Greece is a country of many islands, so we knew we wanted to visit at least one of them. We settled on the largest one, Crete, figuring if some of it was disappointing, it’d be large enough to find something interesting.

Of course, I was originally going to make a joke with the word “cretin,” but thought I’d look it up first. It comes from the French crétin, originally meaning “Christian.” and was used to mean “human being,” apparently as a reminder that, though deformed, cretins were human and not beasts. I thought that was more interesting than a joke.

Of course, being a Cretan simply means you’re a resident of Crete. So being a cretinous Cretan means you’re a bit of a Greek asshole. We didn’t encounter any of those, I don’t think.

Anyway, Crete is the largest and most populous of the Greek islands, the 88th largest island in the world and the fifth largest island in the Mediter-ranean Sea, after Sicily, Sardinia, Cyprus, and Corsica.

It’s an ancient part of the world: excavations have revealed stone tools that are at least 130,000 years old.

Driving in Crete was a minor challenge since we couldn’t make heads nor tails out of the signs.

Especially the ones that were all shot up. We learned there was at least one village that became uninhabited after an all-out war between another village due to some sort of revenge feud. I’m not sure Cretans should own very many guns.

Some of the signs direct you to crappy places.

While others direct you… everywhere.

The many canyons and ridges make for some interesting roads.

We occasionally ended up on dirt roads with no guardrails, often with drops up to, I don’t know, I’m estimating here, about a million meters straight down? One dirt road the GPS took us down was so narrow and dangerous we carefully backed up and went back the way we came.

I’m not sure if this sign means be cautious about the cliff or the guy with the gun.

Many of the towns have two-way roads that aren’t any bigger than a one-lane. You just have to wait your turn (or sometimes back up… or maybe sacrifice your side mirrors) if you spot a car down the road.

Even on the highways, they are a bit creative. This two-lane highway essentially functions as a three or four lane highway because everyone who isn’t passing rides the shoulder.

I’d hate to be the guy who dented that guardrail: on the other side is a drop straight down to death. Many of the roads would have done the Road Runner cartoon proud. I could imagine something plunging off the side… and then I’d hear a long, fading whistle… and then a distant poof! as Wile E. Coyote meets his temporary doom.

This bridge would have been perfect for that cartoon. We approached it with a bit of trepidation since any fall would have made a pancake out of the car. As we rolled across it anyway, it sounded creaky and groan-y like some of the boards were going to give out at any moment. The thing that gave us confidence was the crowd of people on the other side, sitting around a small roadside refreshment stand. Of course, they could have been gathered just to watch hapless travelers plunge through the bridge, but we took our chances and made it to the other side, to a bunch of hollerin’ and applause. Not really. But it sure seemed scary.

Sometimes it was better to just sit by the side of the road. But the many sightseeing areas also have huge drop offs, sometimes with no barriers. If she would’ve fallen over this one, she just would have just rolled downhill like a snowball in an avalanche instead of a straight plunge to instant death. So it’s possible she could’ve survived. I’m happy to report she didn’t test the situation.

Meantime, there are goats everywhere. They love to watch how ba-a-a-a-d the drivers drive. Especially since they can climb pretty much wherever they want and we’re stuck with only where four wheels can take us.

There are interesting churches galore, as well as a bunch of small memorial churches, including a number of small church-like memorial structures by the side of the road, often with just enough room for one candle.

The island also has a castle, and you know we love castles! This one is called Frangokastello. It was built by the Venetians in 1374. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as so many castles we’ve seen in Europe. I guess we’re getting kinda castle-jaded!

Even in ancient Crete, hobbits obviously built their own castles.

There are two interesting beaches we wanted to see: Balos Lagoon and Elefonsi Beach. They are both quite out of the way, with lots of tiny towns and narrow roads, including this one-way tunnel.

When you get behind a truck like that, you ain’t gonna pass him anytime soon.

The road to Balos Lagoon is one of the most treacherous roads we’ve ever been on… on an island with a lot of treacherous roads.

There are no guardrails next to a cliff called, “And we’ll never hear from you again.”

I think that’s a meteor streaking over the road into the water below. Oh, actually it’s just the dust from the windshield wiper. It was mighty hot and dusty on that day.

A few natural barriers might help if you find yourself wrestling control of your vehicle with a madman. Carolyn rarely has to do that.

Here it looks like a two-lane road, but there were long stretches were two cars couldn’t pass without one of them having its wheels halfway over the cliff.

The goats keep a lookout to make sure everyone drives safely.

They even man (goat?) the roadside stands selling the ubiquitous Cretan honey.

We just had to pay the occasional goat toll to be granted passage.

There’s one lane, and then a goat lane. I guess it helps to be a little sheepish when navigating that road.

