Our original plan was to travel through the Greek islands, but after our failed attempt at flight we had to rethink our approach. After an all-night ferry ride from Italy we arrived on the north-western coast of Greece, with the plan of travelling over land to the Aegean. We were not to be disappointed. But first we first spent a few days in the small city of Ioaninna, which didn’t actually have that much to offer us. Even the lake we camped beside was unswimmable, having received an unimaginable volume of untreated you-know-what from the city over the years. The water was green with algae, although the locals had no problem serving ‘fresh lake fish’ at some tourist restaurants.
The area does have one of the most ancient sites in Greece – Dodona – which is the home to an amphitheatre, an oracle that predates Delphi, and several ruined temples. On the morning we planned to visit the site, Zeus himself woke us up. Five minutes before my alarm went off (5:30 am) an enormous storm broke above us and pulled us from sleep with hammering rain and explosions of thunder that drowned out my alarm. It was quite dramatic. Luckily the storm wore down before we had to walk into town to catch our bus. As it happened, there was only one bus coming back that day, at 3:30, so we had plenty of time to kill. We explored everything twice, and then hunkered down for a nap. Dad slept in the temple devoted to Gaia, while I napped under an oak tree in the sanctuary of Hercules.
We next made out way to a region called Meteora. This small section of Greece is characterized by massive pillars of rock which jut up from the ground to spectacular heights. A result of sediments from an inland sea having been uplifted through tectonic movement and then weathered for hundreds of thousands of years, these thrusting pinnacles are just screaming out to be climbed and/or photographed. Although I tried desperately, I couldn't find a guide to take me out, so I had to settle on the later activity, even though the former was what really drew me. And I haven't even mentioned the monasteries yet. During the occupation by the Turks, Greek Orthodox monks spend who knows how long building secret monasteries on top of these isolated rock towers. The place would be magical even without these striking examples of human ingenuity, but with them its like another world. I will let my pictures attempt to do the scene justice, since my words cannot.
We spent three days in Meteora, hiking our time away in the thick brush around the colossal spires. All I wanted to do was go up one but common sense dictated otherwise (so don't worry Mom). We found terrestrial tortoise crawling though the underbrush, dried stream beds that we used as paths, the ancient hidden ruins of abandoned monasteries, and magical viewscapes from the top of cliffs. We didn't even bother going into any of the monasteries, since we felt we had already been to church by walking through the landscape. Surprisingly, we didn't pass a single other walker in the whole time we spent out. What is wrong with people? Must they always be subject to air conditioned interiors of sports cars? Don't they understand the beauty of getting scratched up in the underbrush as you forge a new trail, getting lost and found again, navigotiating your way up a mountain?
Sad that I hadnt been able to climb the pinnacles, we headed further eastward to the Aegean city of Volos, where I had arranged couchsurfing for the night. Volos is known as the Tsipouro Capital of Greece… Tsipouro being a slightly stronger version of Ouzo. It is served at special restaurants called Tsipouria (sp?) where, every time you order a round of the strong anise-flavoured alcohol, they bring you several ‘free’ plates of seafood. We knew we needed to try this way of eating but our host, George (a true Greek name if ever I have heard one) had to study for exams that night, so couldn’t show is around. Attempting a long shot, I wrote a message to almost every couchsurfer in Volos to see if anyone wanted to join us that evening, not expecting anyone to reply with such short notice. One hour later the phone rang! A lovely local named Phaedra had received my request and was keen on taking us out to show us the town. By the end of the night we had been joined by several other CSer and had a wonderful time… eat, drink, talk, repeat.
Dad and I really hit it off with fiery Phaedra, and she volunteered to take us to the beach the next day. She came to pick us up along with her sister Electra and their friend George (told you it was a Greek name). We had a great day swimming in the crystal-clear Aegean and hurling ourselves off of the highest cliffs we could find… after I climbed up the things of course… you can take the boy out of the country, but you cant take the country out of the boy! Our new Greek friends even brought us to the campsite where we would spend the final days of Dads vacation. We ended up spending a good deal of time with the sisters, since they didn’t seem to get tired of us and they kept coming back and taking us to new beaches. I cant imagine what our trip to the Aegean would’ve been like without them!
