks before Christmas I didn't even have time to run the business, I was so busy actually DOING nails from 8.30am until 9, 10 or even 11pm. At one point I thought I might burn out, but I soldiered on, and the only thing that slowed me down was the fact that I started melting the skin off my hands.<br />
<br />
I've always had mild reactions to Acrylic Liquid when I've been exposed to it for long periods of time - usually the week before Christmas when even as a part time Nail Tech I would work 5pm-11pm every night. I didn't do a lot of Acrylic work immediately before Christmas though, with natural nail and Colour Gloss services taking over. It wasn't until my hands split open that I stoped to think about all the Nail Polish Remover I was using.<br />
<br />
The first bad cracks were almost a month ago now. The worst was when I couldn't touch ANYTHING because my hands itched and burned simultaneously and constantly. Courtney has been doing up my pants, cutting up my food and feeding the dog for weeks now because I simply couldn't. It didn't stop me doing nails though - splint on the worst split finger, cotton gloves to protect me from the rubber gloves, then rubber gloves on top and I kept doing nails. A new business can't say no to clients.<br />
<br />
And so now after 5 days of no nails my hands are dry and wrinkled and peeling BUT not itchy and not sore. I can manage my Dermatitis and Psoriasis from here on out.<br />
<br />
I'm having to schedule time to actually run the business and run my household too, so I don't end up having a meltdown over pulling myself in 20 directions.<br />
<br />
This year I will go to bed at a normal time so that I can get up at a normal time and brush my hair every day instead of hurriedly knotting it on my way to a client. I will clean my house daily so it doesn't get into an unmanageable state and I will do my business admin straight after for the same reason. THEN I'll book Nail Appointments in.<br />
<br />
I can do this! Any tips?<br />
<br />
PS I'm here https://www.facebook.com/MonacoNailArtists if you want to see what I've been up to :)MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-58561566906897778442011-10-15T10:00:00.000+13:002011-10-15T10:00:01.539+13:00Surprise! It's Winter!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When we woke up in our lovely pre-booked hotel room, a magical fairy (Courtney's Mum) had banked cash directly into my account (we didn't have access to Courtney's) and we were able to not only fill the bike, but <i>eat </i>again. Heaven sent bliss. A different, less favourable fairy had also left us a surprise - <i>winter</i>. It was freezing and a huge thick fog blanketed our doorstep and the view beyond.<br />
<br />
We ate at the hotel and then headed towards Cherbourg on the west coast. We passed near Paris, whose road signs are all in a special just-for-Paris font, and again it felt nice to know the things we had seen and experienced were just - over - <i>there</i>. It was Courtney's birthday, and we found a lovely restaurant at a truck stop for lunch. Despite being a truck stop this was a 'real' restaurant, and incredible food. We filled up on buffet entrees, massive mains and... <i>all you can eat dessert</i>. I'm talking miniature sized individual servings of chocolate mousse, tiramisu, profiteroles, a pancake bar, and about 10 other desserts I had never tried or seen before. I didn't have any pancakes because I, um, didn't want to be greedy (they wouldn't fit on my tray) but to the amusement of our very nice waiter, I got my moneys worth.<br />
<br />
As we were finishing, they were packing up to close for the break between lunch and dinner, and he gave me more desserts and then gave us the entire tray of profiteroles. We ate what we could and he insisted we eat more. When we told him it was Courtney's birthday he packaged the last of them up and sent us home with 'birthday cake'. All this and he barely spoke English.<br />
<br />
We made it to Cherbourg around 7.30pm. Winter had decided it would stay with us the whole way from Avallon and we were subzero on arrival at camp. We decided to ask for a cabin rather than putting up the tent on the frost but this campsite only had small <i>houses</i>, which were twice the price of any hotel we had stayed at even after our prepaid camping costs had been deducted. Tenting it was, so we put down the heat blanket Courtney's Dad had sent us away with, then put the tent on top, and put our bike gear between the floor and our mattresses. We put on every item of clothing we had and snuggled under the blanket.<br />
<br />
We continued to do this for the next 36 hours, leaving occasionally to charge a gadget, go to the toilet, or buy more chocolate. On our second night we braved the freezing air to go to the restaurant at the bottom of the hill. I should mention that the freezing temperatures were not helped by the fact we were basically on the beach. The crisp sea air that resulted reminded us a little of Ireland and a lot of home. It was kind of like a nice easing-in to heading back home. Sue in Cormatin had mentioned it would be cold when we returned, but in the 45 degree Italian temperatures of the prior week we hadn't even thought of her comments until now.<br />
<br />
Anyway, dinner at the restaurant was really <i>really</i> good and we went to sleep cold but satisfied, and slightly dreading the next day, when we would say goodbye to both tent and bike.<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Cherbourg-Octeville, France49.639093 -1.625297999999929749.605996000000005 -1.6642954999999298 49.67219 -1.5863004999999297tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-18647467025531411222011-10-14T12:44:00.000+13:002011-10-14T12:44:45.780+13:00Going Home Shouldn't Be This Stressful<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I haven't forgotten you, I promise. After eventually getting supplies the following day in Cannes, we ended up doing... not much. On our hunt for supplies, we drove into Cannes town itself. The miserable drizzly weather did nothing to spice up the town and while we only saw the beach from afar, it <i>definitely</i> didn't scream "Hey! International celebrities and filmakers! LOVE ME!". It was kind of average, and while we only explored from the safety of the bike, we saw nothing that peaked our interest. I was a little disappointed, but that could have also been an offset of the weather.<br />
<br />
We spent the following day in a huge argument, absolutely miserable. Plans to see Nice went completely out the window as the emotions of leaving Europe, wanting home, missing family, friends and furchildren, facing leaving the bike and the tent... all got too much and taken out on each other. Eventually it all got sorted and the tent became a house of love again instead of a pathetic screen dividing us and the fellow campers with zero audio blockout of the fighting.<br />
<br />
While planning to leave Cannes, we realised I had made a massive miscalculation in drive time and we had two of our biggest rides yet ahead of us over 2 days. We had planned to leave early and see an incredible medieval castle (one that is being built in present day, using only medieval tools and methods) after lunch but that idea proved impossible to fulfill.<br />
<br />
At one point, we found ourselves riding past off ramps to Taize and Cluny, both right next to the tiny campsite we stayed at in Cormatin. Knowing we were on the opposite side of the towns than we had previously approached them from, I strained my eyes to see the familiar flour mill that indicated we were close to camp. I knew it was in vain, we were nowhere near the actual camp, but seeing a place we had been before gave way to a yearning for familiarity. I wanted to call in to Sue and Cees, our hosts, and say "Look! We DID IT!" but time was not on our side.<br />
<br />
We stayed the night in a beautiful little boutique hotel where the rooms opened onto the path and curved in circles with their backs to each other. It was late when we arrived, and it was while deciding what to do for dinner that I realised my last few hundred NZ dollars, which were to get us home following our banks third massive bugger up (in previous posts you will find the details of how they accidentally stripped us of the last 400 Euros on our travel card just when we needed them) were going to be going out on an automatic payment the following day. These loan payments had completely left my memory and we were now faced with the prospect of having literally 5 Euros in the bank.<br />
<br />
As Courtney made frantic calls home, I had 2 chocolate chip cookies for dinner and went to sleep miserable.<br />
<br />
There's no place like home, right?<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Auribeau-sur-Siagne, France43.600762 6.912258000000065343.586343500000005 6.8945145000000654 43.6151805 6.9300015000000652tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-4311908719659525052011-09-25T10:00:00.000+13:002011-09-25T10:00:00.532+13:00From Summer to Winter in One Easy Border Crossing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Our days exploring San Gimignano and Siena were bookended by two days at the pool. It’s really hard to express just how incredible this campsite was. Minigolf, Tennis, Soccer, Archery, Kids Concerts at night, Aqua Aerobics in the morning, a pool bar, three restaurants, a lagoon an river ride at one end, 3 pools and a water slide at the other. A night club, an arcade, a hairdresser, a gym, a spa, saunas. All free, except the hairdresser and the mini golf. And the food of course.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We swam a lot, and lazed on the loungers that crowded around the pools. Courtney finally got his hair cut, something he’s wanted since before we left home, and I got my hair coloured. 40 Euros for both of us – cheaper than home but still a splurge. I’m growing out black hair dye and had very faded auburn and very apparent blond roots all in the mix so I was very happy to have my hair sorted out. We used the 10 foot spa in the gym a lot – there was hardly ever anyone else in there, so we could laze around in the luke-warm water, floating on our backs and being pushed around by the jets. I gave the sauna a go, the first time I’d been in one in my life. I couldn’t decide whether it was the most luxurious or the most uncomfortable thing I’d ever experienced. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On our final day in Tuscany, we went back to Greve, because Courtney still hadn’t been inside his Salami shop, the one he saw on TV. He wasn’t disappointed. The 300 year old shop was more like 5 shops with doors between them and every meat product you could imagine. We were down to the last 5 or so Euros we had budgeted for the Tuscan leg of our trip, so he got a couple of packs of Salami and was in heaven. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We had 400-odd Euros left for the last week before we went back to England and then home, and we attempted to get it all out at an ATM in Greve. Of course, being the very last of our money, the ATM decided to pull it’s little rejection trick again. Once again, the transaction didn’t go through and once again, the money got deducted from our account. Good old Kiwibank. Luckily, we had the forethought to have coming-home funds in our New Zealand (non-Kiwibank) accounts, enough money to pay the bond on a new house and keep us afloat until our first paydays. It was rather painful when the travel card rejected the next morning, checking out of camp, and I had to put 160 Euros on my debit card from home. Seeing over $NZ300 go in one foul swoop sucked the big one.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We headed off on the bike and, squashed between Courtney and our ever increasing tower of luggage, I texted Mum to get onto Kiwibank as quickly as possible. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The ride that day was long, from Tuscany to Cannes, France via Monaco. We rode out of crisp, warm, sun drenched Tuscany and felt summer speed away behind us as we rode into horrible fog and occasional rain. Most of the ride was along highways not far in from the ocean so the views were amazing when we could actually see them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It felt good riding back into France. France is the country we best picked up the language in and the country we most enjoyed riding through. We didn’t spend any longer in France than any other country, 3 weeks, same as Spain and Italy, but because those three weeks were broken up into three separate visits to the country, returning felt almost like going home. I always thought of Tuscany as our last real stop on the trip anyway, so<span> </span>it really felt like we were speeding towards home and we both got quite excited at the prospect.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our lunchtime stop in Monaco was awesome. Such a tiny country, such a <i>rich</i> country. We rode down to the marina and saw the <i>huge</i> cruise ship in the harbour, surrounded by the sails of hundreds of yachts. The buildings were ornate, almost Victorian looking, and crowned by the castle. Our actual lunch wasn’t so great – the Croque Monsieur was just a ham toasted sandwich with so little cheese I had to add mayonnaise so it wouldn’t be so dry. The coffee cup was so dirty Courts refused to pay for his drink, and our requests for help with the wifi were met by extremely rude customer <i>non</i>-service. Overall though, there was a certain air of magic around Monaco. When I win the lottery one day, I’ll go back on one of those yachts. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We eventually made it to Cannes. Well, not quite Cannes - Auribeau sur-Saigne, 10 minutes away. The campsite backed onto a river with overhanging trees and an old aqueduct-looking bridge. The pool looked promising, and it was nice to pitch the tent on grass, not dust for a change. We had been reminded 6 times we were definitely in France by all the toll booths along the way, and we were reminded once again of the fact when we realized toilet paper was BYO.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A trip to find a supermarket about 7.30pm produced no results. Everything was closed and we returned to camp toilet paperless, with food from a patisserie for dinner. Who cares though right? Cause we were on our way home.</div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Auribeau-sur-Siagne, France43.600762 6.912258000000065343.586343500000005 6.8945145000000654 43.6151805 6.9300015000000652tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-42295710789322048992011-09-24T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-24T10:00:03.768+12:00When Awesomeness Becomes Normalness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I never intended to blog every day. I wanted to write like a ‘real’ travel writer, finding angles and stories and carving a niche for myself. Angles don’t come naturally to me though, and it wasn’t fun trying to find them just so I could document something we did. This is my blog and at the end of the day it’s my trip memories and so I wrote every day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I travelled America, I wrote a travel diary for 2 or 3 weeks of the month. The last leg of the trip though, I never put pen to paper. I guess I’ve dropped the ball here too, because we are sitting on a ferry to England, hours away from dropping the bike off, and you’re still bloggily stuck in Tuscany, two stops ago in travel land.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After our day in Pisa and Lucca, we spent a day at San Gimignano. Kim and Richard had told us they should have seen some of the other walled cities in the area before San Gimignano, because it was the best and so seeing lesser ones afterwards made them seem somewhat lackluster in comparison. We understood once we saw it, but for a different reason – Once you’ve seen Carcassonne, as we did early on in our trip, all walled cities are ruined for life because it’s just <i>that </i>good.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">San Gimignano was lovely, the views over the rolling Tuscan landscape were incredible, and the world-champion gelato was quite literally second to none. As we walked through the gates and onto the main street, there were cute souvenir shops, Courtney-enticing sword and knife shops, salami shops, and way more Museums of Torture than one tiny city actually needs. None of the shops kept our attention for long though because, while they were very cool, we’d seen them before.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We sat in the piazza under the shadow of the medieval Town Hall, eating our eccentrically flavoured gelato and people watching (actually, dog watching, they’re far cuter and more interesting). We wandered the streets looking for something more but just ended up getting lost in a maze of quiet back streets, at one point finding ourselves on the outside of the city walls and having to find a new way back in. It was this new way back in that led us to a small trattoria for lunch, where we tried Italian Cola called Chino – it tasted like ear wax, no kidding. We explored the courtyards of the town hall with their flaking frescoes and rooftop views and then headed back to Figline Val D’Arno. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The following day, we left early(ish) to go to Siena. There was a market on Wednesday mornings that we had planned our week around attending and we weren’t disappointed. The market was huge and sold everything you could think of. There were clothes for 3 Euro right up to leather jackets for 100. There were beauty products, kitchen appliances, souvenirs, shoes and bric a brac. The highlight for me was 5 Euro knitted slippers. They’re like boots, with souls, almost like ugg boots, except knitted and amazing and cheap. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courtney’s highlight was predictably food related – he relished all the attention he got from gaping strangers as he sat on a rock eating the huge roasted leg of some poor farm animal. He is telling me it was lamb but when I asked he couldn’t even remember Siena so don’t trust him. No lamb I’ve ever seen has had a leg that big, I think it was pork from memory. I had deep fried cheese and potato croquettes and followed them up with Lavender Honey from a little old man selling jars he had farmed himself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When the stallholders began packing up, we headed over to the town of Siena. I found out quickly that I actually had no knowledge of Siena at all, despite all my planning. The GPS lead us on a wild goose chase that took us back to the place we had originally been parked for the market, and it was then we realized that Siena is basically just a huge walled city. There are very few cars and most traffic is on foot, so we wandered on in and immersed ourselves in the alleys and cobblestones we’ve become accustomed to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We wandered the main streets, found the Piazza that hosts Il Palio, the annual horse race, and then wandered further in to find the Duomo. The Cathedral and duomo were amazing, even if they did look like a tacky and over the top wedding cake. The exterior was white and pink with other pastel accents and trims that could have been piped icing. The statues and frescoes were of course incredible, and we sat on a ledge at the edge of the piazza just staring for awhile. Well, I was staring, Courts may have been semi comatose from the heat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We let ourselves get lost, played in a playground after taking pictures of the view, and, surprise surprise ended up with gelato. We ate it on the slope of the piazza that hosts Il Palio, dog, toddler and pigeon watching. Adult watching is so last year. I have to say as far as gelato goes, Siena is letting down the team. We perused 3 or 4 shops before we found one that looked good and wasn’t mass-produced, glorified ice cream.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So that was Siena, another lovely day, as every day is in Tuscany. How can it not be? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com053100 Sienna, Italy43.3186614 11.33051350000005243.2605969 11.231247000000051 43.376725900000004 11.429780000000052tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-79509051262314446482011-09-20T05:38:00.000+12:002011-09-20T05:38:15.738+12:00Leaning Towers and Shirtless Italians - I mean, Medieval Fairs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It wouldn’t be a kitsch trip of touristy goodness without seeing the Leaning Tower of Pisa. After riding just over an hour to get there, we of course had our priorities straight and instead of going directly to the tower, went to a family-run Gelateria passed through the generations from the man given credit for inventing modern ice cream. Once again, Italy proved why it is the reigning King of Gelato. Although not as cute and quaint as some of the other, younger Gelaterias, the service was wonderful and so was the Gelato. Courts strayed from the norm and got a Tangelo Granite (slushy) while I did my usual and asked them what the best they had was. The three they chose were chocolate (lazy, fail-safe choice), pear (bizarre because pear itself is such a mild flavour and should probably be sorbet) and almond (nice, but no chocolate-wine).