It went on for a good number of miles. I’d guess it took us about a half an hour to get all the way there.

This gives you some idea why.

This looks like a traffic jam, but is actually just cars parked ahead of the actual parking lot. It was our first clue that the place was gonna be packed.

Note that for the most part, only one line of cars could move, so there could be a bit of a wait as you watch the cars going the opposite way roll by. I really didn’t want to have to back up on that road.

One foot from Pancakeville.

Upon our arrival at Balos, we were of course greeted by the Welcoming Goat.

Now he’s off to greet the other new arrivals.

Time for a cigarette break.

Once in the parking lot, we discovered it was going to be a long walk just to get to the beach. So, while we didn’t have a lot of time owing to our impending flight that afternoon, these intrepid explorers made the trek.

The path was marked for us by the considerate goats.

Once we crested the final hill, we were greeted with a sight that elicited oohs and ahs.

I think we’re mostly happy here that we actually made it, risking life and limb as well as a long, hot walk.

Of course, the other thing we discovered was that the already-long walk was just to a vista of the lagoon. You have to walk all the way down there if you want to get to the beach.

We encountered a few people returning, all of whom were desperately out of breath after making the long, arduous climb.

So we settled for the gorgeous views of one of the most beautiful lagoons we’ve ever seen.

The smart people take a boat to the beach instead.

Everyone else just admires the views and laments the fact that they’re not twenty-years-old anymore. This twenty-something is simply a wimp.

The other beach we wanted to see is called Elefonsi Beach. Not long ago, Elafonisi Beach was a secret known only to some locals on Crete. Then, in 2014, TripAdvisor named it one of the world’s top 25 beaches, and all tourist hell broke loose.

It’s known for having pink sand beaches… and we wanted to see the pink sand!

We thought we were going to see something like this beach in the Philippines.

Instead, all we got was this.

It’s really just a little tinge of red on the edge of the water. I think we were sold a bill of goods!

I mean, it is a nice beach and all…

Appropriate for a selfie or two…

And other touristy shots…

And they have some nice flags.

And truthfully, it is a pretty beach, and well worth spending a day there. We were only there to take a quick look because we didn’t want to miss our flight.

And then the busses started arriving. Thanks TripAdvisor! I’m sure the locals love that site now. Not.

Otherwise, we’ll finish up this lengthy entry and just let you take a gander at the beautiful scenery of Crete before we head off to other parts unknown:

 

After all that sightseeing, lunch is a welcome respite! Like the Portuguese, the Greeks are warm and gracious restaurant hosts. We had several lively conversations with our waiters.

We gotta finish up with a kiss… because you gotta kiss-a-mo’ if they tell you to!

…and then we drove off into the sunset.

Phtew! Phtew! We were hocking loogies all over the place in Crete.

Well, at least in Chania anyway. Chania is the second largest city in Crete, and is where our flight from Athens landed. Shortly after arriving, we endeavored to find out how to pronounce it by asking a local.

The best way I can describe it is: “Hock-a-loogie + ehnia.”

Khkhkhehnia.

To say it properly, just pretend there’s a hair stuck in the back of your throat and that you desperately need to bring it forward. After accomplishing that, just add a sweet li’l “ehnia” to it, and you’re pretty much a Greek. Or Cretan. Or cretin.

(I’m thinking maybe “ania” means “Thank God that hair is gone from my throat!”)

We make fun only because there are no words in English that require you to use so much of your throat, except for when you’re barfing while simultaneously telling your spouse that you’re gonna need a bigger bucket.

I’d be willing to bet my Viking heritage that most of our loyal readers have also never heard of Chania. But it is a significant tourist town of Crete, originally brought to our attention for the sole reason that our flight from Athens landed there.

To our surprise and delight, we found it absolutely charming.

It’s a seaside town with a ring of stores and restaurants fronting the harbor. The artifacts in this picture (not the old guy) provide evidence of the town’s seafaring ways, and are one of the first sights you see when you first walk into Chania Old Town.

A whole slew of restaurants await for prompt seating and a great view of the harbor. Almost every one of them is fronted by a pitchman encouraging you to come sample their offerings… other than a few that feature signs saying, “We won’t bother you!” Except I noticed they sort of bothered you anyway, as if the sign gave them some sort of reverse psychology permission.

A few musicians and other street entertainers provided for a jovial entrance into old town. This guy was playing some AC/DC if I recall.

It took a bit of work, but I finally got this light pole all straightened out properly.

So here’s Chania from the ocean view. As you can see, despite it being June, there’s snow on them thar mountains. We didn’t expect that in the middle of a Mediterranean summer.