On the 22nd, Phaedra drove us back into Volos and we bid adieu to my dear father as he boarded a bus to Athens, where he would catch his flight at 4:00 the next morning. I have since heard from him, so I guess he made it ok! That night, we again pulled together a couchsurfing party and went out for more tsipouro. Even more surfers came this time, and I admit to feeling a tidbit of pride for being the catalyst for relationships that will endure even in my absence. Once we closed the Tsipouria I insisted that we go to the local Bazouki Bar. This is another Greek tradition. Bazouki, made famous by Zorba the Greek, is a round-backed string instrument that sounds like the result of a mandolin mating with a guitar. These bars are characterized by extremely sappy live music (the lyrics of which inevitably have to do with love, drinking, or love of drinking), flashing lights, flowers hurled at the performers, inebriated patrons that regularly get up on stage and do that funny twirling Greek dance, and really expensive drinks (I found out when the bill came). It was terrible, but really quite fun. We just don’t have stuff like that in Canada.
The next day, feeling like I had maybe stuck a bottle of tsipouro into my brain through my left ear, I jumped... ok, hobbled... on a bus heading back the way I had come. It was actually kind of sad for me: leaving behind my new Greek friends, and without Dad. It felt awfully lonely. I arrived in Meteora that afternoon and, even though I was feeling down, I realized it was up to me to get myself out of my funk. So I went to see if I could find a climbing guide. This time it worked! The next morning, I met up with a local named Sakis and we headed for the pinnacles. I cannot describe how good it felt to climb one of these things… the realization of such a strong desire. It filled me up and sent me off with new vigour. Which was good because that same afternoon I began the 24 hour trip back to Pescara, Italy. Two busses, a ferry, and a train ride later I arrived at the station and was greeted by Francesco – one of the local CSers.
Before we had left Pescara the first time, I had arranged to tag along with Francesco and some of his buddies back to Vienna for the Euro Cup Final between Spain and Germany (soccer, for those that don’t know). It was such an unexpected treat to return to Vienna and see the family I had made there! Not to mention the excitement of the huge party that is always associated with such a football event. Literally, the whole city is a party, with chanting in the squares, drinking in the streets, and dancing in the fountains. Everyone has their face painted with their team colours. There is a (mostly) good-natured hatred of everyone else cheering for the opposite team. I was rooting for Germany so, inevitably, they lost. Please accept my apologies Deutschland.
After we had washed the paint from our faces the next morning, the crazy Italians and I hit the road back to their home country. The whole situation worked out well because they had to pass by Treviso, where my bike was stored, so they just dropped me off there. The crappy thing about making friends when you travel is constantly saying goodbye to them.
And now I am back in the saddle. I have been surfing here in Treviso for the past several days with a wonderful host names Chiara, doing day trips on my bike to see if my muscles still work after so many weeks without the push of the peddle. They do. Yesterday, I rode all the way to Venice, and it felt like flying. Chiara met me in Venice with her friend Daniela, and we walked through the twisting avenues, stopping occasionally for a glass of wine and food. I’m glad I had them with me, because otherwise I would still be there, walking around trying to figure out where I left my bike. And tomorrow I leave, again loaded down with everything I need to survive, but light of heart. I am excited by what comes next… the lake region of northern Italy… and apprehensive of what comes after that… The Alps. Wish me luck.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Petrolium Powered Travel of Spain and Italy
The adventure continues...
Dad had his return ticket to Canada booked out of Athens, as we wanted to break up our trip a bit and spend a few weeks in Greece. Dad and I found that it was no less expensive to fly direct to Athens as it was to fly to Athens via Barcelona. Which is odd, I know, but we thought: 'why not'? My good friends Josh and Adrianna were going to be in Barcelona at this time, so we decided to make a detour and see some friends... and a bit more of the world while we were at it.
We got to The Barc just fine and, after a bit of messing around, found the apartment that we had rented with J&A. We had a really nice visit for the days that we were there. We explored the city in search of every Gaudi building ever constructed in Barcelona, and found many of them. We spent our days walking the city and absorbing the sites, sounds and smells. Our apartment was in a very interesting neighborhood, so evenings were primarily spent at home watching the street from the balcony while we enjoyed good conversation. Looking back, I'm surprised we didn't go out for a party or two, since this city is famous for its night life, but I am in no way disappointed.