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a tiki-tour across the river (thank <i>you</i> GPS) we eventually crossed back and behind the Gelateria in search of the tower. We stumbled across an antiques and crafts market on the way, which was awesome. There was all sorts I would have loved to have bought but the highlight was undoubtedly the pet rocks. You heard me right, pet rocks. These river stones had been hand painted to look like various animals and then places in context. Dog and cat rocks slept on little pillows, parrot rocks stood upright on rock feet, and owl rocks slept on tree branches stuck to canvas backgrounds of night sky. They would have been laughable if they weren’t so amazingly painted, and I would have left with a Border Collie rock if it hadn’t deservedly been priced at 23 Euros.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As per usual, it was a bevy of tour groups that alerted us to the presence of the aforementioned tourist attraction, and if you hadn’t known it was the Leaning Tower you were near, you could have easily figured it out by the stupid number of idiots posing as if they themselves were holding it up in photos. Seeing photos of friends and tourists ‘holding up’ the leaning tower is one thing, but seeing a field of people all leaning haphazardly with one hand in a bizarre salute as others kneel and twist to get the camera angles just-so is a spectacle unto itself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked around the tower, ridiculing the people walking up the top who had paid 15 Euros for the priviledge, ignoring the street vendors and marveling at the very cool cathedral and basilica in the same piazza as the tower. The tower itself is actually a pretty cool structure, and I’m really glad we made the trip to see it. We saw the first of what would turn out to be many, many sculptures on top of poles of human twins suckling wolves. I’m presuming they’re Romulus and Remus, the mythical founders of Rome who were raised by wolves, but I haven’t yet figured out why we saw them in Pisa, Florence and twice in Siena. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The highlight of seeing the Leaning Tower was not the tower, nor the very good Italian food we had just around the corner. It wasn’t even the Gelato. It was the idiot tourists who, standing next to me at a tacky souvenir shop (I do love tacky) who were trying to return a small figurine of the tower because it was straight. They were <i>very</i> upset that the figurine was straight and they wanted to find a leaning one. Despite the shopkeeper amusedly trying to explain it only looked straight when they held it up straight or when they put it down with the lean facing away from them, and then pointlessly trying to explain they were 3 Euro souvenirs and all came out of the same mold in identical shapes and leans, the tourists spent about 10 minutes comparing leans. At one point the patriarch of the family came over to make a big fuss and point out yet again that this tower <i>did not lean. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we recovered from our fits of giggles and the lunch we had afterwards, we jumped back on the bike and drove to Lucca, a medieval walled city. We had never heard of it before, until seeing that the day trip our campsite ran to Pisa included Lucca. When we found our way in, it kind of seemed like a lot of the old medieval-ness had been renovated and remodeled with the times, and many of the buildings were quite modern. The further in we went though, the more labyrinth-like the streets became and the more authentic the town felt. We stopped for drinks in a small café and were drawn outside by drums that sounded rather similar to those heard in Florence the previous day. The parade that was making it’s way past <i>was</i> exactly the same as the one we saw the day before, but with the leaders bearing ‘Lucca’ crests instead of those of multiple towns. The café owner told us it was the last day of a September festival in the area and that there was a medieval revival on the other side of town. We couldn’t pass that up, could we?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After finishing our drinks and stopping for candied nuts at a street vendor, we followed the sound of the drums to a piazza and into a medieval fair. It was awesome, stall holders all in medieval costume, metal workers crafting the jewellery they were selling as they were selling it, men playing medieval backgammon in the middle of the square sat on hay bales. I bought a small pot of honey and Courtney <i>didn’t </i>buy a small bag of Salvia he saw at a medicinal herb stall. The piece de resistance was not the shirtless Italian 20-somethings sword fighting in the field beyond the city walls, but the crossbow competition nearby. We sat and watched teams in medieval costume load crossbows with precision and shoot bulls eye after bulls eye across the field.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was a long walk back to the bike and an even longer ride home, but such a good day. Funny how the most enjoyable things are those that are unplanned or unexpected, like walking into medieval Italy on a seemingly regular Saturday.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Pisa, Italy43.7161354 10.39658429999997243.6139109 10.222325299999973 43.8183599 10.570843299999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-7245684542948667522011-09-15T18:37:00.003+12:002011-09-15T18:38:23.890+12:00The Search for the Elusive David<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Riding into Florence, half an hour from camp, the first impression was that it was just another city, nothing particularly special or charming or new. That was, until we dug deeper. We parked the bike with a row a scooters on the edge of town, where the cobblestones started becoming more frequent and the roads narrower. We were a short stroll from a Trattoria we were keen to try out, and headed straight there, winding between tall imposing buildings and staring up at the churches and reliefs that called to us from the end of every second alley.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a minor hunt, we found the trattoria, Fratellini’s I think it was. It was easy to miss – the tiny shop had about a foot between front step and counter, and just enough space behind said counter to allow the two men working there to occasionally take a breathe. The menu was posted to the side - all sandwiches were 2.50 and there were easily 20 or 30 varieties to choose from. Courts had goats cheese, Tuscan salami and fennel while I had salami and artichoke. We added a 1.50 glass of wine to our order and joined the small crowd of old Italian men and curious tourists that paused outside to eat, leaving their wine glasses on specially sized shelves to either side of the stall. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Beyond our sandwich stop, we wandred the old streets laden with modern shops, and found ourselves amongst a sea of slow paced walking tours again. When you start seeing fake flowers bobbing in the crowd, you know you’re getting close to a must-see. If ever there was one, it was the Duomo. Only days after the breathtaking Pantheon in Rome, the Duomo in Florence was incredible, an easy rival to every piece of architecture we had seen thus far. Of course as with everything else featured in any guide book ever, there was a massive queue to go in, so we happily snapped photos of other tourists happily snapping photos in front of the cathedral, wandered around the outside and then proceeded to get ourselves lost, as we do in most cities.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We were attempting to use GPS to find the copy of Michaelangelo’s David, which as I understood was right outside the Accademia that houses the original. Instead we found a market that we hadn’t planned on visiting until later, and after deciding to come back to it, eventually found the Accademia. There was no David to be found, just a nondescript museum building with yet another massive queue. We walked right round the outside and did find an empty piazza with plenty of other statues, but David eluded us. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courts, hater of all things hot and queue-like, even volunteered to stand in the unshaded queue for the Accademia to see the real one. He knew how much I wanted to see it and how often we hadn’t gone inside things to avoid the queue, but I too was hot and sick of walking and I didn’t think the admission fee and queue was worth the one statue I wanted to see.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead, we ambled on back to the market near San Lorenzo Church. Most of the market was either leather or scarves, Florence’s two specialities. There were souvenirs aplenty as well and lots of jewellery and we set about shopping for presents to take home and occasionally remembering to get something for ourselves. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The stall holders were insane. A bracelet caught my eye and I asked ‘How much?’ without really stopping, only pausing as I knew I most likely wouldn’t buy it. “10 Euro” was the response and I smiled and said thank you, and started to walk away. With Courts a step behind me the guy had just enough time to offer “8!” to which we replied no and kept going. We could hear him yell “7!” in the background but we were a fair distance away when he appeared behind us, tapping me on the arm and saying in quick succession as we shook our heads “5!... 2!... 50 cents!”. Seriously, 50 cents! After trying to get 10 Euro he was willing to go 50 cents and he had left his entire stock behind him unattended to try and get it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although this guy was the most extreme, he was far from the exception to the rule. It was common for stall holders to pull faces and shake their heads when we walked away after their third attempt at getting us to buy something. One girl kept passing me scarved to look at without ever taking back others, until I was left with an armload. She seemed shocked and annoyed when I gave them back to her and she had to put them all away. I had known I wanted one of two scarves and they were the only two I asked to see. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At least she wasn’t touchy feely, because when a pushy Italian man grabs my arm to try and show me something or emphasise a point, that’s it – I’m done. I don’t generally have personal space issues, but I hate it when stall holders do that and all niceties fade with it. Not all stall holders were bad though – a lovely man who sold me two of something (I can’t specify because they’re gifts) let me get away with 2 for 12 when the asking price was 8 each. I had started low expecting to get a small discount but you can’t be upset with buy-1-get-1-half-price, even if the margins at the markets are stupidly high.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With a backpack full of market goodies it was most definitely Gelato time. Courts saved a seat outside and I went in to order. Courts wanted a milkshake but it wasn’t as simple as ordering ‘chocolate’ because it was made with as many gelato flavours as you wanted and there’s not often a flavour as simple as ‘chocolate’. I went back out to ask him what he wanted to add in and the lovely shopkeeper followed me out to offer suggestions to Courts. When we were finally settled with a <i>very </i>good milkshake and our daily serving of gelato, we settled into a game of backgammon on our phone, sitting in the shade.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked back towards the Duomo, hearing the sound of drums getting louder and louder. We had stumbled across a parade, making their way around the cathedral with sections holding flags for different towns Coat of Arms. There were drummers, lords and ladies in medieval costume, and flag throwers. We watched for awhile before heading down a side street for a coffee.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eventually, it was time to go. As we headed towards the bike, Courts wanted to duck down an alley that looked like it led to a piazza. When we broke through the narrow path into a square full of sunlight, low and behold there he was – unassuming, shaded, in a corner, and surrounded by countless other statues, was David (or at least a copy of him). We ended up spending almost an hour in that piazza, not only because there was a huge columned, open air building full of statues to look at, but because the parade made it’s way through the crowds again as well, heralding our discovery of David. The perfect end to another hot, sticky, pushy, crowded, gelato-filled – aka Italian – day.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Florence, Italy43.7687324 11.25690129999998143.7107324 11.161734299999981 43.8267324 11.352068299999981tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-10622685932943361472011-09-14T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-14T10:00:01.289+12:00Tuscany Looks and Tastes Like Tuscany Should<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Our ride from Rome to Figline Val d’Arno in Tuscany went pretty much as expected. The GPS took us the most annoying way possible, the combination of traffic lights and heat annoyed us as we tried to leave the city and Tuscany looked just like Tuscany should - if you’re to believe film and TV, which you should. It’s absolutely stunning, and any road higher than sea level gives you the most picturesque, warmly lit and hazy views of golden fields, vineyards and castles.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We were happy to add a new home comfort to our thus far inanimate list of travelling traditions - Richard and Kim, our friends from Sorrento, had decided to stay at the same camp as us again. This marked the third campsite we had been at together so the scenery may have changed as we all travelled north every few days, but we now had real neighbours and friends. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We didn’t find them until after we had enjoyed another tradition – our travel habit of eating dinner at the camp restaurant on ride days. The food was good but it could have been rubbish for all I cared – I ordered a glass of wine that sounded like my cup of tea (sweet and sparkling) and it tasted just like Moscato, my favourite drop at home and something that hasn’t passed my lips since we left. As it turned out, it <i>was</i> Moscato, but we didn’t figure this out until we saw the same wine on a menu the next day, with subtext stating as much.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That next day was a goodun. We set out with every intention of going to San Gimignano, a walled city just over an hour away, but we didn’t want to go on the motorway. We tricked the GPS into taking us past a few small towns and around the windy roads that cut through the countryside. The first small town we came to was Greve, a village we intended on visiting that night with Richard and Kim for an annual Wine Tasting Festival that just happened to be on. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As it happened, we never made it past Greve. We decided we couldn’t be bothered with the trek to San Gimignano after the late start we had given ourselves, so we parked up to check out Greve. Greve had been on our list since the idea of visiting Tuscany had been but a sparkle in our eyes, when Courtney saw a salami shop in Greve on a travel show on TV. The salami shop was closed for siesta but we found plenty more to keep us occupied for awhile. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We bypassed the festival, saving that fun for our evening out. Instead we wandered the streets of the town, checking out a wine cellar and eventually settling on by-the-slice pizza from a little takeaway shop that sold every kind of beer you could ever imagine, hundreds of different bottles in every shape, size, flavour and price. We ate our pizza and drank our beer on the shady steps of the church across the road before turning back for home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was only a matter of hours before we were back again with Richard and Kim, this time armed with a wine glass and festival guide each. You got both for 10 Euros and the guide included 7 free wine tastings. Olive oil, biscotti and preserves were all free to try and as we discovered many of the vendors weren’t to bothered with clicking off our tasting passes either, so there was a lot of bang to be had for our buck. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Despite attempting to find <i>vino blanco</i> (white wines) to start with, most of the festival was full of red. The real star of the show, besides the incredible Tuscan Olive Oil, was the new love of my life – Vin Santo. Courts had tasted a few wines at the camp cellar the previous night and had told me of one that was made essentially with raisins. I hate raisins and didn’t think much of the idea until we put two and two together and realized he had been talking about this one. The grapes are left until they just about fall off, and the result is a syrupy thick dessert wine that tastes almost like a mulled wine, like it’s spiced. It’s not though, it’s au naturale, and the Italians traditionally dip biscotti in it, especially around Christmas time. I tried it with biscotti twice and in a glass three times (once was finishing Richards, who didn’t quite see it in the same light as I) and it was love at first through fifth tasting. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When the sun had gone down and we had each developed a warmth of our own by the glass, we found a restaurant on the main square and settled in for dinner. I chose Lemon and Rosemary Risotto and oh my goodness it was the most amazing flavour you can imagine. The after taste of the herbs made me think of Lavendar Ice Cream while the soft hints of lemon made a thick, creamy winter food taste light and summery. Courts made his way through pasta and was so enamoured with Kim’s beef stew that he then had a second dinner of that too. Richard filled himself to the brim with a thick manly T-Bone that Kim eyed up for the sharing, and us girls finished it all off with Pannacotta in a white grape syrup.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thoroughly full and still slightly hazy, we were all very ready to collapse when the time came to turn back. Richard had been very kind and driven us all in, which not only meant that he had to spit the majority of his tastings out but that himself and Kim had to turn their rental van back from usable transport to comfy accommodation while Courts and I just faded into the shadows of our tent. Eternally grateful for small luxuries, we slept in the lingering cloud of a wonderful night with lovely people and incredible gastronomy.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Greve in Chianti Florence, Italy43.5850969 11.31536219999998143.4961314 11.239129699999982 43.674062400000004 11.391594699999981tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-17822797948003821772011-09-13T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-13T10:00:04.429+12:00Raphael and Michelangelo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Vatican City was beckoning on our last day in Rome and we went into the city mid morning. The shuttle advertises that it goes ‘to’ Vatican City but it doesn’t, and while we had seen the dome peeking up above the rest of the skyline, and had seen the city walls, we hadn’t seen a way to get in. When we figured out we had to climb several flights of stairs to get up to the road the museum entrance was on, we knew why we hadn’t seen it before – there’s no way we would have climbed those stair voluntarily! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The entrance to the Vatican Museums is through a door in the wall of the city, well before you go anywhere near St Peters. The line was massive and we almost left it till later but while walking past it we realized it was moving, and decided to give it a shot. Not only was the line moving, but it was fast enough that we were able to basically walk straight up to the door, just behind all those other people. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t Courts was at all sure what lay ahead and I just knew that the museums were full of things given to, commissioned by, or <i>acquired</i> by the church. They turned out to be one of the best art museums we’ve been to. We paid 7 Euro for an audio guide to share and decided to follow the long route as opposed to the signs for the short route. We had been told all the tour groups follow the short route but we found out that plenty take the long one as well. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On a trip like ours, you can become saturated with amazing art so much so that you see <i>another</i> 500, 1000 or 2000 year old sculpture and glaze over it in search of something more interesting. If you stop for long enough and take it all in, you realize just how incredible the artist was, to have seen this figure inside a slab of marble and have drawn out every fold of cloth, every string of muscle, every emotion in his face. Often though, it’s just as good as the last one and the one before that so you forget to see these things.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We passed courtyards, long halls, marble staircases, and domed rooms with open ceilings, all filled with incredible sculptures. Amongst the naked or cloaked men and women sculpted in the same way as each other, there were also countless statues that stood out on their own. Some were bizarre or creepy, some just different – a goddess several times taller than I and with a snake wrapped round her feet – one with molars rather than fangs no less. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There was an entire room dedicated to sculptures of animals and these weren’t just your typical Lions either. Aside from the lion stretching, chest to floor, there were centaurs with angels and dead rabbits, men about to slit the throats of cattle while dogs and snakes looked on, and several sculptures of animal versus animal, mid kill. I don’t understand the mind set of the sculptor that thinks, ‘Hmmm, I have a spare few months, I might create something out of a slab of marble – how about a frightened deer about to have its throat ripped out by the dog on its back?’. To have got the look of fear in the eyes and the tensed muscles as the neck arched back – the sculptor can’t have been in a particularly happy place when he was putting all of his effort into these things. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s a good thing the ceilings are so incredible in the Vatican – paintings that look more 3D than some of the sculptures, other areas that really are reliefs, gilded and ornate – because beyond the sculpture halls we often had plenty of time to stare at them. The first time we waited 5 or 10 minutes to get through a door, we thought we had just hit the rest of the crowd, and resigned ourselves to patience. When we got through though, we realized there was no continuous crowd, just a tour group damming the area in front of the door way. I’d like to say they were oblivious to the massive build up of traffic behind them, but we saw several different tour groups do it on several different occasions, and quickly learnt to push through and break out on the other side. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We saw the papal apartments painted entirely by Raphael, after the new pope of the time decided he didn’t want to live in the same place as his predecessor, and the dark, dimly lit halls of Modern Religious Art – apparently commissioned by the Church to prove they were allowing artists to think for themselves and not constantly forcing them to do the same things as the Renaissance artists in the halls prior. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We stopped for a drink before climbing the small staircase to the Sistine Chapel, the piece de resistance, that which I had been waiting for the entire day. Of course, as with all things that rest in high hopes, it did not meet expectations. Away from the perfectly lit photographs we’ve all seen in books, the Sistine Chapel is dark and drab, barely lit for the preservation of the artwork. When the frescoes were commissioned, only the highest windows were left intact, to make room for the art work. It now feels like the hall at my first school, like I should sit cross legged on the floor and wait for assembly. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Last Judgement was amazing though, as were the ceilings. There were no photos allowed but I joined the hundreds of other people turning off their flashes and subtly turning their cameras upwards from waist-level. Guards were on hand to loudly Shhhh every minute or so, their requests for silence ignored by all. More so than the ceiling, where the famous painting of the hands barely touching between clouds lies, proportionately tiny and unimportant, The Last Judgement is the best part of the Sistine Chapel. Taking up one end wall, it is a far cry from the normal religious frescoes we had been seeing, with a human skin near the centre (apparently a self portrait of Michelangelo) and enough demons near the bottom to keep Courtney satisfied.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once we had made it through the Sistine Chapel, there were still rooms to see but we kind of rushed them, looking forward to fresh air and lunch. We followed the city walls for 5 or 10 minutes until rows of columns beckoned us into St Peters Square. The square itself is less breathtaking than I thought it would be – pictures don’t show all the rows of cordoned seats, the metal detectors and the big screens – but the basilica is very cool. We didn’t go inside, of course because of another massive queue, but we ate our cheese and salami crostini in the centre of the square, people watching and taking in the massive dome and the arms of columns hugging the crowd.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Afterwards, we did our best to navigate yet more tour groups and know tour busses as well, to walk past Castel Sant Angelo of Angels and Demons fame (a secret tunnel leads to it from the Vatican, used by the central characters in the climactic scenes of the novel) and cross the river in the search for the relative quiet of Piazza Navona. Of course no wander through Rome – or anywhere really – would be complete for us without gelato, and we found a gem of a place not far from the Piazza itself. This place had at least 10 travel guide and newspaper write ups on the walls, and a plexiglass window at one end where you could watch the gelato being made. The gelato was outstanding – I had Chocolate Orange and White Peach and Lavendar, and Courts had Chocolate Wine which turned out to be the best flavour we had ever tried in our entire lives, made with Sicilian red wine and dark chocolate.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Piazza Navona, when we did get there, was lovely. The protesters camped out in the middle did little to detract from the three fountains and the art market, or from the incredible buildings surrounding it. The real high point of our afternoon wanderings though, was the Pantheon. Richard had told us it was amazing but there’s no way to understand how a church with a hole in the top can really be amazing until you see it. When you walk out of a narrow side street into the square infront of it, the building itself is breathtaking. Over hundreds of years the buildings that have gone up around it have been built very closely, almost suffocating the Pantheon. All they really do though, is change the scale of the Pantheon and make it look even more massive and powerful than I imagine it would otherwise. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Inside, it is hard to explain, but the oculus in the ceiling is far more than just a hole in the roof, the light it lets in and the glow it creates is awesome, and I only wish I had seen it when it was raining to witness the surreal column of water that descends through it from the sky. The sculptures and artworks around the edges are awesome, and I didn’t realize until I was in front of it, that Raphael is buried here, amongst Kings and Saints. It’s a weird little buzz to discover you are standing in front of a legend, however long he’s been under the marble.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With a slight detour to Campo Dei Fiori to see where the stake burnings of ancient times were carried out, it was back over the river and to the shuttle bus again, just making the last one home. I don’t even like museums but the Vatican really was worth the trip. It was the Pantheon though, that had us talking about it all night as we treated ourselves to a restaurant dinner for our final night. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next stop, Tuscany.<span style="text-transform: uppercase;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com000120, Holy See41.902916 12.45338900000001641.8992885 12.447148000000016 41.9065435 12.459630000000015tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-40953790819413831582011-09-12T10:00:00.003+12:002011-09-12T23:27:36.806+12:00The Charms of Not-So-Must-See Rome<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Our second day in Rome we intended to repeat our efforts of the previous day and tackle Vatican City. We woke up early but took our time getting ready, saying goodbye to Richard and Kim as they headed to Siena. We had breakfast and vaguely tidied the tent house, causing ourselves to just miss the hourly shuttle and create a spare 40 minutes to continue doing nothing-much with. It was during that time that there was a knock on the vinyl door and an apologetic Kim requested Courtney’s assistance down the driveway. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our poor Aussie friends have had nothing but trouble with their persistent rental van, and this time while rinsing it off they discovered a bubble on the tyre. It was really weird, like a hernia on the side of the tyre, not even a piece of inner popping through the join but the tyre itself. To be honest by the time we got down there Rich had it pretty well covered and the only assistance we (Courtney) could offer was a ride to the nearest auto shop to see if they had a new otyre for them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Kim and I sat in the tent house and had a gossip in the shade while the boys did boy things. They returned amidst an air of success and Richard and Kim were off once more, albeit via the auto store. In amongst the excitement, Kim had told us about a public transport strike in Rome, and we witnessed for ourselves the huge queue waiting for the shuttle, some of whom had been waiting so long they had seen the previous shuttle come and go without making it on for lack of space. We decided that with our early start long gone in a sea of lethargy and a strike in our midst, it might be a better idea to spend the afternoon riding around the neighbourhood of Trastevere and save Vatican for later.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our not-so-trusty GPS got us into the old medieval neighbourhood, nowadays a bohemian centre for those living out the Italian dream, mixed in with old Italian Nonna’s descended from the first inhabitants of Rome. The only thing we knew about Trastevere was that it sounded like our cup of tea and that it centred itself around a main piazza (as most Italian areas do), so we parked up and wound through the streets in the general direction of the piazza.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Holding the square down was a big beautiful fountain. We love our fountains so we were instantly sold, even before we took in the cute little church with frescoes and sculptures and the trattorias that dotted the remaining sides. We sat at one that had comfy looking couches at a few of the tables and spent 15 or 20 minutes taking photos from our vantage point and skimming the very-helpful Lonely Planet City Guide to Rome for places that might be worth a gander in Trastevere. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we reached the point of starting to skim other neighbourhoods and still hadn’t been served or even handed a menu, we decided to leave in search of a traditional Italian pizzeria Courts had found in the City Guide. It wasn’t far and it turned out to be on the edge of another square, this one full of cars that could only make it into town that far before the roads got too narrow, and shaded by Nonna’s washing hanging out the windows above. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We didn’t end up eating at the recommended Pizzeria, but next door. This place was the best little eatery we could have ever hoped to find. The interior was decorated just like the picturesque square outside, with doors and windows painted around the walls as though it were a courtyard. There were ceramic tiles showing the house number of each imaginery house, a town clock in the middle and even rows of laundry draped from the ceiling. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We ordered a bottle of local wine, which turned out to be red although we hadn’t realized it originally, and both started with carbonara, which was invented in Rome. A traditional Italianmeal generally has about 7 courses from antipasto through to dessert and so the portions are smaller than we might have elsewhere. We followed our carbonara with real Italian pizza and real Italian bruschetta and finished our wine before leaving in search of real Italian gelato.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It took us awhile to find as we saw seats in the shade at an inner city playground and had very little choice in the matter as our bodies dragged it away from the heat and cobblestones. We bore witness to a crazy drunk sauntering through the small park, at first stopping directly in front of a child on the slide, hopping up and down on the spot and pulling faces. A woman I assumed was his mother looked on carefully, but later on the child seemed to be there by himself. The little boy wasn’t the drunks only port of call though as he begged a couple of ladies eating their lunch for some coin. One of them offered him half her lunch but she was apparently rejected and the resulting conversation (which we couldn’t hear) caused her to pack everything up and leave in search of safer territory.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was not long after that we left ourselves, taking the long way back towards the bike still hoping for gelato. After a brief distraction at the nail polish counter of a department store, we found our hearts desire only a hundred metres away from our parking spot. We used our newly learned authentic-gelato-spotting skills (banana flavour must be grey, not yellow, the containers must be stainless steel, not plastic, and the gelato must be flat, not piled up) to evaluate our pickings before selecting the best flavours they had to offer. We sat outside to take our time with the days indulgence and I couldn’t resist pulling out my new nail polishes to play with, nail geek as I am. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was a very content and overflowing Pen and Courts that climbed up on the bike and rode heavily home, and a settled and crashing Pen and Courts that fell into the tent house and spent much of the night moving as little as possible. The crostini and cheese we had bought to have as a light dinner remained unopened and while the sounds of tour groups and drinkers (oh how many walks of shame I heard in the early hours of each morning – Him: “Well, what about the awkwardness?”, Her: “WHAT awkwardness?!”, cue defiant horror) drifted through the night, we barely batted a well-weighted eyelid.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com000153 Trastevere Rome, Italy41.887315 12.4655510000000059.7319340000000025 -47.300073999999995 74.042696 72.231176tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-32333703831300318882011-09-11T10:00:00.002+12:002011-09-11T19:35:10.237+12:00Exploring the Must-Sees<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I was determined to make the most of our first full day in Rome, so we were up early and on the shuttle to the city centre at 9am. The shuttle dropped us off near Vatican City but we had decided to start the day at the Colosseum, the furthest point from the Vatican, and work our way backwards. With this in mind, it was straight to the Metro, which we figured out quickly with our wealth of Metro knowledge. We can’t say we didn’t learn anything on this trip!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is a Metro stop directly outside the Colosseum so as you make your way out of the station the building fills your only vision of the outside world until you’re in the open and it’s sitting there, comfortably, across the road. To be honest, I was a little underwhelmed. After the initial wow-moment of actually being in its presence, it’s not as overwhelming or empowered as the Parthenon or the Pont du Gard. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We had heard that since we are now into the Autumn months, the queues were much shorter and we didn’t need to buy ludicrously expensive skip-the-queue tickets before we went. What we didn’t realize though was that we had arrived before the Colosseum was even open, so not only was there a queue wanting to be first inside, that queue was massive, wrapping around part of the building. We circled it, and peered through the ancient gates that pierce the building at regular intervals. Maybe not as effective as circling from the inside, but we got a decent view of what went on in there. Some gates had no flooring left, and you could see the ancient tunnels once used to lead wild animals and gladiators into the arena. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We perused the Roman equivalent of the Arc de Triomphe nearby and fended off sweet talking gladiators who wanted our money in exchange for a photo. I’m not sure how many gladiators had tattoos and spoke perfect English, but the gladiators did their best to charm anyone they could (“Hey big boy, want a picture?”, “Hey nice legs, want a sexy photo?”, “Hey darkness, where you from, want a souvenir?”).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was near the gladiators that my shoe broke. The gold sandals I bought from home lasted until Barcelona, when I bought some nice black ones for 10 Euro. In only 7 weeks of travelling, almost all the black had worn off, the soles were half their thickness and more of a ‘cross section of a shoe’ than a functioning form of footwear, and that morning the edge of one heel had started flapping around. We were aware that these sandals would not stretch much further so we already had shoe shopping in mind when the bit that joined top to bottom between my big toe and second toe, came away completely. Courtney got all Man-vs-Wild on it and used his keys to pierce to bottom of the shoe, threading the broken piece through and knotting it underneath. A much snugger fit, but a functioning shoe, at least temporarily.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The nearby entrance to the Roman Forums and Palatine Hill was just as queue-heavy as the Colosseum, so we kept going and eventually found ourselves at the Monument to Vittorio Emmanuel II. This huge building was very impressive, complete with guards, flaming altars and gilded statues, and that was just the front steps. We climbed the stupid number of stairs to get inside and followed the signs to the panoramic view. You can take an elevator to the very top for 7 Euro, but the free view you get not far below is amazing enough. From there, you could see all of Rome – Colosseum, St Peter’s Basilica and everything in between. We also got a birds eye view of the Roman Forums so we felt less of a need to go back there when the queue would be shorter.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was a short walk through narrower and quieter streets to the Trevi Fountain so we rested in the shade there for a minute before descending on Burger King for a well earned fatty lunch. It was while sat at Burger King that I skimmed the Lonely Planet City Guide we had for Rome, and it was the city guide that led us back a bit to taste “possibly the best Gelato in Rome”. Real, honest, natural Gelato made my craftsmen rather than machines, and it was amazing. We ate it as we wandered towards the Cappuchin Crypt we had read about, with a detour to buy 2 pairs of 5 Euro sandals at an outlet store. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Getting into the Cappuchin Crypt wasn’t as easy as just walking there however – first it was closed for siesta so we used the time to do the mandatory Hard Rock Café stop. When it did open we were sent away to find a cheap souvenir shop that would sell me a scarf to cover my shoulders. 3 Euros later, we were happy to find the entry fee wasn’t the advertised 7 Euros but a donation of 1 Euro. The Cappuchin Crypt is basically a series of rooms off a church where Cappuchin Monks wanted themselves and their families to be buried so badly they ran out of room. What results is several rooms of ornate decoration – except the decoration are made from pieces of human skeletons.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Most of the rooms feature several monk skeletons, whose bones remain intact and bodies still cloaked. Some of the skeletons aren’t even clean, resembling some sort of creepy bog body, and one had it’s tongue poking out. Around the standing or lying robed skeletons, arches, flowers, decorations and even lamps are made out of millions of human bones. It wasn’t as big or as full as I expected, but the whole thing was well worth a scarf and a Euro, a bit creepy and very cool. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With not long to go before the last shuttle back to camp, we made one last attempt at crossing off a must-see – the Spanish Steps. To get there we walked through an area of town full of designer brand stores and Victoria Beckham look-alikes and then came across the steps from the top. Despite having explained to Courts that they were basically ‘just steps’, I actually really liked the Spanish Steps. They’re way bigger than I expected, with multiple tiers and landing-like piazzas, plenty of sun and plenty of shade and a fountain at the bottom. I could imagine myself sitting on them, writing away, gossiping with friends or just watching the world go by. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With a detour to see the staircase at Louis Vuitton made of LCD screens and a Carrefour Express for drinks, we made our way to the nearby Spagna Metro stop and back to the stop by the Vatican to get the last shuttle home. The day was long but it didn’t feel busy – we didn’t actually have a plan beyond the Colosseum, just a vague idea of things we wanted to see over the three days and a wandering nature that always seems to find us cool things to see. It was nice though, to find a little bit of the travelling spirit we had been lacking lately.