They really do a nice job of making things cute and clean. It was this way all around Chania Old Town. The rest of Chania was just like any other town, but they really know how to cater to tourists in the tourist area.

If you see many pictures of Chania, one of them is bound to be one with this lighthouse prominently featured. It’s an iconic part of Chania. It was originally a Venetian lighthouse built around the late 16th century, although it’s sometimes referred to as “Egyptian” because it was built during a time where Crete was occupied by Egyptian troops.

Here’s a close-up, taken after a very hot fifteen minute walk around the harbor (the lighthouse is located at the end of a long protective breakwater that protects the harbor from the sea). During the Turkish occupation the lighthouse fell into disrepair. It was eventually rebuilt between 1824 and 1832, although they kept the original Venetian base. It was leaning badly due to bombings during World War II, but it was extensively renovated in 2005.

For some reason, taking one shot of something iconic is never enough. I’ve got dozens more if you want to see em! No? Okay, we’ll mush on then.

A tourist submarine is is on her way out of the harbor. We didn’t do many of the touristy things there, however; the town was charming enough all on its own…

…with sights aplenty and photo opportunities galore, including the Aegean Sea in 3D!

The Nazis bombed the hell out of Chania in 1941, especially Old Town. I think before that the town name was simply pronounced “Shania,” but the bombings rattled the residents’ fillings so much they couldn’t say the “sh” without sounding like they were hocking a loogie. I wonder if any of our Portuguese friends have ever heard the term “hocking a loogie?”

Apparently the Chanians pointed their cannons straight up to try and hit the German planes, but once they put them in cement this way, they couldn’t figure out how to put in the gunpowder and cannonball. No wonder Crete kept losing wars.

They do much better in peacetime, as evidenced by these clean and friendly promenades leading from the harbor.

Here’s a panoramic view of Chania from the seawall.

Here’s a view of the seawall.

You gotta admit it’s a pretty little town.

Here’s our view from the top of the hotel (really more of an Airbnb).

And here’s what we did up there. As far as you know.

As with so many places in Europe, old meets new everywhere you go.

And the sea meets land.

And the man meets woman. So if you don’t think we’re happy as hell being able to do all this traveling and stuff? Of course we are! These are our expressions before we put on our happy faces for the camera!

Horse carriages await tours around the town. We almost did that, but for no good reason we kinda missed it. Oh, well, maybe we only missed out on some horse farts.

I thought this salad bar was a little odd, and was glad we didn’t eat at whatever restaurant it was a part of.

Purple is one of my favorite colors. This tree (and my wife) is magnificent. I think she’d look good in purple hair, but I haven’t been able to convince her of that yet.

I thought of my son and his wife when we saw this store offering nothing but honey and honey products, because they raise bees in the state of Washington.

Honey is a big thing in Crete (so I’m not sure why this mannequin looks like the bees got put inside his hat). There are a ton of small shops and roadside stands around the island offering either honey, raki, or ouzo, the last two effectively being the national drinks of Crete.

The history of Crete goes back to the 7th millennium BC, preceding the ancient Minoan civilization by more than four millennia. The Minoan civilization was the first civilization in Europe and the first, in Europe, to build a palace.

After the Minoan civilization was devastated by the Thera eruption, Crete developed an Ancient Greece-influenced organization of city states, then successively became part of the Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Venetian Republic, the Ottoman Empire, autonomous state, and the modern state of Greece. (Per Wikipedia.)

A good view of the charming seafront.

A panoramic view of the charming seafront.

A great view of a car in a gas station.

Actually, this is the little Fiat we rented to get around Crete. I’m posting it only to tell the tragic story of our car rental return. We rented from a small company called Autocandia (I fully expected them to have a small bowl of candy in the car, but came away very disappointed). Anyway, everything went fine until our return, when our tragic saga begins.

When we rented it, I was told that upon returning the car, I should drop Carolyn and the luggage off at the airport and return the car alone. I wasn’t sure why, thinking maybe they wanted to rape me without listening to a bunch of caterwauling from my wife? Well hey, the term “greekstyle” had to originate for some reason!

Despite my aversion to being, ah, greeked, I followed the instructions, and found myself in a line with no employee behind the desk in front of it. Apparently, their only other employee had called in sick so the remaining employee had to both man the counter and pick up people at the airport. Why they couldn’t use the same van that was to shortly later take us to the airport so she could be behind the counter, I have no idea, although the full story may provide an answer to that.

Anyway, finally after about a half an hour, a harried employee hustles into the small office and starts processing people. One rude man butted in line ahead of the rest of us, a circumstance much more common in Europe than in the US. I complained, but the employee just shrugged.