On our final day before J&A were to head off, the three of us (Dad chose to stay home) took a train out to a beach town and spent the day in the sun. It was at this point that things started to unravel. By the time we had gotten home, Josh was feeling pretty manky for unknown reasons and crashed out hard. The next day the decision was made for them to change their plans to avoid excessive travel and stay another day before heading direct to Paris to catch their flight home. Later that same day Dad and I were schedule to fly to Athens to begin our big fat Greek vacation. Sadly, it was not to be. We left J&A, with Josh still feeling a tad punky, and headed off to the train station to get to the airport. We had plenty of time. We bought our tickets, went to platform 9 and only had to wait a few minutes before a train came. If we were a bit more savvy we would've spent a bit of time checking out the train itinerary. But we didn't. I said 'Lets go!' and we hopped on the train. It trundled off with us aboard. It wasn't until the train past the beach town we had been at the previous day, without having made a single stop, that I got kind of concerned. Something was definitely wrong.
It turns out we had boarded the train prior to the one we should have. We were later informed that this was not the first time that this had happened. You'd think they would have some kind of control in place, but no dice. It turns out we got on a train that was an express right to the end of the line. No stops. Finally, after about an hour of moving away from our destination we jumped off and ran to a train going back the other way. Which was decidedly not an express. I believe we call this kind of train 'the milk run' as it stopped at every little village while Dad and I gnashed our teeth and prayed that our plane would be delayed. It wasn't. We got to the airport 15 minutes after the check in window had closed and 45 minutes before the plane actually took off, which is more frustrating than I can explain here. Adrianna was rather surprised to see us standing at the door again. At least we had somewhere to go.
Trying to make the best of a decidedly trying situation, we booked the cheapest flight we could find leaving from The Barc to somewhere relatively close to Greece. This somewhere was Pescara, in east central Italy. Neither of us had ever heard of it. We were to be pleasantly surprised. Still, we had a few days to kill and neither if us wanted to stay in Barcelona... it was leaving a bad taste in our mouth. So we said our second goodbye to J&A and disappeared ourselves. Up the seaside area of the Costa Brava. We found a campground and set up my tent for the first time. My god it looked funny amidst the hundreds of motorhomes parked all around us! The smallest, lightest two man tent I could find, parked on a huge patch of ground between two mobile castles, complete with satellite dishes and full patio sets. I couldn't help but laugh at our situation, which turned from bad to worse when it started to rain hard.
We went out for dinner in the pouring deluge. Before eating, I went to the grocery store and hid several large beers behind the pizzas in the cooler of the grocery store, since we could find no cold beer for sale and didn't travel with a fridge. We knew we would need the beer to help put us to sleep, crammed as we were going to be in my tent. By the time dinner was done the beer was cold and, even though I got a rather inquisitive look from the cash out lady, I felt proud of myself for my high degree of cleverosity. I repeated this process every day we spent there, hiding beer in the morning and purchasing it later in the day. That night, without a common area in the campground to hang out in and meet people, we ended up hiding from the rain in the TV room, drinking illegally cooled beer and watching Rambo III dubbed over in Spanish. I am laughing out loud as I write this, it was such a ridiculous scene. I'm glad it happened with my Dad, because others may not have seen the humour in it.
But I digress, and you folks probably have better stuff to do than to read about me hiding beers behind the cold pizza (although you might find yourself using that trick someday). We flew out to Pescara after a few days exploring the Costa Brava. We were happy to leave. We had arranged couchsurfing in Pescara, and a friendly looking lad named Max picked us up from the airport, as we were to stay with him and his lovely wife Lisa. The time that followed redeemed our unfortunate situation and pulled our heads out of the pallid clouds that had hung around them since missing our flight. Pescara was full of engaging Italian couchsurfers and their friends, whom they enjoyed introducing us to. We spent a few days there revelling in the local culture, laying on the beach, and even going for a day long bike ride to the neighboring town of Ortona. I will have a difficult time explaining to my loyal bike all of the affairs I have been having while it has been parked in a dark garage.
We were sad to leave Pescara but still needed to get to Greece so Dad could catch his flight. A train and an all night ferry did the trick. We made it safely to Greece, but that will have to wait for another time. It is strange how such a crumby thing as a missed flight can turn into something bigger and better than you could have planned for. For instance, as I write this, I am back in Pescara, staying with my friend Francesco who I never would have met otherwise, and we are going on a road trip to Vienna this very night. Plus, the day that we were supposed to land in Athens, there was a rather large earthquake. For all I know, a rock from a building would've fallen on my head. So who knows why stuff happens. But it does, and all you have control over is how you react to it.