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Rome, Italy41.8905198 12.49424859999999241.6330973 12.146585599999991 42.1479423 12.841911599999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-79297526826984403842011-09-10T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-10T10:00:00.089+12:00Longing Swings in Roundabouts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Rides in Italy feel so short. Prior to Venice, ride days were usually a minimum of 6, maximum of 10 hours (including stops, not on the bike non stop). After Venice we spent a couple of weeks riding only to the next ferry terminal and since then the rides have been around 3 hours. We don’t even really need a rest in that time, such as we are used to long rides. The 5 minutes we are off the bike when we fill the tank half way are enough to keep us going to our destination. We find ourselves leaving later than normal and still arriving at a time that feels early.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we rode from Sorrento to Rome, the ride was pretty easy – until we got to Rome itself. You are well aware how much we love, or rather <i>loathe </i><span> </span>our GPS and despite there being a ring road around the city (which we didn’t find out about until later), it took us through the centre of town. We missed driving past the Coloseum by a block but we rode past the Roman Forum, Circus Maximus and across the river. It was by this time the hottest time of day and of course in the city centre there are stupid numbers of traffic lights where we have no choice but to sit in direct sunlight in all our protective layers. Courts was <i>not </i>happy, even after he passed his jacket to me and rode the last half hour in a singlet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we did eventually make it to camp, there were a couple of surprises waiting for us though – when we checked in, they handed us a key. We didn’t really understand why they did so, just drove in the direction they told us to, looking for our tent site. What we found was that we had unknowingly booked a ‘tent house’ – essentially a cabin, but with walls made of tent material. In terms of what we normally pay for camping, it was on the high side, but not over the top. Either way, since we had booked it, we had budgeted for it, and it was all ours – <i>real</i> beds, lockable door and all – for 4 nights.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The other nice surprise was that with our tent on the end of the row, we were 3 spaces down from our Aussie friends Richard and Kim - the ones we met in Sorrento – who had ended up at the same campsite as us. After Courts had had a dip in one of the two pools to cool down, we spent the afternoon lying around and the evening at the bar with Richard and Kim. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Conversations of the evening and previous weeks got me to thinking – as the Italian butterfly doesn’t know that it is Italian, and therefore doesn’t long to see how New Zealand butterflies live, it also doesn’t suspend itself in a no-mans land of eternal missing. I had my bouts of homesickness in Sorrento. I’m extremely excited to get home and start expanding my Acrylic Nails business. Now, with the Rugby World Cup starting and RWC Fever plastered all over the internet as well, I miss home. When I get home though, I will no longer live on the road, sleep in my tent, squish onto the bike, and cook on the billy. When I walk into a restaurant and look for a powerpoint, the action will be redundant – I’ll have plenty of those at home. Weeks will be punctuated by weekends instead of long rides to new destinations. I’m going to miss travelling.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was the same when I lived in Australia – in Aussie, I missed New Zealand, but when I returned to New Zealand I missed Australia. Richard and Kim have been in London for several years and will have a few days there post-Italy before they make the big move back home. They talk of how excited they are to go back to London and visit their friends and see and do familiar things, yet they of course also miss their families in Aussie. In Sorrento we talked to an American couple who had lived in Switzerland for a year. Now on their way home, they spoke of missing Switzerland. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are spoiled for choice but in taking advantage of it we open ourselves up to yet more longing. Instead of longing for the unknown, we know more of what there is to miss. Unlike the friends we have made, for us we won’t miss countries – we move too often for that – but the bike and the tent and our new habits are home now. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Time to explore Rome so we can miss that too.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Rome, Italy41.8905198 12.49424859999999241.6330973 12.146585599999991 42.1479423 12.841911599999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-55235965822978908902011-09-09T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-09T10:00:03.493+12:00Almost Ready for Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">We never did make it to Naples. Our last full day in Sorrento we were both still lazy and I was in a very average mood. Boys, skip to the next paragraph if you are so inclined. As we talked about many months ago, I had a contraceptive implant called Jadelle put in my arm in January. The side effects vary greatly but for me they mean that in the time since I had the implant put in, I’ve gone from very frequent 7-day periods to having had three 2-day periods in 9 months. Only one of those has been during the course of the trip, and that was in Sorrento. Rather than being nasty with PMS, I just got very tired and in an over-tired mood. I couldn’t be bothered doing anything but at the same time I was getting frustrated with the lethargy of the last couple of weeks.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The bike needed an oil change and so Courts went off and did that while I wrote and surfed the net at camp. When he got back, it was too late to justify a trip into Naples and I couldn’t be bothered anyway. We decided to go to Amalfi but we never made it there either. Instead, we had a huge lunch at a cheap little eatery in Sorrento village and then rode down the slippery cobbled hairpin road to the port, where I lay on the beach in the shade and Courts explored underwater with his trusty snorkel.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And that was about it really. I people watched from the beach and tried to play games on the phone but with an emotional, hormonal PMS cloud hanging over my head I ended up engulfed in homesickness. I wanted to see my Mum and my sister and my friends. Most of all at that particular time, I wanted to see my dog. Courtney’s family had said that if anything bad happened to anyone while we were away, they wouldn’t tell us until we got back – no point spoiling the trip. I knew that my dog Toby and his sleepover buddy Jimmy had escaped out the back fence a few weeks ago and I started worrying that he hadn’t made it back and people just weren’t telling me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While Courts watched fish and found dead crabs to pull the legs off for me (my favourite kind of gift – not!) and I watched obese children splash in the water, all I wanted was my dog. Like an overtired child with a pout and folded arms, I just wanted my dog and I wanted to be home and I didn’t want to wait 3 more weeks for it to happen. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The homesickness was entirely PMS related I’m sure but I do think if I went home now I’d be OK with it. At the tail end of Courtney’s Netherlands-Germany-Czech leg of the trip, I was starting to think I was ready to go home then, but the Dolomites and Venice completely renewed my travel lust. Italy was the country I was most looking forward to and I’m loving every second of it, but I’m thinking about finding a house and work and seeing everyone and a lot of my travel energy has already been used up by the previous 10 countries we’ve been to. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Funnily though, the same thing happened around the same time of my much-shorter American travels when I was younger. When I was about 80% of the way through the trip, like we are now, I was suddenly ready to be at home. That was only a 1 month trip though, and I did the second half of it on my own so it was a different dynamic to this one. Our next stops are Rome and Tuscany and I can’t wait for either of them. I’m very conscious of the fact that a month after we get home I will wish I could go back and relive these last few weeks if I don’t make the most of them now. I’ve told Courts that when we get to Rome, we are getting up and moving at normal times and exploring the city like we would have done London.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next stop, Colosseum.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com080067 Sorrento Peninsula Naples, Italy40.6263211 14.37573829999996640.6004441 14.343759299999967 40.6521981 14.407717299999966tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-33509154390608734022011-09-08T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-08T10:00:03.049+12:00Lazy Summer Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">The day after Pompeii we lazed around all morning, eventually heading back to Positano late afternoon. This time we parked up and wandered the streets that are inaccessible to vehicles – windy, slippery, stepped and full of stalls selling mostly jewellery. We made it down to the beach in our hunt for decent priced food, and spotted L’Alternativa, the small stall that sells Albertissimo, a supposedly amazing alcoholic drink that can only be purchased here. I don’t see the big deal. We paid 4 Euro and got a cup of Granite di Limon (lemon slushy made from real lemons, I’m addicted) with something red and something clear quickly splashed in. It tasted good, sure, but there was nothing special about it so if you have read that it’s a must do, like I did, it’s not. It’s average.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We clambered back up the hill to an eatery we had seen on the way down and sat dripping sweat in their garden terrace. With a view over their own orchard and down into the valley there was no better place to cool down for a bit. We had calzone and followed it up with desserts from their quintessentially Italian, homemade selection. We had a Rhum Baba with cream, the lightest, spongiest thing you’ve ever tasted with a runny sauce that soaked through it and onto the plate. We also tried a Crème Limon Sponge which was again insanely light but this time filled and covered with mild lemon crème, which looked and tasted kind of like meringue and whipped crème has a love child.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well fed and happy, we made our way back down to the beach to give Courtney’s new snorkel another wetting. As with most Amalfi Coast beaches, boats come in close to shore and so there is a swimming area roped off for safety. The beach was pebbled and we lay out our towel, bag and helmets. At almost 5pm the beach was still full but people were slowly drifting away. For the first time in our trip, the person we asked to mind our things said no. She didn’t go anywhere, I guess she just didn’t want the responsibility. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We both went into the water anyway and kept a vague eye on them from there. The water was warm and slowly deepened until a steep drop made it,at Courtney’s underwater guess, 3 times my height. You could still see the bottom, which darkened with seaweed the deeper you got, so it was easy to see when it was time to swim rather than have your feet drop out from under you like they would with low visibility. I had a go with the snorkel first and discovered heaps of small silver fish swimming around us. Despite being able to see the bottom, the fish were almost clear and we couldn’t see them at all from above water. They were very tame and swam right up to our fingers, following us round as we swam<span> </span>further out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A kid on the beach had been showing off a starfish so we hunted for those to no avail but did see a few other kinds of fish. Despite making Courtney swim near me the whole time just in case I needed to stop, my new found confidence in my (still techniqueless) swimming skills kept me going on my own for ages. I have discovered that I get a twinge in my left arm sometimes when I’m using it to swim so when that started happening and there were no new fish around, I gave up and went back to shore and left Courts snorkeling as the water emptied of locals. The heat of the pebbles on the beach soaked through the towel and I could easily have fallen asleep but when Courts eventually made it out of the water around 6.30pm, we headed up to the bike and went home for packet Risotto, which is surprisingly tasty.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are getting lazier and lazier. Not long till Rome now though so we had better switch it up soon!</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com084017 Positano Salerno, Italy40.6298703 14.4862776999999640.6157453 14.45857019999996 40.6439953 14.51398519999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-32507941860471446082011-09-07T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-07T10:00:06.290+12:00Sticking it to Vesuvius<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Riding the momentum of our tour day in Capri, we decided to spend the following day at Pompei. Our Aussie friends from camp had recommended we pay extra for a guided tour so when we eventually got there via walking, bussing, missing the stop, walking back, catching the train and then walking again, we looked for a tour guide straight away. We didn’t have to look far because the tour guides well trained eye for suckers zoned in on us immediately. We bought our entrance tickets and chatted to the tour guide, who said we had time for lunch before his tour started.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Over the road from the entrance to the ruins, we had sandwiches and drinks and returned on time to find the tour guide had left without us. Another one was now milling around, but he had a very thick Italian accent we couldn’t always understand and we weren’t too keen on going with him. We debated the pros and cons of audio guides and milled around reading posters to pass the time in the hopes another guide would show up. No one did, and as the Italian’s numbers started to reach capacity we resigned ourselves to joining in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The entrance to the ruins is at the city gate which used to lead to the wharf, back when the sea was much further inland than it is now. Huge boulder-sized cobblestones lead a slippery path up to the two gates, a small one for pedestrians and a larger one for carts. The tour guide, whose real born and bred name was Fabio, took us first to the Temple of Apollo. We knew the ruins were well preserved but this was a wow moment that prepared us for what was to come later. Bronze statues of Apollo and Diana stand in the places they have held for thousands of years, in the same condition you would expect any bronze statue of that age and showing no indication of the volcanic burial ground they were immersed in for much of that time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Following the wide port road, we headed towards the main town square. Fabio was open to few questions, giving the impression he knew only what he had to and had memorized his route in a particular order. Several times different people asked him why the roads had raised stones in the middle of them in places, and every time he would tell them to wait until later. The stones were so the citizens of Pompeii could cross the road without getting their feet wet, the roads running with fountain water from the constantly-running drinking taps that kept the streets free of horse poo. Fabio didn’t want to explain this though until much later in the tour when he could show us the fountain in the right order of his carefully memorized route.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The town square had another temple, the barely surviving remains of a basilica, and the ruins of shops and outlets used by the 20,000 citizens that lived there. An ornately carved marble arch decorated the entrance to the local Laundromat and beyond the protective glass Fabio was able to point out peacocks, wildboar, snails and all sorts of other animals still as easily recognizable as the day they were carved. He also pointed out the public toilet next door, where deposits were collected for their ammonia content and used on tough stains at the Laundromat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was impossible to ignore the looming figure of Mt Vesuvius sitting smugly above the town. Now boasting a misshapen tip, the mountain was once perfectly round and it’s easy to connect the dots and see the invisible crest that hit the town like a cork before showering it with lava champagne and toxic gases. Not far from the town square, in a corner of the old food market, glass cases naively protected the remains of people who died well before the ash and lava hit, unable to be protected by far more solid items than glass, suffocating on gases and contorting in pain with their last breathes. When lava and ash did eventually arrive, it hardened quickly around the still corpses and as they decomposed, remained as a perfect plaster-cast of their terror. When Pompei was eventually discovered, a smart thinking archaeologist filled the air pockets with plaster, preserving the last moments of these mostly lower class people for millions of tourists to gawk at in years to come. Not wanting to destroy any part of the air pockets, they were filled through small holes, with the skeletons still inside. The bodies we now see in cases are therefore plaster surrounding real bone, with the far less sturdy plaster now starting to crumble to reveal teeth, skulls and finger bones.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These sad, painful creatures are displayed in a most unfitting of places. Around them, the brightly coloured frescoes that brought good luck to the market and also advertised the goods it sold, still adorn the walls. Although faded, you can easily make out loaves of bread, chickens, and fish showing the wares that were available, above pictures of gods and battles. The market itself had shops around all sides, and you can still see the foundations of the pool where people could catch their own fresh seafood in the middle of it all.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">More breathtaking than the frescoes in the market where the frescoes, relief and statues in the Roman Baths. As much a meeting point for socializing as an place for getting clean, the baths were a labyrinth of rooms of various means, all still intact and boasting mosaic floors. Trees again grow in the courtyard garden within the walls, breathing a small amount of life back into the structure as you first enter the changing rooms, then see the lonely, empty tepid baths, the warm baths and the steam rooms. Once the most lively place in the whole town, now stray dogs make the most of the shade, oblivious to the tourists that step around them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In another area of town, a wealthy shopkeeper lived between his two shops. One was a takeaway food store and the counters are still intact, complete with holes that once held vases full of food and wine for the choosing. When you were finished your meal, you could head upstairs to the brothel if you liked, before heading home to your wife. His house greeted it’s visitors with an intricate mosaic of a dog on the floor, an ancient Beware of the Dog sign. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We entered his house through the slaves entrance so as not to wear down the mosaic, and were able to see the layout of a typical Pompei home. Beyond the front door in a large entrance room, a square pool in the floor collected water from a hole in the ceiling, reflecting light into the rooms that surrounded it. The shopkeepers office was immediately beyond, a place where he would hold court with his visitors and arrange plots and dealings. Surrounding the courtyard garden behind the office were bedrooms, a kitchen with the woodfire oven still waiting for another meal, and a brightly decorated dining room, used only in the winter when it was too cool to eat outside.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Passing a bakery, still housing it’s grinder and mixers, we wound down a narrower road that was crowded with tourists. We discovered why when Fabio pointed out a phallus protruding proudly from a wall – an ancient neon sign that may as well have read ‘Red Light District’. The tourist crowd were mostly Cruise Liner tour groups, all jostling to get into the entrance of the most well preserved brothel. By far the highlight of the visit for Courtney, the bedrooms of the brothel all still contained their built-in stone beds complete with built-in stone pillows. The uncomfortable nature of the bed apparently ensured a good time not a long time, allowing the next patron in quickly. More intriguing than the beds were the frescoes. Prostitutes were slaves and therefore often didn’t speak the language, having been stolen from their home countries and sold to their present masters. To combat the issue of trying to communicate what you like to a person who doesn’t understand you, patrons of the brothel could point to one of the various frescoes – a visual menu. There’s nothing quite like seeing an ancient depiction of doggy style or a girl on top with a spanking paddle.