But the real tragedy of this sad story had nothing further to do with me. It is all about the two couples who were made to walk all the way to the airport with their luggage, simply because they didn’t follow the instructions. The walk is a good 20-30 minutes, and it was very hot. So there they were trudging to the airport, and the van taking us only had one other passenger in it besides myself. Once I figured out what was going on with these people who had shared my pain in the Line Without an Employee, I pleaded with the driver to let them in… it was certainly no skin off my back to let someone else ride, and there was of course plenty of room. He steadfastly refused, saying they were only contracted for one person per rental, and no luggage.

Crazy stupid. Just bad humanity. I felt very sorry for them, but that’s the lesson of the day: When a small car rental company tells you to jump, you ask how high!

But in between that and our initial visit to Chania, we explored Crete and had a great time. More of that to follow!

 

Many world travelers surely list the Vermont State House in Montpelier, Vermont as first or second on their sightseeing bucket list. Okay, maybe not in the top two, or ten, or hundred, but the Vermont State House in Montpelier, Vermont is definitely something you’d want to look at if you were standing right in front of it.

While I have been to Vermont, I’ve never been to Montpelier, so for the time being I had to settle for the ancient Greek building that inspired the Vermont State House in Montpelier, Vermont: The Temple of Hephaestus.

The temple resides in an area called the Ancient Agora of Athens. The Agora’s original purpose was as a gathering place or for commercial endeavors, as well as of course housing a reasonably cool temple.

(This is the Vermont State House in Montpelier, Vermont, just in case you were wondering.)

The Agora (which is the Portuguese word for “now,” so we felt right at home) was just a block or two from our hotel. Actually, in Greek, the word “agora” means “gathering place” or “assembly.” So we gathered and assembled there just like two ancient Grecians.

The Temple of Hephaestus has largely been preserved in its original state despite the fact that Hephaestus was the patron god of metal working, craftsmanship, and fire. Which means I would’ve thought he would have burnt the place to the ground after he was notified that he was about to lose his god status.

Fortunately, he disappeared without much of a whimper, as most gods do, leaving this impressive building in his ashes, –er wake.

As you can see, this is a container for offerings to the dead. As you can also see, the dead already scooped everything up. Greedy bastards, those dead people.

This building known as the Stoa of Attalos (we’re still in the Agora, or as I like to say, “O Aqui e Agora,” which means “The here and now” in Portuguese, which has absolutely nothing to do with anything except the word “agora” and my desire to show off my still-very-limited Portuguese skills). “Stoa” means portico or covered walkway. “Portico” is where you have to go after you’ve drunk too much port. “Walkway” is a word that turns into “runway” just by adding some planes. Accordingly, “Covered Runway” is just not a term you hear anymore, not after that one disaster anyway.

This photo provides some perspective. Ha! Anyway, it was built by King Attalos II of Pergamon, who ruled between 159 BC and 138 BC. The building as it stands today looks a helluva lot newer than that, mostly because it was reconstructed in the 1950’s by American and Greek architects.

The Stoa of Attalos has a museum inside it and a second floor (or first floor in European). This photo gives you an idea as to the sleek beauty of those gams– I mean columns.

Everyone knows our species has gotten a little larger over the millennia, but few people know just how big a difference there is. And they say JRR Tolkien just made up the hobbits. This ancient life-sized sculpture begs to differ. This statue does explain a lot of the doors we’ve encountered.

Carolyn’s got this guy’s gnome-ber.

A lot of the statues on display lost their heads. We couldn’t make heads nor tails out of the reason. I guess they all simply had it up to here. It was neck and neck to pick the two most beautiful, but one was shoulders above the rest.

If I only had a brain…

We thought it appropriate to deface the photos out of respect for the defaced.

One example of the wares displayed in the museum. This vase demonstrates the mad jigsaw puzzle skills many archeologists find beneficial to their work. They have a hard time without the box top, however.

Some more museum pieces.

This is what the whole Agora area would’ve looked like back then. At least if you were either color blind or the whole thing froze over in a freak world-ending ice storm.

Moving on from the Agora, this is the neighboring Library of Hadrian, who was the Roman emperor from 117 to 138, and is now the patron saint of overdue book fines. His own fines were not forgiven by his successor Antoninus, so it’s now up to $82,423,122 with interest. I mean, there ain’t no Italian named Tony who’s gonna forget about yer debts, y’know?

All that made me ponder… do you realize there is a whole generation of people growing up who have no idea what an overdue book fine is?

Hadrian is known for being both personally generous as well as extremely cruel. He must’ve been generous to the right historian’s forebears because he made it onto the “Top Five Good Emperors List” (if he wouldn’t have been so cruel, he might’ve made the “Top Five Very Good Emperors List”… but alas). He also traveled a great deal outside of Italy, unlike most of his predecessors. When he passed by, the people would shout, “Yo Hadrian!”