Dad had his return ticket to Canada booked out of Athens, as we wanted to break up our trip a bit and spend a few weeks in Greece. Dad and I found that it was no less expensive to fly direct to Athens as it was to fly to Athens via Barcelona. Which is odd, I know, but we thought: 'why not'? My good friends Josh and Adrianna were going to be in Barcelona at this time, so we decided to make a detour and see some friends... and a bit more of the world while we were at it.
We got to The Barc just fine and, after a bit of messing around, found the apartment that we had rented with J&A. We had a really nice visit for the days that we were there. We explored the city in search of every Gaudi building ever constructed in Barcelona, and found many of them. We spent our days walking the city and absorbing the sites, sounds and smells. Our apartment was in a very interesting neighborhood, so evenings were primarily spent at home watching the street from the balcony while we enjoyed good conversation. Looking back, I'm surprised we didn't go out for a party or two, since this city is famous for its night life, but I am in no way disappointed.
On our final day before J&A were to head off, the three of us (Dad chose to stay home) took a train out to a beach town and spent the day in the sun. It was at this point that things started to unravel. By the time we had gotten home, Josh was feeling pretty manky for unknown reasons and crashed out hard. The next day the decision was made for them to change their plans to avoid excessive travel and stay another day before heading direct to Paris to catch their flight home. Later that same day Dad and I were schedule to fly to Athens to begin our big fat Greek vacation. Sadly, it was not to be. We left J&A, with Josh still feeling a tad punky, and headed off to the train station to get to the airport. We had plenty of time. We bought our tickets, went to platform 9 and only had to wait a few minutes before a train came. If we were a bit more savvy we would've spent a bit of time checking out the train itinerary. But we didn't. I said 'Lets go!' and we hopped on the train. It trundled off with us aboard. It wasn't until the train past the beach town we had been at the previous day, without having made a single stop, that I got kind of concerned. Something was definitely wrong.
It turns out we had boarded the train prior to the one we should have. We were later informed that this was not the first time that this had happened. You'd think they would have some kind of control in place, but no dice. It turns out we got on a train that was an express right to the end of the line. No stops. Finally, after about an hour of moving away from our destination we jumped off and ran to a train going back the other way. Which was decidedly not an express. I believe we call this kind of train 'the milk run' as it stopped at every little village while Dad and I gnashed our teeth and prayed that our plane would be delayed. It wasn't. We got to the airport 15 minutes after the check in window had closed and 45 minutes before the plane actually took off, which is more frustrating than I can explain here. Adrianna was rather surprised to see us standing at the door again. At least we had somewhere to go.
Trying to make the best of a decidedly trying situation, we booked the cheapest flight we could find leaving from The Barc to somewhere relatively close to Greece. This somewhere was Pescara, in east central Italy. Neither of us had ever heard of it. We were to be pleasantly surprised. Still, we had a few days to kill and neither if us wanted to stay in Barcelona... it was leaving a bad taste in our mouth. So we said our second goodbye to J&A and disappeared ourselves. Up the seaside area of the Costa Brava. We found a campground and set up my tent for the first time. My god it looked funny amidst the hundreds of motorhomes parked all around us! The smallest, lightest two man tent I could find, parked on a huge patch of ground between two mobile castles, complete with satellite dishes and full patio sets. I couldn't help but laugh at our situation, which turned from bad to worse when it started to rain hard.
We went out for dinner in the pouring deluge. Before eating, I went to the grocery store and hid several large beers behind the pizzas in the cooler of the grocery store, since we could find no cold beer for sale and didn't travel with a fridge. We knew we would need the beer to help put us to sleep, crammed as we were going to be in my tent. By the time dinner was done the beer was cold and, even though I got a rather inquisitive look from the cash out lady, I felt proud of myself for my high degree of cleverosity. I repeated this process every day we spent there, hiding beer in the morning and purchasing it later in the day. That night, without a common area in the campground to hang out in and meet people, we ended up hiding from the rain in the TV room, drinking illegally cooled beer and watching Rambo III dubbed over in Spanish. I am laughing out loud as I write this, it was such a ridiculous scene. I'm glad it happened with my Dad, because others may not have seen the humour in it.