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Abruptly post-brothel, the tour ended, with Fabio saying goodbye in a matter of seconds and wandering off into the crowds. We wandered off on our own, in the direction of a hastily pointed out theatre district. Why the tour didn’t go there I don’t know, because it was by far the best thing I saw there. An entire Roman theatre, still intact, rows upon rows of tiered seating gazing down on the stage. From the top, you could look out and see more of the 163 square kilometers of city than you would ever be able to touch on in a day. You could also see an 18<sup>th</sup> century house perched high above the ruins, the only building still remaining from the period between eruption and excavation and showing just how deeply the ruins had once been buried.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courtney was in his element but it was hot and the cobblestones were doing unfriendly things to my knee, weak from an injury a couple of years ago. We meandered along the Villa of Mysteries, stopping for gelato at an Autogrill in the middle of the ruins before finding the train home. Although Fabio was less than inspiring, the 10 Euro each we spent on joining him was well parted with. An audio guide means hunting for discreet numbers adorning various structures and without one or other you would have no idea that those big concrete urn-looking things were the ancient machines of a bakery, or notice the phallus-shaped road stone discreetly pointing the way to the Red Light District.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The town was the 4<sup>th</sup>-largest in Italy when it was buried, and was mid-reconstruction following a massive earthquake several years earlier. Because of reconstruction efforts, some of the ruins were ruins back when they were covered. Others, like the Temple of Apollo, were already 600 years old. Seeing the toppled columns of the Basilica or the overgrown crumbling walls of an old home is cool, but it’s not until you see the shops lining the market or the take away stores in the residential areas that you can blur your vision and see carts coming down the road, sliding between the pedestrian crossing stones, or old ladies coming out of the Laundromat with their freshly pee-cleaned washing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courtney loved the shopkeepers house because the layout and his day-to-day activities were exactly like the TV show Spartacus. It was cool knowing how accurate Spartacus is and using the show as a way of seeing the house come to life. Of the 20,000 people that lived there, most got out ok, and most of those that didn’t were slaves, not even Pompeian to begin with. When the town was covered, no one actually knew where it was until the discovery of Herculaneum gave some indication as to where nearby Pompei might be. And now, we wander the streets again, wearing down the cobblestones, drinking from the same fountains, staring down at the same stage from the same seats. It’s surreal, and haunting, and hot, a <i>so </i>worth it.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com080045 Pompei Naples, Italy40.7491819 14.50073850000001140.717955900000007 14.475715000000012 40.7804079 14.525762000000011tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-79216668094984460872011-09-06T10:00:00.000+12:002011-09-06T10:00:06.406+12:00Exploring the Island of Capri<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">After exploring Amalfi, we had no inclination to do much at all the next day. We walked down the rocky path to the private beach at camp, winding our way down the cliff and sending lizards running. We tested the waters but hadn’t brought our togs with us, and slowly made our way back up. We spent time at the swimming pool at camp, eating cheese and crackers, washing off watermelon juice from our noses and chins, floating in the cool water and baking in the hot sun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the evening, we made friends with a lovely couple next door, who were Australian, on their way home after years living in London. We shared the two bottles of 1.50 Euro wine we had bought, and they shared a bottle from their ice box. We stayed up until 1am talking about nothing in particular. Or rather, anything and everything. We slipped easily into conversation as though we had known each other for years, while simultaneously introducing ourselves.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The night was great, a lot of fun, but a headache swarmed around my brain for hours before we retired. I woke up several times during the night, trying desperately to get back to sleep knowing we had an early start the next day. We were off on a tour of Capri, the island off the tip of the Amalfi peninsula, and although we had booked it in advance, it couldn’t have been worse timing. Having had less than a bottle of wine each the previous night, we woke up extremely hungover and very very ill.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courtney gave me dissolvable painkillers to skull back an hour or so before the alarm went off, but it was the desperate need to keep them down and the failed attempts at doing so that woke me up for good. I was in no state to board a boat but I wasn’t wasting 30 Euros (60, if Courts hadn’t gone either), so board a boat I did. I survived the temperamental rises and falls of the ocean, focusing on the water rather than the still points that didn’t move with it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By the time we got to the entrance of the blue grotto, I was feeling well enough to agree to go into it. The blue grotto is a notorious rip off, a small cave reachable only by swimming or by paying close to 12 Euros to board a small gondola-type boat for 5 minutes. Inside, the water is bluer than you’ve ever seen, and the walls of the cave loom overhead. We only know this from stories however, because we were told the seas were too rough to take passengers on the boats. We happily agreed we didn’t want to wait for them to die down, seeing the gondoliers lay back flat in the boat and haul themselves through the tiny mouth of the grotto by a chain attached to the rock outside. The seas were so high that the edges of the boats scraped the ceiling of the mouth – we weren’t all that fussed to go in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I was feeling better, Courtney suddenly fell just as ill as I had been, and I took over the camera and the chit chat as the boat rounded the corner to show us the Green Grotto. Rather than being a full cave, the Green Grotto was an open topped crevice in the rocky cliffs of Capri, but with amazing coloured and clear water. The tour guides pointed out buildings and lighthouses as we swept away from it to dock at Marina Piccollo, or the small port. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At the Marina, the waters seemed just as clear and people swam around the dock, through a hole in the rocky formations that littered the beach. Saving swimming for later, we took a bus to the village at the top of the hill and explored the cobbled streets. Most of the shops were high-end designer stores, catering to the rich and famous that flock to the island. Restaurants boasted walls of photos showing the owners with superstars – Mariah Carey, Beyonce, Rod Stewart… sports stars, politicians and film stars.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Being unable to afford to even step in these stores and restaurants, we made our way to the town square, high on the hill overlooking Marina Grande or the big port. I spent 7 Euros on a small milkshake just at the thought of it easing my stomach and we ate pizza and sandwiches overlooking the port.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With waters as clear as this, I could no longer deny Courtney his snorkel. Knowing it would lead to a few supermarket meals, we bought a mask and snorkel and he set off to explore the rocks. I swam for a bit and then slept in the sun, stealing the heat of the pebbled shore through my towel. Courts saw a jellyfish before deciding to join me, and we slept in the sun until it was time to go home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The tour guides showed us the White Lagoon and various points of interest around the island, and we marveled at caves high in the cliffs and the sheer drops that rushed away beneath them. The boat dropped us off where the tour had begun, the private beach at camp, and after a long day we slowly hauled ourselves up the cliff face. There was little energy left for anything after that, and a deeper sleep has not been had for a long time.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com080073 Capri Naples, Italy40.5509104 14.24292620000005640.5410284 14.218364200000057 40.5607924 14.267488200000056tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-2002266253019168962011-09-05T01:46:00.000+12:002011-09-05T01:46:22.753+12:00Italian Butterflies Don't Know They Are Italian<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">A few weeks ago, we were riding through Italy in the early hours of the morning, as movement in the cities slowly roused the sun from sleep. We were on our way to the ferry at Ancona, ready for the overnight trip to Greece. There is little to do on the bike except think. I often think about my business at home doing acrylic nails and training new technicians to do the same. I come up with ideas for marketing or expansion and I often write them down on the phone when I have a moment free from GPS. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Other times, I do a lot of reflecting – on mistakes I’ve made, ways I have changed, people I’ve hurt, other people I have just lost touch with. It is easy to get swept up in those thoughts, running through what-if scenarios and wondering what the people I have lost touch with are doing now and what I would say to them if I had the chance. Of course those people are far from the majority and I spend a good deal of time thinking about the people I am close to as well, the people I miss at home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At this particular point I was thinking about my Mum and sister and how far away from each other we are at the moment. It is a romantic notion in many movies and books to think of seeing the same stars as each other but I realized at that point, that we don’t. When I lived in Australia, it was easy to look up at the same constellations as them and know we weren’t <i>that</i> far apart if we could see the same things. From the northern hemisphere though, those southern constellations are nowhere to be seen. It made me feel even further apart from them and, sat on the back of the bike with the sun starting to rise behind me, I sent quiet messages to the moon for them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s funny the things you see and think of when your mind is on a journey of its own, having wandered with little to do for several hours. In Italy again, but weeks later and on the opposite side, a tiny white butterfly landed amongst the overgrowth as we rode past. An Italian butterfly, exactly the same as the butterflies that nibble on vege gardens at home. He has no idea he is Italian, or that other butterflies that look just like him are living differently on the other side of the world. Maybe they’re not. Maybe when you’re that small and that close to the flowers, overgrowth is all the same.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He has no idea that his life could be different. Neither do the dogs that lie in the shade of the Acropolis. They don’t know that they are sleeping on marble that has been there over 2,000 years, that has had emperors and pilgrims and warriors and mothers walk on it, that has seen death and blood and storms and destruction, war and peace, love and spite. Imagine the things the Acropolis has seen. 2,000 years of change. Imagine the time lapse video you would see if the Acropolis had been filming all that time, the rise and fall of times and eras, the expansion of Athens, the arrival of tourists. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Imagine for a second, that the Parthenon has a stream of consciousness. It was used to store gun powder during the war with Turkey, and a carefully aimed cannonball blew it half to smithereens with no respect for the age and beauty of the structure. The building, had it limbs, would have lost them. All this time later, people care enough to put it slowly back together. Imagine the bloody sacrifices it saw when it was young, and what it must think of the tour groups that trample it every day now. After 2,000 years of such vastly contrasting activities, how could it <i>not</i> look so strong, proud and imposing?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The dog sleeping in the shade knows nothing of this, or why the tourists flock with cameras. He only knows the marble is cold and the tourists are friendly, and that it’s a long walk down should he choose to leave. Maybe he had a home once, as many Athenian strays did, but he knows nothing of the activities of a dog on a farm in New Zealand. He might be curious as to what the dinnertime smells are, coming from the homes of Plaka, below his marble bed, but he has no inclination to travel to lands unknown. It is really only humans that travel and migrate for pleasure rather than necessity.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The kitten born at a campsite in Santorini knows the human inclination to travel, very well. He will probably never figure out though, why the humans that feed and play with him, all speak different words to him. He won’t learn a name, like the dogs up the path won’t learn to sit or stay or shake. There is no consistency in the words spoken to them, no chance to learn. They remain deaf to any understanding, trapped in their species more than any domestic dog at home. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My dog, Toby can pick up words in amongst sentences of human conversation. He will question them, wonder if they apply to him, ask for clarification. No, we will tell him, we were talking about walking to the shop, not the park. He will pick up the general idea of what we are saying, recognizing some words and the tones of voice they carry. Similar to us in France. We picked up words, we could communicate, we heard vocal tone with more clarity than ever before, by necessity. The Santorini strays will never have the awakening of that same understanding. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is only the human level of communication and understanding that allows us to learn and question the big bad world, grow curiosities like they were daisies and pick away at them one by one. And yet, riding on the back of a motorbike at 5am, we might still send messages to the moon, and while knowing they won’t, secretly hope they make it back down again, and land in our loved ones arms.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com080067 Sorrento Peninsula Naples, Italy40.6263211 14.37573829999996640.6004441 14.343759299999967 40.6521981 14.407717299999966tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-28437947184109362272011-09-02T19:54:00.000+12:002011-09-02T19:54:14.082+12:00Living Like Movie Stars<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Travel fatigue is slowly starting to wave teasingly our way, battering it’s eyelashes and looking on with a come-hither gaze. When we were in London, we would leave the hostel at 10am and be home 11pm. Granted it was to avoid the horrible hostel we were staying in but it was easy done and we loved our time there. We planned our trip so that there would be plenty of slower rest stops among the busy see-and-do cities, which is probably why it’s taken 3 months for the 22 stops we’ve made so far to start affecting us. This last leg of the trip was planned at a slower pace than the first leg was, anticipating the tiredness we might feel, but even so, we’re getting lazy.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After our little holiday in Cormatin it was hard to get back into the swing of things and I anticipated Santorini to be the same. I mentally readied myself to jump back into exploring Italy, wanting to make the most of our time there. On our first morning though, Courts was not budging. We bought a pile of second hand books for 2 Euro each at the hotel in Athens and I’ll readily admit that while engrossed in them I would forget all about Italy. Courts is in the middle of the Wheel of Time series though and it will be a long time before he emerges from the depths of <i>them</i>. While I showered, he read.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I was clean and talking about breakfast, he decided he wasn’t going anywhere without clean undies, and unbeknownst to me, he had none left. This was non-negotiable so as he kept reading, I took the washing up to the shop (nasty uphill walk through the massive camp we’re in) and got milk for breakfast as well. I made breakfast, he ate while reading. I made coffee and hot chocolate, he drank while reading. Eventually when the washing was due to be finished he closed the book for a minute – there was no way I was walking all the way there again when he could ride the bike.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While he was up at the laundry, I packed our daypack and then had little else to do but read myself, knowing once I started I’d be in an uphill battle to stop again when we wanted to leave. Our plans of getting to Pompeii were about as long gone as the sunrise but we were still wanting to get out and explore the Amalfi Coast. We eventually left at 1pm and set the GPS to take us to Positano, the closest of the well known towns along the coast (and the setting for the scenes in Under the Tuscan Sun when she follows the hot boy to the white terraced houses on the beach).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The GPS hates me and I’m deleting it off the phone the second we drop off the bike. It would tell me had driven straight past our next turn when the only thing we had passed was a foot wide alley between grape vines. I told it we were a car instead of a bike and it set us off in another direction. Despite thinking we were car-width it still took us down a cobbled winding alley that two bikes would have barely managed to pass each other in, let alone a single car fitting one way. When it broke out onto a main road, it was the same main road we had left 10 minutes earlier, just further down. Eventually, with little thanks to the GPS, we found the windy road that runs along the coast.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was terrified of this road prior to leaving for our trip. The roads are narrow, corners sharp, drivers insane and cliffs steep. The guy at reception however said the best way to see the coast was bike because the bus was slow and hot and the stops just outside each town with a walk to get down into them. He said people hired scooters from him to ride the road so we would be fine. He was right, if only because Courtney is a good rider and, being the week <i>after</i> the 2 week Italian national holiday, the road was not too busy.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We intended to stop in Positano but it was stupidly difficult to find a parking spot on the windy one way road through town, with all the obvious spots already full of scooters. We kept going, past Praiano and eventually stopping for something to eat 1km shy of Amalfi town itself. Outside the eatery we were accosted by a very outgoing Italian man and his 3 much shyer friends. He fed us chips and got excited about New Zealand (the only two words he understood) and after I escaped to get us a table, he also grabbed Courtney’s crotch not once but twice. The man’s friends told Courts he was an Italian TV star, which I guess we’ll never know for sure.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lunch was awesome though, real Italian pizza followed by real Italian gelato. We discovered for the first time that many Italian eateries charge a cover charge of 2-4 Euro so everything is not as cheap as it seems. We ate overlooking a bay with crystal clear water we could see through from the top of our cliff. A restaurant rented out loungers on the beach and we found out from our waiter the whole bay was only accessible by boat. We watched, slightly amused, as a couple found this out the hard way, walking down the steps that lead ¾ of the way down the cliff only to discover that after this point the steps had been washed away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Continuing on to Amalfi town we found ourselves in the midst of a unique traffic jam. The narrow roads and arrogant driving of the Italians meant there were two busses trying to be inside a one-lane tunnel. One bus, the one facing us, was more successful than the other and so we found ourselves backing up the road to create enough space for passing. Police were involved, directing the traffic, and one of the bus drivers in particular was rather vocal when cars were slow to back up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We made it through the tunnel soon enough and finally found easily accessible beaches, near the ferry port. With full intentions to swim we looked for parking but needed to turn around to do so. Before we could, I spotted a sign for Ravello, a small town we wanted to visit and so it was up 5 km of windy roads into the mountains that we went. The entire coast is covered in lemon trees, clinging to the steep terraced cliffs and mountainsides, but nowhere moreso than Ravello. We wandered into the village’s main square but ended up sitting somewhere down an alley way nutting out the ramifications of the bad moods that had plagued us since the ferry incident. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is no better way to resolve a tense discussion than free Limoncello. We had been told it would be far different than what we had tasted at home and they were right – it is <i>way</i> stronger. We spent a long time in the little Limoncello shop, picking out gifts to take home and watching them bottle the liqueur in the back room. An English family with 2 small boys came in to look around and we described the taste of Limoncello as they waited for someone to give them a taster.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courts and I spent a good 10 minutes being entertained by their confident little boys, one of which turned to Courtney without so much as an introduction and said in his spritely English accent “Boys are supposed to be <i>taller</i> than girls!”. We spun stories about how he had stopped eating his vegetables and therefore stopped growing and were repaid with indepth discussion on the contrasts between each boys appetite. One ate eggs, one ate cheese, no one ate zucchini and so on. There was also debate as to why, if the younger boy ate more veges, he was still shorter than the older of the two. Eventually with little English and much arm flailing we were essentially told to purchase or leave. The English family left, and we purchased lots of carefully wrapped goodies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Amalfi Coast features in lots of movies, Under the Tuscan Sun and I think maybe The Talented Mr Ripley too. Kim Kardashian left her honeymoon on Capri two days before we arrived and Tara Reid left Santorini just before we got there too. Living the lives of the rich and famous are also animals galore. Just like our other Mediterranean experiences, there are strays everywhere, and friendly ones too. There are thousands of lizards, who happily pose for photos before scuttling off. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Still, even living a taste of the lives of the rich and famous, it’s the simple pleasures that make it worth it. The strays lie in the shade of monuments and in the way of tourists photos, not a care in the world. We meanwhile video the sunset as we drive away from Ravello, sip Granite di Limon (like a slushy) in the shade of the cliffs, and cook chicken on the Billy for our sandwiches at dinnertime, with views of the Bay of Naples. It’s hard to find fault in it, if you forget about the Italian drivers.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com084011 Amalfi Salerno, Italy40.6343624 14.60257179999996440.6191729 14.577743299999964 40.6495519 14.627400299999964tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-21609242490515190862011-09-01T21:28:00.000+12:002011-09-01T21:28:01.587+12:00Santorini to Sorrento in a Three Day Blur<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Not the most interesting post today sorry, three days of travelling is rather uneventful when it goes roughly to plan. In the interests of keeping up our trip log though, I bring you: Santorini to Sorrento in a Three Day Blur.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Leaving Santorini was bittersweet. We were both about ready to go but at the same time when the tourist rush died down it was the sort of place where I could see myself getting into the day to day groove. We didn’t have to leave camp until about 1.30pm so we took our time with breakfast and packing. With our tight end-of-trip (nearly) budget we decided to eat lunch before we went and take dinner on board with us. I packed our gear, minus the tent, and then cooked up a packet pasta and added vegetables and spices that previous campers had left behind on a free-for-all table. At the same time I cooked up crumbed chicken schnitzel and layered it with salami, Santorini cherry tomatoes and cheese in huge bread buns to take on the ferry. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courts was taking the tent down while I cooked and the kitten we had made friends with at camp took full advantage of the soft spot he knows I have when Courts isn’t there to scat him away. He feasted on crumbs and then while Courts ate I packed the bike ready to go. Despite not needing to leave until 1.30pm, we had to check out by 12pm and weren’t allowed to do so unless we could show our luggage all packed up. This meant after checking out we had very little to do so we ended up heading to the wharf early.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We made a rookie mistake seeing a sign for internet café and paying 3 Euro for an hour of wifi before going next door and discovering the café there had wifi free for customers. To kill time before the ferry arrived we took advantage of that too and then finally saw the ferry pull into port. In the scorching afternoon heat I could not have been happier when the guard let us through a gate, bypassing the huge queue of people waiting to board in direct sunlight. Vehicles are usually allowed on first but quite a few times we’ve been told it’s ‘Drivers Only’ and I’ve had to board separately. It’s never been a problem because we’ve never seen a queue like that, but this time I was crossing fingers and toes that I’d be allowed through with Courts.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As he parked the bike, I ran up to the Economy Lounge and nabbed the same seats we had had on the way there, right next to a window and a power point. Courts joined not long after and it’s a good thing his bum was firmly in his seat when the ferry pulled into the first stop, Naxos, because chaos erupted. The economy lounge is comfy but crowded, and everyone makes do and makes friends with the strangers they’re sat next to. At Naxos though, a group of crazy Greeks got on and decided to take over the boat. An overbearing old man told a couple of Aussies that it didn’t matter that their friend was on her way back from the toilet, his wife was having her seat. The poor woman was very apologetic as she was forced to sit in someone elses seat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That was nothing though, because the man found another seat across the room, that was big enough to seat himself, his wife and all their friends. The only problem was, there were already two Aussie girls sitting there. He told them to move and when they politely declined (there was nowhere else for them to go), the Greeks decided to just sit either side and move closer and closer and the girls had no choice but to either move or be crushed to death. The girls gave in and crammed in elsewhere while fellow passengers watched in disbelief.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rest of the ride was uneventful and we set foot on the mainland just after midnight. Barricades meant we had to go the long way to the hotel but it was nearby so it didn’t take long. Taking advantage of the free wifi we set our photos to upload to Flickr while we slept and fell deep into sleep with rubbish – but English language – TV playing in the background. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a continental breakfast at the hotel we took our sweet time leaving which meant we ended up in a rush to get to Patras for the overnight ferry to Italy. Good traffic and straight highways meant we beat the GPS predictions by well over an hour and it was a good thing we did because the ticket office kept us waiting over an hour. Superfast Ferries had previously treated us well but this time they served the two people in front of me in record-slow time, and then when it was my turn, they took my reference print out and said ‘One minute lady’ and then kept serving the people behind me. 50 minutes later I was told they had a computer problem and were waiting for another office to open and close my booking and it was 15 minutes after that that we finally got given our boarding passes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We were still one of the first on the ferry though so we parked and unloaded and reloaded the gear on the bike, taking with us our carefully planned cabin bag. We (I) had done a lot of rearranging to fit our sleeping mats and sleeping bag into the bag that usually has our tent, having learnt from the last overnight ferry that it was unlikely to be a comfy night. We were the first into the aircraft seat room but this time the seats were allocated and looked a lot comfier than the last ferry. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We only sat in those seats for a few seconds though over the entire ride because we took over the corner behind the last row of seats, on the floor. We were in overnight ferry heaven with the bottom shelf of the luggage store on one side, a powerpoint behind our heads, the perfect amount of room to put our mattresses side by side, and the privacy afforded to us by the seats in front. We put all our gear on the shelf and went and had a coffee and later some dinner before returning later to our camp to sit in bed on the wifi and reading books.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the morning we had another epic ferry breakfast – I already miss the inch thick French bread and bacon – and then the debate of the century started. When faced with a queue or crowd, Courts likes to remain in his seat or wherever he is comfortable until the very last minute and then walk through behind the last people in the queue having done little to no waiting around and standing. Although I have no issues queuing if it’s the only way, like at theme parks, if I don’t have to queue I’m generally the same as Courts. I’m the last to stand up and queue at airport gates and I’m happy staying seated on a bus until it’s near empty. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On a ferry with a motorbike, I’m the opposite. First of all, I’ve seen the way idiots treat other peoples bikes in the cargo hold when they think no one can see them. One guy sat on our pannier, the weight of which we have to watch as it is, as he waited for the bike next to his to be untied (they all get tied together). Second of all, while Courts is happy being late to anything and everything, I hate being late and I <i>hate</i> feeling rushed. If I have to go out for a particular time, I’ll get ready an hour early so I know it’s done, and <i>then</i> watch TV or relax till it’s time to go. Courts will watch TV or relax until it’s time to go and then <i>start</i> getting ready.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When the ferry docks, the crowd of people trying to get off is insane. I’d be happy staying seated until everyones gone and then meandering off except I know there are idiots touching the bike that’s in my name and I know the bike has to be repacked before we can leave. The ferry workers want everyone off ASAP so it’s a rush to do this as it is. I’d rather go to the door to the garage the second we know we’re nearing port, wait until it’s opened and be the first one out. I may have to wait longer but no ones in my way and I have plenty of time to take packing the bike before we are rushed off.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I never once told Courts he had to come with me but of course it’s natural to assume it’s expected so while I tried to get to the bike he got angrier and angrier at not being able to wait till last. It didn’t help that when I got to the bike well before he did (having separated to find the easiest way down when Court’s procrastination meant we were at the back of the queue) and repacked it myself, I didn’t realize we needed tools from under the seat to tighten the chain before we left. I tried to remedy the situation with jokes and kisses and it worked – until we got off the ferry and the way out was clear as mud and everyone was in our way and it was hot and Courts got frustrated all over again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t the most fun of rides but when we eventually arrived in Sorrento 4 hours later, the incredible view and abundance of lizards was enough to turn his mood at anytime. He went off to the bathroom and I pitched the tent and set up our stuff, on the edge of a (fenced) cliff with a view of the sunset over the entire Bay of Naples, all the way to the city itself. We sealed three days of travel with a bottle of Sorrento wine and real Italian ravioli at the camp restaurant overlooking the now twinkling city lights.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s not all bad now, is it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com080067 Sorrento Peninsula Naples, Italy40.6263211 14.37573829999996640.6004441 14.343759299999967 40.6521981 14.407717299999966tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-42183287248180531192011-08-30T10:00:00.000+12:002011-08-30T10:00:00.739+12:00A Side of the Volcano We Haven't Seen Yet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Another day in Paradise, and after the massive day we had the day before, we were in no hurry to do anything. We also had 100 Euros left for 3 days and 50 of that set aside for snorkeling so it was off to the supermarket to plan out 3 breakfasts, 3 lunches and 2 dinners with the last of our spare change.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We went back to camp and made lunch, fending off a stray kitten that had come to know us and know that it would get a little bit of milk in the morning if it was good. While the kitten feasted of grated cheese, we discovered that the cheapest bread is not the best option and ate our sandwiches anyway.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We spent the rest of the day lying poolside. For the first time in history it was me that decided to go up to the pool first, leaving Courtney sat at the concrete tables near the kitchen, reading a book in the shade. By the time I talked him into joining me, I’d already gone in the pool twice on my own, with plenty of sunbathing and backgammon on the phone in between. We spent the entire afternoon swimming, sunbathing, playing games and reading, until we could no longer chase the sun with our loungers and went back to the kitchen to make hot dogs for dinner.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A day as eventful as any holiday day should be. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The following day was our last full day on the island and we had one thing in mind – snorkeling the volcano. Courtney loves snorkelling and has his own snorkel and fins at home. I’ve tried it once, in Rarotonga with SoulBuddy and loved it then too, especially since when I get tired I can just float. We had arranged to go out on a diving boat that morning and found our way to a little bay at Akrotiri where the divers were already suiting up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Three other snorkelers were with us, a Thai girl that lived in London and two French guys who were escaping their families for the day. The boat took us out to a bay near the volcano where us snorkelers were told to basically get off and make room for the divers. A lot of the trip felt like we were just extra money on the side, getting in the way of the divers. We were left to snorkel around on our own while the divers were guided around the bay by the tour guides. If it weren’t for us inviting the Thai girl to swim with us, she would have been on her own in the middle of the ocean with no one watching out for her. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The snorkeling itself was good fun. We were told to stay away from the rocks at the edge of the bay because high speed ferries passing through the channel created unpredictable waves, so we swam out where it was more open. The lava formations on the sea floor weren’t as cool as I thought they would be and the fish weren’t as colourful as the ones any of us snorkelers had seen before, in Rarotonga, Goat Island, and Thailand. But being able to interact with massive schools of small silver fish was awesome, as was being able to feel the same confidence in the water that I felt in Rarotonga.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I got out of the water not long after our friend did, sitting in the sun and chatting with her while we waited for the divers and Courtney dove off the boat over and over again. We had been told the trip would include two dives, one at the volcano and one at the marine reserve in front of the dive base. The boat took us back to the base and then we were once again on our own. The tour guides gave all their attention to the divers who had to refill their air and about 10 minutes later we asked someone who told us where to swim to if we wanted to see the marine reserve.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courts had already given up and gone snorkeling in the shallows by then so I joined him and together we swam out to a flag on a buoy. The water was a lot choppier with the small boat traffic around the wharf and I found it a lot harder to get my confidence up. For some reason my natural instinct when I hear water sloshing over the top of my snorkel is to take a deep breath in. Not so smart, but unfortunately not easy to teach myself otherwise. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I made it to the buoy however, passing a sunken wooden dinghy and eventually coming across a huge section of rock. Some of it you could stand on but it was hard to keep balance in the choppy water so I did my best to float around. There were way more fish here, including a few rainbow coloured ones. Nothing big, but very cool. In the choppy water I got tired quite quickly so I swam back and dried out in the sun while Courts watched crabs and small fish in the seaweed closer to shore. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We chose this dive shop because it was 25 Euro each for 2 dives and the other dive shop we found was 35 Euro each for 3 dives so we saved ourselves money. The snorkeling was awesome fun but I don’t know if Santorini Dive Centre gave us value for money in the end. Either way we were hungry and with our groceries sitting at home we made our way back to camp for lunch. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rest of the day was pool side again. We could get used to this.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Nísos Thíra, Greece36.3931562 25.46150920000002336.2623202 25.323089200000023 36.5239922 25.599929200000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-88975720887180598182011-08-29T10:00:00.000+12:002011-08-29T10:00:00.982+12:00What Better Place to Conquer Your Struggles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Money worries won’t stop us making the most of our trip. Our second full day in Santorini we had booked a ‘Santorini in One Day’ tour that would take us over land and sea to see the best the island had to offer. It had all started because on the ferry from Athens it had come to light that despite me only ever talking about going to Santorini and having known our plans for months, Courts had it stuck in his head that we were going to three islands. I didn’t want him to be disappointed only going to one so I googled day trips you could do from the island and came across this tour.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It started early, at 9.15am, so it was yet again another alarm day. We were picked up a 5 minute walk from home and were off to the first stop, two churches on the highest point of the island. One of the churches I believe dates back to the 1920’s and one the 50’s from memory, but I may be wrong. 6 priests live up there and harvest small crops and make crafts to sell. The tiny churches (they only fit 6-8 people at a time) were very cool, with thrones around the edges and as much artwork as could be crammed in. I think most people were more interested in the view though, which stretched from our place on one point of the crescent shaped Island to Oia at the other end.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our second stop was Pyrgos, one of the oldest towns on the island. Having had to do the same at the mountain, we again had to leave the bus at the bottom of a hill and walk up to the view point we were aiming for. To be honest I’m not really sure why we stopped in Pyrgos. It sounded awesome - little shops on every corner, narrow winding streets – but we bypassed all the quaint village character and went up to see another view. The island’s not that big and the view was much the same. The selling point I think was that we were seeing the view from the remains of a medieval castle, but the ruins were little more than stairs and foundations. Courts didn’t even realize it was a castle until I told him on our way back down to the bus and it was easy to see why.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From Pyrgos it was off to the port to board a huge wooden boat to be taken to the volcano. When booking the tour I didn’t realize we actually went <i>on</i> the volcano, which we learnt from other travelers the day before. Luckily we wore walking shoes because the people that wore jandals looked like they were doing the walk a lot harder than we were. The volcano itself looked amazing from the boat, black and grey and red rocks, all harsh and sharp. The entire island is lava having not existed before an undersea eruption. It is still active and expands from time to time as more lava hardens in the water.