Another set of ruins in Athens is the Dipylon Ruins. So of course I had to act like a dip. Actually, the entire area is known as Kerameikos, or Ceramicus in the Latinized version.

It’s a large area that resides both within and outside the ancient city walls. Since it was the potter’s part of the city, Ceramicus is what led to the world “ceramic.” True story.

I look kind of potted here myself.

I always look closely at walls in ruins, being continually amazed at the preciseness of their construction and alignment and the fact that they’re still that way even after thousands of years.

The Dipylon (The Thrasian Gates) was the most important gateway in the Athenian city walls. It was the main entrance to the city, and was at the time the largest gateway in the world.

Since then, that honor has been taken over by the Buland Darwaza in India. We’ve never been to India.Yet.

Ceramicus was also the site of an important cemetery. There are still numerous funerary sculptures along the ancient road that led in and out of the city. They called it the “street of tombs,” reminding everyone that they, too, will one day be worm food. Today, America has replaced that with the “Street of Dreams,” reminding everyone that they, too, will never live in a house with eight big screen TVs, a five-car garage, and an underwater bar in the pool.

 

We simply stumbled across Ceramicus while taking a walk outside our hotel to places unknown. You never know what you’re going to find when you explore an ancient city!

Like almost every place in Athens, feral cats were plentiful. Some were even friendly. This one decided to share some of its fleas with Carolyn.

Overgrown
Pristine thorns
Sheep shorn
Tinkling below
Roofless walls
Rooks overlook
I told you so
Babbles the brook

“Ruins” by Samuel Menashe

And that ain’t no bull.

Well, it is, actually, but that line sounded better that way.

While in Athens, we learned that “Acropolis” is actually a Greek word meaning the highest point in a city. In other words, there were acropolises all over the place in Greece… it’s just that this particular one became famous and known as THE one.

The same thing happened with D-Day. It was the term used for the launch of any important military operation… but the D-Day on the 6th of June, 1944 became known as THE D-Day because it was so big and important.

Trivia alert: the “D” in D-Day actually means… wait for it… “day.”

So “D-Day” means “Day Day.” There’s some military genius for you.

And that’s not a random segue: D-Day became a part of this trip, even though our itinerary was only in Greece. Oooh! There’s a big cliffhanger! Stay tuned!

As you walk around Athens, the Acropolis is viewable almost anytime there aren’t buildings in the way. Most of the restaurants have a flat rooftop so they can tout their view of the Acropolis. This is the view from a nearby restaurant where we had dinner, the view having been sufficiently touted.

And this was our view from the rooftop breakfast buffet at our hotel. The netting was smartly placed there to keep the birds out of the buffet, except of course the ones we were eating.

And here she is, the mother of all acropolises.

Speaking of mothers, here’s Carolyn in front of the Erechtheion, which is a temple dedicated to both Athena and Poseidon. It was built between 421 and 406 BC.

These are the stairs leading up to the complex. It’s hard to keep the names of all the buildings straight, but I’ll do my best as we wander around the place.

I think this is the Erechtheion again. If not, it’s some old Greek building.

The Parthenon, the most famous of the Acropolis buildings, was dedicated to the goddess Athena, the patron of Athens and the goddess of war.

The Greek flag flies proudly over the area.

So of course we had to selfie-ize it.

This is the back side of the ruins. Which is kind of cool… like seeing the backside of a waterfall.

A view from atop. The theatre-looking-thingy to the right is the Theatre of Dionysus, which we’ll cover more of below.

There are plenty of hills and stairs you have to climb to get up there; if you walk from the base of the whole hill it’s a fair trudge. They didn’t have wheelchairs back then so you’re a bit SOL if you’re confined to one.

I’m pretty sure that’s the Erechtheion again on the left. That’s the world’s worst tour guide on the right.

But then they throw me an easy pitch to hit. The Parthenon! The Parthenon! Boy, it’s awesome being an expert.

Those who know me best are the least surprised to know there’s a sign there telling us not to touch anything.

The construction of the Parthenon began in 447 BC when the Athenian Empire was at the peak of its power. It is considered one of the world’s greatest cultural monuments… just behind Trump Tower.

I have no idea what the one on the left was used for since it appears to be all of one piece with no lid. Come to think of it, I have no idea about any of them… why are there rocks laid out that way? This is surely one of the eternal mysteries of the Acropolis.

They obviously had to have ladders built into it so they could wash the windows.

The origin of the Parthenon’s name refers to “unmarried women’s apartments.” In other words, this was where all the single chicks hung out.

And this may have been the wall they threw themselves off of when their love went unrequited.