But I digress, and you folks probably have better stuff to do than to read about me hiding beers behind the cold pizza (although you might find yourself using that trick someday). We flew out to Pescara after a few days exploring the Costa Brava. We were happy to leave. We had arranged couchsurfing in Pescara, and a friendly looking lad named Max picked us up from the airport, as we were to stay with him and his lovely wife Lisa. The time that followed redeemed our unfortunate situation and pulled our heads out of the pallid clouds that had hung around them since missing our flight. Pescara was full of engaging Italian couchsurfers and their friends, whom they enjoyed introducing us to. We spent a few days there revelling in the local culture, laying on the beach, and even going for a day long bike ride to the neighboring town of Ortona. I will have a difficult time explaining to my loyal bike all of the affairs I have been having while it has been parked in a dark garage.
We were sad to leave Pescara but still needed to get to Greece so Dad could catch his flight. A train and an all night ferry did the trick. We made it safely to Greece, but that will have to wait for another time. It is strange how such a crumby thing as a missed flight can turn into something bigger and better than you could have planned for. For instance, as I write this, I am back in Pescara, staying with my friend Francesco who I never would have met otherwise, and we are going on a road trip to Vienna this very night. Plus, the day that we were supposed to land in Athens, there was a rather large earthquake. For all I know, a rock from a building would've fallen on my head. So who knows why stuff happens. But it does, and all you have control over is how you react to it.
Photo Album 6: Malta
This link sponsored by poisonous lizards, stinging jellyfish and pretty girls (the largest dangers in Malta, not necessarily in this order):
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=117663&l=57b82&id=805125264
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=117663&l=57b82&id=805125264
Malta
I apologize for my lengthy radio silence, but I did warn you. I am now only days away from retrieving my poor abandoned bicycle and getting back down to business - finishing my vacation away from my vacation. During this time I have indulged in a great deal of relaxation. I will now attempt to sum up some of the highlights for you.
I made it to sunny Malta on May 7th and met up with my Dad, Don. It was a welcome thing, seeing the friendly face of one of my best buds. We ended up spending over three weeks exploring this funny little country, seeing wonderful sights and meeting wonderful people.
Malta is composed of various shades of brown and beige. The countryside is baked by the sun - dry and crusty. We were lucky to arrive just towards the end of their spring however, and there were patches of vibrant green and vivid flowers hidden in corners. The buildings are all constructed of local limestone of a light tope colour that burns orange when the sun begins to set. I was expecting more riotous paint jobs as this is a Mediterranean country - bright reds and blues and yellows - but I guess they save these paints for their fishing boats.
We spend a great deal of our time walking through the countryside, if you can call it that. This place is so anciently populated that you get the impression that every square inch of the land has been walked on about a hundred million times. Nothing is in its natural state, and agriculture dominates the landscape between villages. Even so, it is easy to get away from people and feel alone in the 'wild'. As we walked our noses were filled with the scent of the sea and wild oregano and rosemary that grows everywhere. The air was thick with birdsong.
Birding is a popular pastime in Malta but, unlike Canada where birders just want to look at the birds, the Maltese like to net and shoot everything that flies. Traditionally, in the spring, the countryside is a dangerous place where you are more likely to see a shotgun than a songbird. However, as this is Malta's first year in the European Union, there has been a good deal of political pressure put on the government to stop the bird hunt and a moratorium has been placed on the hunting season. Thankfully. If we had travelled here a year earlier we would not have been allowed into all of the places that we spent our time exploring. Still, shotgun shells littered the ground.
We visited many of the ancient temples that are scattered about the islands of Malta. This was the real reason we decided to visit this place - Dad is an avid ancient history buff, and Malta is the site of the oldest known freestanding human built structures. The stone temples predate Stonehenge, the pyramids, everything. They were built before people had written language and, as such, we have no way of ever knowing what exactly what went on in these sacred places. Which made it quite enjoyable to visit them... there is a good deal of room for creativity in your interpretation of the sites. Although most temples were above ground, we did get to visit one, called the Hypogeum, that is completely underground. Constructed in the stone age, using only rock and bone, a giant cavern was excavated in the subterranean limestone environment to, it is thought, house the dead. It was carved to mirror the shape of the temples built above ground and, by doing so, gives us a better idea of what they may have looked like before weathering degraded them to their present state.