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The walk was horrible and showed me just how unfit I am despite all the walking we have done. Off to Bootcamp when we get home. We walked uphill 5 minutes and waited for the guide, who somehow got there before us despite being left at the bottom. He told us how Santorini, the neighbouring island of Therassia and the small island between them used to be one perfectly round island. The inhabitants were so advanced all these hundreds of years ago that they had three story houses with separate toilets on each floor, and they pumped water from the hot springs all the way up the mountain and through pipes in their walls to heat their homes. It is speculated that they may have been so advanced they knew the eruption was coming, because there are no human remains in the ruins that have been excavated. Either that or they had the means to escape but didn’t make it in time and are somewhere under the ocean in lava layers that can never be explored.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When the big eruption happened, pieces of rock landed in Italy and ash landed in Iceland. Geological changes have been discovered in South America that could only have happened due to a massive seismic event, and this was the only one that happened in the world at the same time. A 250 metre tsunami travelled at 350km an hour to obliterate Crete and wipe out most of the Minoan civilization. Many people thought the tsunami ended the Minoan civilization but in very recent years they have discovered remains that are post-tsunami.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The result of all this was that the middle of the island ended up splattered all over the world and we were left with two crescents, one from either side – Santorini and Therassia. This wasn’t the end because in 1956 the volcano blew up again, destroying pretty much everything on the island and creating the volcanic island in the middle that we were, at this point, now standing on. Essentially everything on Santorini has been built since 1956 except for ruins. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The tour guide also explained though that the volcanic activity is the only reason there is flourishing life on the island now. There is no natural water on the island – clouds don’t form properly which is why it always looks hazy and never rains – but the dry earth is full of pumice, which sucks the humidity out of the air and feeds the plants. The barren weedy lands we had passed on the island were infact successful low-lying wineries, cherry tomato and white aubergine crops. Of course the volcano is also responsible for creating the caldera, the massive cliff face that makes Santorini’s views world-famous, and is essentially a cross section of the inside of a mountain.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now that we knew the power of the black island we were standing on (including the fact that in the 1956 eruption one of the 6 or 7 craters didn’t blow, which means it’s full of pressure) we still had to walk up it, which takes us back to how unfit I am. The path was loose and soft and quite difficult to walk on, but the worst part was climbing a hill in the insane heat of a Greek August only to find at the top that it dipped down and we had to climb all over again, even further than before. At one point I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it to the top, standing on a pile of lava feeling light headed and shaky.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I probably shouldn’t admit to any of that except that I <i>did </i><span> </span>make it to the top, eventually, and I’m proud of myself for not giving up when I wanted to. The view from the top was incredible, you could easily connect the dots and see the perfect circle of the original island. We stood on the edge of the main crater which is actually two twin craters in one big hole. The tour guide used a rock to scoop up lava sand which sparkled. He let us touch it and it was hot, hence the rock he used to pick it up initially. Smoke pushed its way out through holes in the crater, only a little bit, but enough to fill the air with sulphur. Americans nearby remarked how bad it smelt but it reminded us of home, because the town of Rotorua smells the same for the same reasons.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The walk back down the mountain was far easier of course, and getting back on the boat I was very thankful for the cold Fanta at the little shop on board. Our next stop was the one I was looking forward to the most – swimming in the hot springs that are heated by the volcano. Some tours take you right into one of the hot springs so you get off the boat into hot water. Ours didn’t – we had to get into cold water and swim to the spring, which posed a couple of problems. First and most superficially, anyone that has been swimming with me will tell you how long it takes me to get into cold water. With a boat load of people behind me I had to just go for it and I wasn’t looking forward to that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Secondly, I can’t swim. Well, I can keep myself afloat and I can project myself forwards, which I suppose is swimming, but I can’t do it at anything that could be defined as <i>speed</i> or with anything that could be calld <i>technique </i><span> </span>and the hot spring was 70 metres away. The tour guide even said, if you’re not a strong swimmer, don’t go. I am stubborn though, and I was not missing out on the hot springs. There was a rock somewhere halfway and I swam vaguely towards it until I could see people standing on it and knew where to aim for. I rested on the rock and then swam the rest of the way using Courtney as a floatation device every now and then.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was worth it, the hot springs were awesome and I can now say I swam over a volcano. The water was yellow and we were warned in advance it would turn jewellery and white clothing red (Courtneys white and blue Hawaiian boardshorts are now rusty). Sulphur sludge floated on the surface and people used it to write on the black rocks that protected the little bay we were in. Some people covered themselves in it, but for me I was happy holding onto the edge of the bay and feeling the hot water of the spring.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After awhile, the whistle blew to return to the ship and we had 10 minutes to get back. Swimming out of the bay was no problem but the ship looked a lot further away than it had been and the water in between was daunting. I missed the half way rock entirely and when I turned around Courtney was a few lengths behind. I had no choice but to go for it, and I made it most of the way before breathing at the wrong time and getting a nose and mouth full of water. I wasn’t far from the boat but I panicked and turned around to look for Courtney. He was further away than the boat so I kept going and when I finally grabbed the ladder I was happy I hadn’t given up. Despite the incredible views and other-worldly scenery, the highlight of the day had been claimed – I swam 70 metres without stopping and without help.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courtney being Courtney and liking the cold, hadn’t really seen the point in swimming in hot water when we were in Greece. He much preferred the next stop on the tour, which was two hours at Therassia, the small sister island of Santorini. To get to the little village at the top of the mountain, you had to walk 200-and-something steps, but each step was three steps wide, so they were tricking us a bit when they counted. There was only one place to buy food up there though, so instead we stayed at the bottom where lots of restaurants beckoned. We walked past the busy restaurants next to the port, all the way until we reached the very last one. It was quiet, a victim of hungry people filtering through the restaurants only as far as the first one they liked. The food was amazing though – Courtney had fried calamari and I had traditional stuffed eggplant – and we easily got a seat on the edge of the terrace, inches from the clearest, bluest water we have ever seen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t long after we finished eating that those waters beckoned. We found a spot where I could sit in the sun and Courts could swim, but the rocks were slippery and we decided to move. Literally seconds after I stood up and picked up our bag, a wave crashed up, soaking the spot I had been sat on (which was over a metre back from where any previous wave had touched). We moved to a spot closer to other swimmers, but it turned out all the rocks were slippery. We left our stuff up near someone elses belongings and both went for a swim. You could see the bottom no matter how deep you went, and it was nice to wash the sulphur off but of course Courts stayed in much longer than I did and I retreated to sunbathe nearby.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our last stop of the day was Oia, to watch the sunset. The boat docked at the Old Port, from which the only way into town is almost 300 of those nasty wide steps – or donkey ride. There are several points around the island where you can choose to ride a donkey uphill instead of walking and we had been wanting to give it a go since we arrived. We paid a grumpy old Greek man 5 Euro each and he showed us one at a time to a donkey. The second I was on the donkey (or at least half way on), it decided it needed to be ahead of all the other donkeys, and pushed past as many as it could to get to the front. Courtneys did the same and it wasn’t until we got off at the top that we realized the donkeys at the back were being whipped so of course they were all constantly trying to be at the front of the pack. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Riding up steps on a Donkey is an experience to say the least, but it’s a far cry from horseback. Several times I was sandwiched between other donkeys in my donkeys effort to get to the front. It’s not so fun to have one knee a sneeze away from a donkeys bum and the other from another donkeys teeth. It’s also not so fun to have your donkey try and pass another donkey on the outside of the path, ramming you leg against concrete beyond which is a sheer drop. Despite all these not so fun aspects, riding a donkey was awesome, I’m really glad I did it, we just felt bad for the donkeys afterwards when we saw them being whipped. It can’t be the most fun job in the world to walk up and down 250 steps all day in the summer heat being whipped.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We weren’t so fussed on seeing the sunset from the best possible vantage point so we spent a bit of time exploring Oia town. If we could have, we probably would have gone home at that point because we were 10 hours into the tour and we were knackered. Finding our tour guide to tell him and then finding a public bus was more effort than just waiting it out though, so that’s what we did. We went to the restaurant next to the meeting point we had to go to post-sunset and had coffee and panacotta. There was a small gap between buildings where we had an awesome view of the sunset so everyone on the terrace crowded around for the last few minutes of red and gold.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The bus home was a blur of half asleep-ness and the bus took a secret route that bypassed the massive traffic jam we had experienced a couple of nights before. 12 hours after we boarded the bus, we were off again and stumbling home. Definitely one of the longest days of the trip so far but I conquered a mountainous volcano, 70 metres of ocean, we swam in hot springs and on a tiny Greek island. And we had the best Panacotta I’ve ever tasted.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Nísos Thíra, Greece36.3931562 25.46150920000002336.2623202 25.323089200000023 36.5239922 25.599929200000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-15595473546339517482011-08-28T10:00:00.002+12:002011-08-28T10:00:04.093+12:00The Grinch That Stole Snorkelling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Our first full day in Santorini we wanted to cross off the most famous beach, Perissa. Known for black sand and crystal waters, Perissa is a little bit of a tourist trap, but not necessarily in a bad way. It was way less busy than any of the other tourist beaches we had been to such as San Sebastian or Benicassim, well used but not over crowded. It had plenty of the rental loungers we had come to know and love in Benicassim, and for a cheaper price too. Even better than that, these were owned by beachside bars and cafes, so we were served cold beer right to our loungers a metre or two from the waters edge. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The beach is long but narrow so despite being at the waters edge we had a clear view of the bike. It was awesome having the bike with us in Santorini, exploring anywhere we wanted and stopping anytime we wanted. On the way to Perissa we had seen a parking lot with an incredible view of the Caldera so we stopped and took pictures. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We spent the day just generally chilling out, swimming and sunbathing. We read an English newspaper Courts found at a bookstore, bought 5 Euro sunglasses (ours have both died of travel fatigue) from a crazy beach vendor,<span> </span>said many no’s to crazy Chinese massage people and ate Gyros and Kataifi. I went for a walk at one point and found a dive shop to book snorkeling through and Courts spent a good part of the day trying to talk me into letting him buy a snorkel. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s a good reason for us not spending 10 Euro on a snorkel though – we’re well on our way to running out of money. We’re actually only 270 Euros off budget at the moment, which considering how much we blew in Pamplona and our spur of the moment trips to Valencia, is not bad at all. We can catch up on that over the next few weeks no sweat by un-budgeting a few low-interest attractions we budgeted for, and cutting 5 Euro a day from our food budget. That’s easy because we spoil ourselves a bit with eating out and we should really grocery shop more like ‘real’ backpackers anyway. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The reason we’re running out of money is because Kiwibank’s Loaded for Travel card, a prepaid visa you can load several currencies on to, has let us down a wee bit. A first it was awesome and we advocated it to several other people who were about to travel. About half way through our trip we started noticing double transactions on our account, which were reversed, but more worryingly, were amounts we had never spent. For example we might spend 19 Euro at a supermarket but see 19 Euro and then 70 Euro come out, with the 70 Euro reversed. Sure, the issue was fixed but it is still worrying to see it happening with no explanation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we got into the home stretch of our 3 weeks in Spain, we stopped at a truck stop for petrol and lunch, paid for separately. Those two transactions were charged three times each, with only one set reversed. Essentially we were double charged, but to have the 16 and 25 Euro transactions fixed up, we would have to pay Kiwibank $NZ15 (7.50 Euro) per transaction. We figured it wasn’t a big amount and we’d deal with it later.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The real issue came when our card was rejected by a Barcelona ATM for no reason at all. We tried again and it worked, but when we checked our bank account <i>both</i> 300 Euro transactions had been deducted from our balance along with two 3 Euro withdrawal fees. This happened again a couple of weeks later, this time with 400 Euros, so we were now down by 706 Euros. What are you supposed to do when you can’t withdraw money <i>or </i>spend it directly off the card for fear of double charges? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the transactions to be investigated we of course had to pay 15 Euros per transaction, and with such a large amount we decided to sort it sooner rather than later. This was easier said than done as the website instructed us to print out a form and either fax or post it. Not so easy using wifi in a café.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is what Mum’s are for. Back home, Mum called Kiwibank and with some begging, a kind Kiwibank employee submitted the investigations for the 2 larger sums without us needing to write in. The 2 smaller sums will have to wait until we are home. The downside is the investigation can take 120 days and there’s no guarantee we’ll get any money back unless the foreign banks admit there was a mistake. If we do get the money back, it will be well after our trip ends, so we are going to have to top up our 700 Euros with $NZ1400 from our going-home fund, which is supposed to cover bond for a new house and keep us above water until we have an income. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, there you have it. The very long story of why Courtney can’t have a snorkel. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He dealt with it, and our day in Perissa was awesome. It felt like a real island holiday, the kind you dream of when you pass travel agents in shopping malls. We went home and checked our emails in the hopes our request for a volcano tour had been granted and they had, which meant a quick trip up the road to pick up tickets for the next day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we got into Fira town, only 5 minutes walk from camp, the sun was just setting. We walked to the caldera side of town, through the narrow cobbled streets and followed the signs to the cable car that takes people down the cliff side, just out of curiosity. By doing so we not only saw donkeys carrying people up the path next to the cable car but we stumbled upon one of the views you see on postcards and calendars. There we stopped and watched the famous sunset again and then watched the town below us light up and start sparkling as the last light of the day disappeared. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We wandered the streets looking for dinner and came across a little Mexican restaurant with free wifi and an extremely charismatic Canadian host. We’re loving trying local foods but Mexican is my favourite food so there was no dragging me away, especially when we discovered there was a couch at one of the tables (it has been <i>so </i><span> </span>long since we sat on a couch) and that wild kittens roamed under the tables. Dinner was amazing and the host said we could stay and use wifi as long as we wanted without having to buy anything else. Luckily it was a short walk home because with full stomachs and after a full day of swimming, we would have been rolling home if it were any further. Santorini, you treat us well.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Nísos Thíra, Greece36.3931562 25.46150920000002336.2623202 25.323089200000023 36.5239922 25.599929200000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-41669020039476172892011-08-27T10:00:00.001+12:002011-08-27T10:00:05.210+12:00The World's Best Sunset?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It was another alarm day as we left Athens, waking up at 4.30am to take down the tent in the dark and pack up the bike for the ferry crossing to Santorini. It was all worth it though when we drove past the city and could see the Acropolis all lit up, high above the streets and buildings. Even though we saw the lights come on the night before at Mount Lykabettus, there was no lesser thrill to see them again. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Boarding the boat was quick and easy and being one of the first on we had plenty of time to go out on the deck and watch the sunrise over the port of Piraeus. We couldn’t spend <i>too</i> long on the deck though,<span> </span>unless we wanted to stay there. The Blue Star ferry we were on was much smaller than the overnighter we took previously and was divided into classes. There was just enough room for everyone in Economy to find a seat at a table either inside near the burger bar or outside on the deck, so we settled into window seats at a table inside.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We spent much of the 7 hour journey taking turns on the wifi or playing games on the phone, with a few snacks and drinks in between. Twice before reaching Santorini however the ferry made stops at other islands, Paros and Naxos, and we took turns either minding our belongings or running upstairs to see the sights. In less than 24 hours the sunset over Athens was overruled as the best view Courtney had seen in his life, and the magic of the Greek Islands took over. The view of Paros from the ferry was the new winner.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Exactly as you imagine sailing the Greek Islands, that is what we saw. White washed houses clustered over hilltops and around the water. Blue topped churches, sparkling blue seas and the most beautiful beaches in the world. Even on the ferry for the day we could imagine sailing the islands, on a cruise or island hopping with ferries. Again the blue water and bright sunlight reminded me of summer days near the water at home but nothing at home could compare to these islands.