We ended up with about 78 pictures of the Acropolis from afar. We’ll only show you a few more before you start thinking of it as the Acrapolis.

No, the man in the red shorts is not taking a dump. That’s not a toilet, sheesh! Get your mind out of the gutter. As for me, I’m urinating on the stairs. But in the gutter!

The Theatre of Dionysus is thought to be the world’s first theatre. Dionysus was the god of grape harvesting, wine, fertility, ritual madness (whatever that is), religious ecstasy, and theatre. Whatever else he was, Dionysus was certainly a party animal.

The theatre could seat as many as 17,000 people, and with its great acoustics, everyone could hear everything, including that one time Heinieornerus let out a big fat fart during the middle of delivering a line. He’ll never live that one down.

I think this is where Samson first tried pulling the pillars down, except that it was right after his first haircut, which left him with a mullet, and so of course even God said, “Oh hell no.”

I’m really hoping this is the result of wind erosion. I’d hate to think their sculptors were that bad.

Today’s Greeks are such wimps. Your forebears erected that whole thing before they even invented pencil and paper! Today you wienies need an entire frickin’ crane just to fix it up a little! Oh how far have you backslid? No wonder you needed to be bailed out by the EU!

Yeah, we have hundreds of photos of the Parthenon, but this is one of the gooder ones.

They say if you kiss your mate in front of the Parthenon, you will end up in a blog. OMG, they were right! Of course, whenever I see pictures like this of me I always wonder why I still put shampoo on my head every morning in the shower.

The one thing Athens has going for it is an interesting view from the Acropolis. It’s just a vast sea of houses, with very few buildings poking above the rest. It sprawls just about as far as the eye can see.

In Rome we learned that the thinking towards restoration work has changed over the last century. Instead of replacing things to make it look new, they do everything they can to protect what’s there. It looked to us that they were working very hard to do just that, although many of the stones were obviously newer.

The Romans, contrary to what some believe, did not invent arches. Ray Kroc did. Ha! Actually, arches have been used since prehistoric times, but the Romans perfected their use and put them into larger structures. Prior to that they were mainly used in smaller doorways. So no McDonalds for the Greeks just yet!

I mean, how the heck did they get those blocks on top of the columns? What you don’t ever hear about is how many times someone knocked over one of them, sending them all tumbling like dominoes and forcing the construction to start over all over again. Probably because they were executed.

In addition to the Parthenon, the other various monuments which make up the Acropolis include the Temples of Athena and Nike, the Erechtheion and the Propylaea. This is one of those four.

In the distance is Lykavittos Hill, the highest hill in Athens. You can get to the top via Funicular. That word alone makes it sound like it would be a blast, but we didn’t get over there.

The crowds were pervasive, but it wasn’t too bad. We’re glad we didn’t come in the dead of summer… not only due to the larger crowds but there ain’t no shade and it can be hot  up there! In fact, Athens holds the record for the highest temperature ever recorded in Europe, at a blistering 48°C (118.4°F).

The world’s first spreadsheet.

I don’t believe I will ever cease to be amazed as to how they got those stones up there, perfectly straight and aligned, without the aid of any machinery.

And then they were able to put even larger stones on top… and here they are still standing almost 2,500 years later. Mind blown.

Just follow the sea of tourists to the Parthenon. I only follow the one in front.

This sign is in both Greek and English (one of the things that makes me grateful for having been born into an empire… with apologies to the Indians, Africans, Puerto Ricans, Hawaiians, Eskimos, Mexicans, and everyone else the US conquered or enslaved). It describes the restoration work, some of which is noted as being that of a “rescue nature,” which is why some of the columns have white areas. When it’s either that or to have the whole thing tumbling down, I’ll take the mismatched colors any day.

Carolyn’s obviously fearful that the columns may come tumbling down anyway.

So we had to get another selfie in before it all collapsed.

I think this is the Old Temple of Athena. It’s surprisingly hard to figure out what’s what even with the internet. They didn’t have a whole lot of signs about, or if they did, we neglected to take pictures of them. Oh, well, a Greek ruin by any other name…

The guy in red was the first one to see the aliens landing.

Until you get up there, you don’t realize how massive the stone is leading up to the Acropolis, and how they built so expertly atop it.

Here you can see better how it was just one big hunk-a hunk-a… um rock. Not burnin’ love. Thangyouberrymuch.

I had forgotten that we’re already famous, so I quickly donned sunglasses to fool the paparazzi.

A last photo… but wait! Is this why everyone is calling me a dickhead?

After moving to Portugal, we realized that our bucket list had grown to the point where it is now better described as a bathtub list. There are just too many different places to visit in Europe! In Portuguese, we’ve learned to describe it thusly: “É um lugar muito diversificado.” Which means “It is a very diversified place.”