Aside from visiting ancient sites and exploring the countryside, our activities were pretty relaxed. We took the approach of 'one day on, one day off' - a day of discovery followed by a day of sitting around. We swam in the ocean, drank coffee in the morning and beer in the afternoon. I read more books than I have in the past three years combined, mostly spy novels that I found in the lobbies of hotels - stories of international mystery and espionage. Needless to say, I started getting paranoid. At one point, while in a public bathroom stall, someone tried to open the door and found it locked. A piece of paper fell to the floor and drifted underneath the partition. Jumping to the only logical explanation, I realized I had been mistaken for a Russian double agent, and this was the dead-drop site for some very important information indeed. Not wanting to get involved, I left the paper untouched. I waited for the mysterious man outside to leave before finishing up and getting out of there before counter-intelligence officers could come on to the scene. As I walked over it I glanced down and realized the paper looked a great deal like a receipt from a grocery store. 'Man, modern spies really know how to conceal the true nature of their information!' I thought.
Couchsurfing really came through for us during our time in Malta. Although we didn't actually surf anyones couches, we arrived just in time for the first dinner meeting of some of the local hosts, and we invited ourselves along. For those that don't know, Couchsurfing is an online network of people who are willing to take strangers into their home as they travel through their country. But for us it is really just a great way to meet people that are outgoing and interesting, a way to get right to the heart of a culture by finding the coolest locals around. And that's what we did! We instantly had a network of over 20 helpful locals and travelers who, amongst other things, helped us find good accommodation deals, took us out to interesting places we wouldn't have found otherwise, brought us to beach bbqs and house parties and even took me out scuba diving! I even got interviewed by the local TV station about my experience as they did a small feature on Couchsurfing in Malta. It aired, and now I am a celebrity there. It will eventually get posted to YouTube and I'll put the link up here.
Actually, its not entirely true that we didn't surf couch while we were there. When we visited Gozo, the second island in the country, we stayed with a very friendly local named Mario. He wasn't technically a CSer, but we found him through the network, and he agreed to put us up for a while. We ended up staying there about one week and, during the course of our stay, met two Italians, two Hungarians and a handful of locals. Mario and his friends are very interested in archeology and ancient history - have even made some important discoveries in the area - and Dad was in his element. They talked prehistory for hours, which was a relief for me since I simply cant keep up with Dad when it comes to which culture cross-pollinated with which and who conquered who. So he was entertained and learned a great deal while he was at it.
I think the highlight of Malta for me was a day we spent on Gozo. We rented bikes in the morning and headed North. Gozo is really small... you could walk across ithe island in an afternoon, so biking is an ideal way to cover ground. We headed to a location called The Azure Window, on the Northern coast. This is an enormous and striking sea arch pitching into the water. Beside it is something the locals call The Inland Sea, which is really a pool connected to the sea by a large natural tunnel through the rock. After exploring the top of The Window, we both went for a swim in the inland sea. I climbed around a bit on the rocks inside the tunnel until I fell into the deep waters below. Ever the intrepid explorers, Dad and I swam through the tunnel, which no one else seemed willing to do. We made it to the open sea just in time to realize the water around the cliff faces was swarming with small, stinging jellyfish. I found them the hard way. Their tentacles conduct a toxin that feels like an electric shock, or a series of bee stings in rapid succession. After that, it became a new version of my old biking game, Dodge. Except it was hard to see the little critters you were trying to dodge. Dad swam back through the tunnel, but I decided to swim along the coast so I could pass beneath The Window. I did, but I paid for the experience by receiving several more painful stings, like laying in a patch of nettles for a few minutes and rolling around. The marks from the tentacles lasted for a month on my chest and back. Apparently urinating on these stings will relieve the pain, but I didn't like the idea much of the position I would have to get in to urinate on my own chest, and I wasn't about to let someone else do it, was I?
After ice cream to sooth the pain we hopped back on our bikes and headed along the coast. We found a rough trail along the top of the cliff and rode our bikes (ok, pushed them a little too) along the path. The views were astounding and I stopped for many pictures. We got kind of lost out there, but we jut kept riding on. We ran out of water and were overheated. Then we got to a dead end at a small cabin. Three Maltese hillbillies sat out front, their shotguns put away when they saw us coming. Birders. The first (and thankfully only) ones we saw. We said hi and they gave us the finger. We asked for directions and they glared at us angrily while pointing back the way we had come. We were happy to oblige. Scenes from Deliverance came to mind. You could almost hear the twang of a banjo and the haunting sound of someone playing the saw... a sharp one.