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Arriving at Santorini everyone crowded into the cargo hold waiting for the ramp to lower and there was a distinct thrill in the air when it started to reveal the port of Athinios. Massive vertical cliff faces hugged the port and as you gazed across them you couldn’t miss the famous road we had to ascend to <i>really</i> arrive on the island. The road from Athinios at the bottom to the main roads at the top has 7 180 degree turns and sheer drops from every straight section. I would have been petrified driving it myself but of course Courts did it no worries, even at the top when an idiot pulled out in front of us, putting himself on the wrong side of the road and forcing us to stop suddenly. At least it was an idiot at the top and nothing to do with the crazy cliff faces. I videoed the entire ride up, all 5 minutes of it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We followed the signs to Fira, the main town on the island and it wasn’t too difficult to find Santorini Camping nearby. We set up the tent in our usual little routine and then it was off to explore. There is a good bus service through Santorini and countless places you can hire cars, bikes, scooters or even quads to get around, but we were very glad to have our bike with us. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With Fira located to one side of the middle of the island, we headed in the shorter direction we had to choose from, towards Oia. We didn’t really have an exact destination in mind but with the sun starting to fall I wanted more and more to make it to Oia before it set. Oia is known as one of the best sunsets in the world and what better way to start off our island adventure than a sunset to rival Athens.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We parked the bike when we eventually came to a blocked road and walked up into the town. We followed narrow cobbled roads between the famous white washed buildings and soaked in the atmosphere of people and shops and relaxation. People were already securing the best spots for viewing the sunset on the first ledge we walked past. We thought we had plenty of time to find a spot so we kept exploring, heading towards the tip of the island and taking photos of the cliffs, crowded with white and blue buildings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We found several good vantage points for watching but we were thirsty so we kept going in hopes of finding a bar with decent prices and a view as well. What we found was better, on the furthest point of the island, a pool café, with a swimming pool on the lowest level and tables and chairs dotting the many terraces above. We sat down at the first table we came across that was on the edge – front row for the sunset. We ordered fruit smoothies and chocolate brownie and watched people in the pool, envious of the cold water. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Courtney has become obsessed with the animals of the world, hunting down, photographing, and showing off beetles, frogs, lizards, hornets (there was one over an inch long in Munich) dogs, cats, butterflies, and birds. When we toured Athens with a University-educated tour guide he asked three questions, all about dogs and hornets and various animal species. There were more stray dogs to be seen in Santorini, after our surprise at finding them in Athens, suffice to say he took dog photos in numbers that rivaled my sunset photos, and that’s saying something. As I cull the sunset photos to a near-reasonable number I am under strict instruction not to delete any dog photos.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The dogs in Santorini appeared to live in a pack, far below us at the bottom of the cliff in a barren field near the water. At one point there were 9 or 10 chasing and playing and settling in to watch the sunset. They were probably just taking in the last of the warmth from the sun, but their behavior mimicked the people that were now crowding around the walls above the pool, trying to get a good view. There was one other dog we saw, limping close to the cliff. At one point he wandered up to watch the other dogs but as soon as one of them spotted him there was barking and he ran (limped) off into the cliffside, marking a flaw in the Greek system of open-door animal welfare. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Soon it was impossible to watch the dogs over the sunset as the sky turned a brilliant orange along a thin strip near the sea, with the orange fading to violet and the vast majority of the sky staying a deep blue. The entire view was overtaken by the sun, huge and golden as it descended. When the sun started to dip behind the islands in the distance, it turned an intense red, contrasting against the dark silhouette of the island. We saw it all from the best view point possible, front row and seated away from the crowds.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There was only one way back to the bike though (or so we thought) so we walked back into the centre of town and hit a massive wall of people leaving at the same time. I knew the sunset was a must-see but from our vantage point we had no idea just how many people had come to see it. The walk ways were full, a huge traffic jam of people barely moving, and it was no better when we eventually did get back to the bike and met with real traffic. From the bike we could see the tip of the island we had been sat on and realized we could have just walked up the hill and been first out of town. If we had done that though, we would have missed the view 20 minutes after the sun disappeared when the entire sky glowed red in its absence. So despite it taking almost 40 minutes to weave in and out of traffic, squeezing between busses and quad bikes to get home, we got to see one of the world’s best sunsets, and it was totally worth it. </div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Oia 84702, Greece36.4619 25.37589100000002436.2563855 25.126117000000026 36.6674145 25.625665000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-51234539944070595412011-08-26T10:00:00.002+12:002011-08-26T10:00:02.636+12:00The Best View in the World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">We didn’t really make the most of our second full day in Athens, spending most of it outside the restaurant at camp using free wifi to communicate with people at home and load photos onto Flickr. I think Athens is best taken in slowly, with plenty of time for sleeping in and dealing with the heat. We never saw the Ancient Agora on the way down from the Acropolis because we were too hot and although we saw everything I was excited to see, if we had air conditioning or a couple of weeks we could have found the motivation to do a lot more.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We did venture out from camp though, around 6pm. We took the bus and metro into a different part of town with the aim of seeing the sunset from Mount Lykabettus, the highest point in Athens. We had been told there was a cable car up to the top for 2 Euro but we didn’t know we had to climb about 4 billion steps to get to the cable car. I am incredibly unfit and it was horrible getting to the top of a set of steps and seeing twice as many unfold before you, previously obscured by trees. We did make it to the top of the steps though, and found the cable car that went the rest of the way. It was 14 Euros return for both of us instead of the 8 we had expected but it was very steep so we were happy to pay it instead of walking. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we emerged at the top we passed through the lower terraces of a restaurant and climbed even more stairs to the very top, where a little church is perched with the best view in Athens. It is the best view, too. Courts went as far as to say it was the best view he’d seen in his lifetime and I’d definitely say it’s u there. By the time we got to the top we had missed the actual sunset but only by minutes and a brilliant red glow had taken over the city, filling the sky with fire that faded into a purple haze over the islands on the horizon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As the glow deepened and darkened we treated ourselves to hot chocolate and frappes (that cost as much as some of the meals on the menu), in order to secure a table on the edge of the terrace with a view of the Acropolis far below. A new golden glow began to brighten the buildings of the Acropolis as the fire in the sky sunk away behind the islands. A few minutes later the harsh hillsides lit up with green which then changed to gold as the gold of the buildings brightened. By the time it was dark, the Acropolis was lit up brightly, mountain and all, and the lights of the city joined it as street lights came on and office buildings shone through their windows.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The breeze lost its heat and started ringing the bells of the church and so we went back down the hill and found a little eatery that served traditional Greek souvlaki and spinach pie at normal prices, which is what we had for dinner. Our campsite had told us the taxi home would be 8 Euro but when we discovered it was actually 18 it was too late to do anything different and so a crazy Greek taxi driver drove us home. Even if the walk up Mount Lykabettus hadn’t tired us out I think we would have slept as soundly just knowing we survived the ride.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Athens, Greece37.97918 23.71664699999996637.9230165 23.643136999999967 38.035343499999996 23.790156999999965tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8690302533468619140.post-61778363604600506342011-08-25T10:00:00.009+12:002011-08-25T10:00:00.702+12:00A Collision of Two Cities<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">One of the reasons we chose to stay closer to Athens was because on the first of our two full days in the city we had a walking tour at 9.30am. Admittedly I didn’t plan this so well – I thought I would choose the earlier of the two tour options to avoid the heat and that I would do it on the first day to give us an overview of the city before we explored on our own. Logical, no? But had we stayed in Raffina as planned we would have been quite far from the city and we didn’t have much time to figure out public transport. As it was, we took a bus from camp to the nearest Metro station and then the Metro to Syntagma square and all up it took around 30 or 40 minutes and all for 1.40 each.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We were early for the tour having left enough time to get lost on the way so we went and found a small café to have coffee and water. Even before 9am we were already starting to feel dehydrated but after buying a bottle of water the café staff topped it up from the tap for free and we found out throughout the day that Athens is full of drinking fountains that are not only free and safe but <i>cold</i>. When the temperature moves into the 30’s, cold water is a godsend.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our tour guide was a vibrant older lady named Voula from Athens Walking Tours. She talked a lot, which might seem obvious for a tour guide but she filled the gaps in her commentary with chatter as well. It was really lovely because by paying attention to her chatter I learnt a little bit about Greek life and family, recent events in Athens and the local-knowledge back stories behind events and buildings that weren’t part of the tour.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We started off the tour in the Syntagma Metro station we had originally arrived in. Voula explained that the Metro is relatively new, around 10 years old, but that it took a really long time to construct because every single piece of land in Athens is essentially an archaeological excavation site once you put spade to earth. The Metro system is testament to this and they have done an amazing job of preserving their finds. Entire walls of the underground station are glass, set away from the earth and showing cross sections of what is under the modern-level land. Below early Christian graves and water mains are the remains of the road that lead to the plains which now host the airport, and nearby are greek graves from the classical period. Even further down you can see layers of prehistoric seashells showing the bottom of the ocean from a time when Athens was actually part of the sea bed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are gravestones, amphoras, perfume bottles, piggy banks and even a few square metres of mosaic church floor that were uncovered during the excavations and preserved for display in glass cases within the station. A mere Metro station and yet all this is just there for anyone to see, in its original place. It’s very impressive that they have gone to these efforts to properly excavate and preserve these sites instead of bowling through and putting the Metro wherever they wanted, however they wanted.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From the station we went to the nearby Parliament buildings to watch the changing of the Presidential Guard. It was while waiting for the ceremony that we asked Voula about the dogs that roamed the streets everywhere we turned. They were sleeping, playing and wandering the streets of the city, sometimes on the edges of paths next to multilane roads. They all had collars and tags and looked very well fed so we didn’t understand where their owners were. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Voula let us know that the dogs are all registered and vaccinated and that they’re fed and cleaned up after by volunteers. The city of Athens basically lets them run free and do what they want. They’re apparently not dangerous although one decided he didn’t like a man nearby and ran straight for him, staying a metre away and barking continuously until the man went away 10 minutes later. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s so weird seeing dogs just chilling out on the city streets. Voula recognized most of them and they listened to her as well – the same dogs seem to hang around the same areas and so doing the tour every day she is familiar with them. Once we had left the changing of the guard, five of them followed us all the way through the National Gardens to the Temple of Zeus, stopping when we did for commentary and continuing when we continued. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By structuring the tour to go to the Temple of Zeus first, we missed the massive ticket queue at the Acropolis later. We were able to buy the 12 Euro ticket that grants access to all the major monuments with hardly a queue at all and then skip to the front later in the day. The Temple of Zeus was awesome even though the remains are just a taste of the huge number of columns that used to support the now non-existant roof. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next to the Temple of Zeus but outside the ticket area is Hadrians Arch, which was built for Hadrian to pass through in order to consecrate the temple. It used to show the blurry divide between the old side of Athens supposedly created by the Gods and the 'new' (2000 years ago) side that Hadrian presided over. It now lies on the edge of a busy main road and kind of points out how the ancient city has been taken over by the new. We passed it to cross the road and found ourselves on a shop-laden pedestrian road that leads into PLaka, the old neighbourhood, and straight to the acropolis. We stopped first for samples of Greek Yoghurt with black cherry preserves and Courts and I ended up buying more, his with black cherry and mine with honey and walnuts. Best yoghurt I’ve ever had.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To avoid the massive queue heading straight up, we came to the Acropolis from the side, passing first the ruins of the Theatre of Dionysus, the medical temple, shops and stores and then the Theatre of Herod Atticus, which has been restored and is still used today for opera, orchestras and occasionally artists like Vanessa Mae and Norah Jones. Despite the more intact nature of the Theatre of Herod Atticus I preferred the Theatre of Dionysus. Thrones for the priests still remain in front row and you can see where the romans converted the full circle orchestra into a roman-style half circle. You can also see the foundations of the stage and the various layers of what was underneath which was awesome.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Passing all of these ruins the path started to get steeper and steeper as we climbed the hill to the Acropolis. I think our guide struggled the most with it to be honest, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant in the heat no matter what. Arriving at the Propylaea, the main entrance to the Acropolis, was very cool. Despite the crowd there being thicker than anywhere else on the complex, to know you are walking up the same steps as ancient Emperors is mind boggling. Not only emperors either but pilgrims, who came to worship at the temples and would have felt the same awe as we did as the buildings unfolded before us.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Propylaia was designed as a taste of what the Parthenon beyond it would be like. The Greeks felt that pilgrims needed something to ready them for the incredible sight of the Parthenon and you can see why. Despite the Parthenon being covered in scaffolding, it is incredible in size, structure and feel. No other wow-moment of the trip quite prepares you for the structure, which is being restored at the moment, along with the rest of the Acropolis complex. They won’t restore it back to its original state, although that would have been cool, but they will continue restoring it until they run out of original pieces to fit back into the puzzle. The world’s oldest, heaviest, and most awesome puzzle. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The marble for restoration is coming from the exact same quarry the original marble came from thousands of years ago, which is nerdily exciting, and it’s really cool to see the parts that have been finished already with new bright white marble contrasting against the yellowed original marble. The restoration doesn’t detract from the authenticity at all, I think it makes it more exciting to actually see the site as active and seeing modern builders using power tools to shape the flutes of the columns gives a clearer perspective of the immensity of the project the Greeks undertook when mules carried the marble and the flutes were hand carved to perfection. The entire building took 9 years for the Greeks and the restoration will take longer, because this time the entire population hasn’t essentially stopped what they’re doing to make it happen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our tour ended at the top and Courts and I made our way down the hillside and around the opposite side of the hill from where we had come up. We wandered the old winding streets of the Plaka and perused the Monastiriki market. We ate authentic Gyros for 2.20 and attempted a Hard Rock Café detour but they didn’t have any pins. Our wanderings lead us back to Syntagma Square where we had started and after a short walk around looking for a supermarket we retreated back to the Metro and went home for a Courtney-cooked meal of packet mashed potatos, fried salami and gravy. Not healthy, but a very good end to a very long day.</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<center><style>
/* subscribe widget */
#subscribe1 { background:#f3f3f3; height:60px;width:286px; margin:0px 0px 15px 0px; padding:8px 5px; border:1px solid #e6e6e6; border-bottom:1px solid #e6e6e6; font-size:90%; }
.subscribe_icons { width:286px; margin:0px auto; }
.subscribe_icons li { display:inline; float:left; margin:0px 2px 5px 2px; width:52px; text-align:center; font-size:11px; }
.subscribe_icons a { display:block; padding:40px 0px 2px; -webkit-transition:all .2s ease-out; -moz-transition:all .2s ease-out; color:#444 !important; }
.subscribe_icons a:hover { color:#26b !important; text-decoration:none; -moz-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); -webkit-box-shadow:0px 2px 4px hsla(0,0%,0%,.35); }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_twitter a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/2mq2es5.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_facebook a { background:url(http://i49.tinypic.com/52b7yv.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_rss a { background:url(http://i47.tinypic.com/maapvk.png) center top no-repeat; }
.subscribe_icons .subscribe_email a { background:url(http://i46.tinypic.com/2e4vgwy.png) center top no-repeat; }
</style> <div id="subscribe1"><ul class="subscribe_icons"><li class="subscribe_twitter"><a href="http://twitter.com/pennydibf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_facebook"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/dancing-in-barefeet/196283893722951" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_rss"><a href="http://feeds2.feedburner.com/dancinginbarefeet" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">RSS</a></li>
<li class="subscribe_email"><a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=dancinginbarefeet&loc=en_us" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Email</a></li>
</ul></div></center></div></div>MonacoNailArthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460015135634050846noreply@blogger.com0Athens, Greece37.97918 23.71664699999996637.9230165 23.643136999999967 38.035343499999996 23.790156999999965