With all these choices and diversity, we decided to just start with the “A’s,” and just knock them off one by one in alphabetical order. We’d already been to Amsterdam, and so lo and behold, Athens was up next!

We were as excited as kids visiting Disneyland when we saw our first view of Greece from the plane (little did we know that would become more than a metaphor despite the fact that it was supposed to be solely a Grecian vacation). Greece! Athens! The Acropolis! Our bathtub list was about to get one more rubber ducky taken from the tub.

After landing in Greece, we found out that Greeks have a very hard time with spelling in the English language.

In fact, they think the 1978 film Grease was all about their country. Even after over 40 years, they still have Olivia Newton John Travolta (yeah, they’re sort of like conjoined twins) greeting tourists. Although they sure looked like the real thing. They even posed for us just like the movie poster. Awesome.

And if you don’t believe the Greeks have a hard time with English, just check out these signs:

If you ever want to move to Greece and need a job, just apply as a translator. Just remember to not parking where you’re not supposed to.

Speaking of translating, after seeing their alphabet there’s no wonder why the phrase, “It’s all Greek to me” was popularized. We’re just glad not to have to learn a new alphabet in Portugal. Although, I do have to say it’s pretty easy to see why this Greek word here is “men:” the second-to-the-last-letter is a pair of boobs. So I think the word translates literally to: “likes boobs.” I guess Greek is easier to learn than I thought!

In any case, we were excited to visit Athens and the Acropolis, although we were told that Athens itself isn’t that much to see. Our cab ride from the airport confirmed that. It’s a rather dreary city, with really only the Acropolis looming above giving it any semblance of interest or beauty.

Our initial impressions were undoubtedly affected by our cab ride. Our driver wasn’t of Greek descent, which is neither here nor there except for three things: he didn’t speak English (and probably not Greek either), he didn’t know where our hotel was, and he had no idea how to get there even after being provided with an address and a map via my phone. He also had no other electronics in his car (which was held together with duct tape) other than the taxi meter.

So the entire way I held my iPhone out so he could see the GPS guiding him to our destination. Despite that, more than once we had to shout out to him to make a turn (repeating what Siri had just said, only louder), just before he barreled down the wrong exit. We were relieved that we actually made it to the hotel. To add insult to injury, he wanted more than the stated maximum for cab fare we saw posted on big signs at the airport, claiming that it was due to the road tolls, which he went through and had paid like a regular driver. I was dubious of this, but gave him the money anyway figuring I just paid for a source of material for my blog. Plus I kind of like avoiding getting stabbed.

Our taxi adventures continued on the way back to the airport. Our flight was early in the morning, and this other driver actually had some electronics in his car, including a GPS. But that was a waste anyway because he totally ignored it. Instead, he raced down side streets like a bat out of hell, with the GPS frantically rerouting itself, looking a lot like the electronic snake in that electronic maze game. The scariest part of the drive, however, was when he hit the freeway. Not only was he driving like a madman, he could barely keep his eyes open! I spent the entire freeway part of the journey with my own eyes focused solely onto the rearview mirror, ready to bop him on the head if his actually closed. As it was, I would occasionally make a loud noise just to make sure he stayed awake; coughs, burps, farts, whatever it took. Carolyn thought I must’ve eaten something onerous, but I didn’t want to tell her why I was doing what I was doing so she wouldn’t freak out. Once in a while I wondered if he steered the cab so close to other cars’ bumpers while going over 140 km an hour just to keep himself awake, which freaked us both out plenty as it was.

When we got to Crete, we rented a car.

Our hotel, called the Jason Inn, is actually a lot nicer than the name implies. Not that there’s anything wrong with the name Jason Inn, but it does sort of sound like a two star flea bagger on the outside of Las Vegas.

But in fact it was pleasant, clean, quiet, and had a nice breakfast buffet on the roof with a view of the Acropolis. Of course, just about everyone in Athens puts chairs and tables on the roof for a view of the Acropolis, but hey.

Despite our pleasure with the Jason Inn, we did get a kick out of some of the construction issues, namely this light and power cord almost within touching distance of our small balcony, and the shower head which was mounted right over the bar holding up the glass partition. We clearly were not in Japan (because everything is made just about perfect there).

Anyway, for this first part, we’ll just show you some of the sights we saw while walking around Athens, and then the next entry we’ll get to the place that keeps Athens from being another Baku, Azerbaijan (you’ll understand that reference if you keep reading).

First we’ll check out this cool street art which was right around the corner from our hotel. When you first see it, it looks like a complete picture of a vampire-toothed purple-haired woman. But as you approach, you see the art was created on different walls. Pretty cool. It reminded me of the movie Labyrinth, which had non-CGI optical effects just like that.