We made it back to civilization safely and found water. It was a long day of hard riding, swimming, and exploration, but this is the kind of thing I travel for. It was invigorating and renewing, knowing that we had done things this day that most people would not even consider attempting. Again, some folks have a weird idea of fun - and I'm not really sure if its us or 'them'. Dad kept complaining that I was trying to kill him by riding in the heat of the day, but he kept on keeping on. Tough old bugger. We have changed the old saying... Its actually only 'mad dogs and Canadians that go out in the mid-day sun'.
There are more stories to tell. More experiences, more people, more vivid details that make Malta come alive in my mind. But I cant put them all down here. I think I got all the main points. We left at the very end of May, saying goodbye to our new friends and this strange land full of mystery and understated beauty. Our flight was to Barcelona, but that's a different story altogether...
I made it to sunny Malta on May 7th and met up with my Dad, Don. It was a welcome thing, seeing the friendly face of one of my best buds. We ended up spending over three weeks exploring this funny little country, seeing wonderful sights and meeting wonderful people.
Malta is composed of various shades of brown and beige. The countryside is baked by the sun - dry and crusty. We were lucky to arrive just towards the end of their spring however, and there were patches of vibrant green and vivid flowers hidden in corners. The buildings are all constructed of local limestone of a light tope colour that burns orange when the sun begins to set. I was expecting more riotous paint jobs as this is a Mediterranean country - bright reds and blues and yellows - but I guess they save these paints for their fishing boats.
We spend a great deal of our time walking through the countryside, if you can call it that. This place is so anciently populated that you get the impression that every square inch of the land has been walked on about a hundred million times. Nothing is in its natural state, and agriculture dominates the landscape between villages. Even so, it is easy to get away from people and feel alone in the 'wild'. As we walked our noses were filled with the scent of the sea and wild oregano and rosemary that grows everywhere. The air was thick with birdsong.
Birding is a popular pastime in Malta but, unlike Canada where birders just want to look at the birds, the Maltese like to net and shoot everything that flies. Traditionally, in the spring, the countryside is a dangerous place where you are more likely to see a shotgun than a songbird. However, as this is Malta's first year in the European Union, there has been a good deal of political pressure put on the government to stop the bird hunt and a moratorium has been placed on the hunting season. Thankfully. If we had travelled here a year earlier we would not have been allowed into all of the places that we spent our time exploring. Still, shotgun shells littered the ground.
We visited many of the ancient temples that are scattered about the islands of Malta. This was the real reason we decided to visit this place - Dad is an avid ancient history buff, and Malta is the site of the oldest known freestanding human built structures. The stone temples predate Stonehenge, the pyramids, everything. They were built before people had written language and, as such, we have no way of ever knowing what exactly what went on in these sacred places. Which made it quite enjoyable to visit them... there is a good deal of room for creativity in your interpretation of the sites. Although most temples were above ground, we did get to visit one, called the Hypogeum, that is completely underground. Constructed in the stone age, using only rock and bone, a giant cavern was excavated in the subterranean limestone environment to, it is thought, house the dead. It was carved to mirror the shape of the temples built above ground and, by doing so, gives us a better idea of what they may have looked like before weathering degraded them to their present state.
Aside from visiting ancient sites and exploring the countryside, our activities were pretty relaxed. We took the approach of 'one day on, one day off' - a day of discovery followed by a day of sitting around. We swam in the ocean, drank coffee in the morning and beer in the afternoon. I read more books than I have in the past three years combined, mostly spy novels that I found in the lobbies of hotels - stories of international mystery and espionage. Needless to say, I started getting paranoid. At one point, while in a public bathroom stall, someone tried to open the door and found it locked. A piece of paper fell to the floor and drifted underneath the partition. Jumping to the only logical explanation, I realized I had been mistaken for a Russian double agent, and this was the dead-drop site for some very important information indeed. Not wanting to get involved, I left the paper untouched. I waited for the mysterious man outside to leave before finishing up and getting out of there before counter-intelligence officers could come on to the scene. As I walked over it I glanced down and realized the paper looked a great deal like a receipt from a grocery store. 'Man, modern spies really know how to conceal the true nature of their information!' I thought.
Couchsurfing really came through for us during our time in Malta. Although we didn't actually surf anyones couches, we arrived just in time for the first dinner meeting of some of the local hosts, and we invited ourselves along. For those that don't know, Couchsurfing is an online network of people who are willing to take strangers into their home as they travel through their country. But for us it is really just a great way to meet people that are outgoing and interesting, a way to get right to the heart of a culture by finding the coolest locals around. And that's what we did! We instantly had a network of over 20 helpful locals and travelers who, amongst other things, helped us find good accommodation deals, took us out to interesting places we wouldn't have found otherwise, brought us to beach bbqs and house parties and even took me out scuba diving! I even got interviewed by the local TV station about my experience as they did a small feature on Couchsurfing in Malta. It aired, and now I am a celebrity there. It will eventually get posted to YouTube and I'll put the link up here.
Actually, its not entirely true that we didn't surf couch while we were there. When we visited Gozo, the second island in the country, we stayed with a very friendly local named Mario. He wasn't technically a CSer, but we found him through the network, and he agreed to put us up for a while. We ended up staying there about one week and, during the course of our stay, met two Italians, two Hungarians and a handful of locals. Mario and his friends are very interested in archeology and ancient history - have even made some important discoveries in the area - and Dad was in his element. They talked prehistory for hours, which was a relief for me since I simply cant keep up with Dad when it comes to which culture cross-pollinated with which and who conquered who. So he was entertained and learned a great deal while he was at it.
I think the highlight of Malta for me was a day we spent on Gozo. We rented bikes in the morning and headed North. Gozo is really small... you could walk across ithe island in an afternoon, so biking is an ideal way to cover ground. We headed to a location called The Azure Window, on the Northern coast. This is an enormous and striking sea arch pitching into the water. Beside it is something the locals call The Inland Sea, which is really a pool connected to the sea by a large natural tunnel through the rock. After exploring the top of The Window, we both went for a swim in the inland sea. I climbed around a bit on the rocks inside the tunnel until I fell into the deep waters below. Ever the intrepid explorers, Dad and I swam through the tunnel, which no one else seemed willing to do. We made it to the open sea just in time to realize the water around the cliff faces was swarming with small, stinging jellyfish. I found them the hard way. Their tentacles conduct a toxin that feels like an electric shock, or a series of bee stings in rapid succession. After that, it became a new version of my old biking game, Dodge. Except it was hard to see the little critters you were trying to dodge. Dad swam back through the tunnel, but I decided to swim along the coast so I could pass beneath The Window. I did, but I paid for the experience by receiving several more painful stings, like laying in a patch of nettles for a few minutes and rolling around. The marks from the tentacles lasted for a month on my chest and back. Apparently urinating on these stings will relieve the pain, but I didn't like the idea much of the position I would have to get in to urinate on my own chest, and I wasn't about to let someone else do it, was I?
After ice cream to sooth the pain we hopped back on our bikes and headed along the coast. We found a rough trail along the top of the cliff and rode our bikes (ok, pushed them a little too) along the path. The views were astounding and I stopped for many pictures. We got kind of lost out there, but we jut kept riding on. We ran out of water and were overheated. Then we got to a dead end at a small cabin. Three Maltese hillbillies sat out front, their shotguns put away when they saw us coming. Birders. The first (and thankfully only) ones we saw. We said hi and they gave us the finger. We asked for directions and they glared at us angrily while pointing back the way we had come. We were happy to oblige. Scenes from Deliverance came to mind. You could almost hear the twang of a banjo and the haunting sound of someone playing the saw... a sharp one.
We made it back to civilization safely and found water. It was a long day of hard riding, swimming, and exploration, but this is the kind of thing I travel for. It was invigorating and renewing, knowing that we had done things this day that most people would not even consider attempting. Again, some folks have a weird idea of fun - and I'm not really sure if its us or 'them'. Dad kept complaining that I was trying to kill him by riding in the heat of the day, but he kept on keeping on. Tough old bugger. We have changed the old saying... Its actually only 'mad dogs and Canadians that go out in the mid-day sun'.
There are more stories to tell. More experiences, more people, more vivid details that make Malta come alive in my mind. But I cant put them all down here. I think I got all the main points. We left at the very end of May, saying goodbye to our new friends and this strange land full of mystery and understated beauty. Our flight was to Barcelona, but that's a different story altogether...
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