A typical restaurant scene with lots of outdoor tables. The area around the Acropolis had no shortage of places to eat, most of them fronted by a charmer encouraging anyone and everyone to come eat the best food in the city.

We chose this one because Carolyn loves twinkle lights. That, and the waiter who encouraged us to come in was very chatty and the restaurant was not too busy, so we had a nice discussion with him about Greece and even politics. He doesn’t like the Germans.

Near our hotel the local Walmart displays its wares. Actually, it was a street filled with second-hand items. You name it, you surely could find it. Even a second hand, I’m sure.

After lunch, it was time for us to get back in the saddle.

Speaking of saddles, my horse-loving sister had this store named after her. I’ll give you three guesses as to what her name is.

This is a government building protected by two Buckingham-Palace-esque guards. They have a rather funny routine with the changing of the guard, complete with synchronized leg kicks that wouldn’t serve them well at all in any kind of real battle, unless the enemy were turned around with their backs to them, bent over.

We took a Hop On-Hop Off bus just to see more of Athens than we would have on foot. It was a good way to go, except that Athens really doesn’t have that much interesting to see aside from the Acropolis and grey-haired men wearing blue shirts.

Of course there are some ruins here and there. This is Hadrian’s Arch. Built in about 131 AD, it is one of many Roman ruins scattered throughout the city.

Speaking of ruins… don’t think for a minute Europeans aren’t very well versed on American politics. Someone captured one of the prevailing sentiments pretty well.

This may be a response to the above, I dunno. Like most European cities, graffiti is prevalent, and sometimes, like the above, even in English. We were so grateful for this one in particular being in English because otherwise we would have never understood it and wouldn’t have known what we were supposed to be doing.

Unfortunately, along with the graffiti there were other unsightly areas. Athens wasn’t a pigsty, but it surely doesn’t rank high on any “cleanest cities in the world” list. Which made me wonder… and yes, thanks to the internet, there is actually a cleanest cities in the world list. The top five: #1 Calgary, Canada (Woo hoo! You go Canucks!). #2: Zurich, Switzerland. #3: Luxembourg. #4 Adelaide, Australia. #5: Singapore. There is also, of course, a dirtiest cities list, led by Baku, Azerbaijan, mostly because it sits on some very rich oil fields. I guess that’s where the term “filthy rich” came from. 

 

After a long day of sightseeing, there’s nothing like a cold beer to cool you down. Mythos beer was the most common we saw, and it was good! Also, the gyros in Greece are pretty much the same as the gyros you get from the fast food restaurants in the mall, so yeah, you’re eating authentic ethnic when you pass up that Taco Bell for the gyros.

We came away from Athens thinking about two kinds of animals: cats and turtles. Wild cats were everywhere, and once in a while, usually near some ruins, you’d come across a turtle. This guy was crossing the road where he might have had to put the strength of his shell to a mighty test under the wheel of a car, so we put him back in the grass. Like most turtles, he didn’t even thank us.

This is the Panathenaic Stadium, completed in 144 AD. It is the only stadium in the world built entirely of marble. Back then it could hold up to 50,000 spectators: a lot less if the home team had a losing season, but a lot more during the first Olympics because the athletes were all naked. Two thousand years later, all we have close to that is beach volleyball and Speedos.

The world’s first running statue. We caught this freeze frame as he was bursting through the park on his way across the street.

Fresh fruit and produce are often artfully displayed, although I’d hate to be the one picking a cherry from the bottom, sending them tumbling in a veritable cherries jubilee.

This Aphrodite is artfully displayed as well. Plus she’s 50% off. What a bargain!

And so Aphrodite made it to the street next to the second hand stores, where she found a row of third and fourth hand stores. By the time it gets to fifth hand, we think it gets put into the small stairwells.

I have no idea what this sign says, but since they have a picture of Bogie and Bacall, it must be a classy joint.

I think the middle store is selling vitamins based on the sign, but with all the ladders it could also be a hardware store. Either way, it’s probably a good place to get some iron supplements.

Next up: the Acropolis.

For our Portland friends, no, not that one.

 

One of the great things about living abroad is the opportunity it gives one to meet and make friends with people all over the world.

Most Europeans we’ve met seem to innately understand and appreciate that there are different cultures, languages, religions, and points of view, and that they should all be respected. They also have an intimate relationship with the destructiveness of war and bigotry (there’s nothing like devastating an entire continent to change one’s perspective for a good long time).

Of course, I think anyone who has spent time traveling outside their home town can tell you that for the most part, people everywhere are generally caring and nice when experienced one on one.

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We recently joined a group called the “Sesimbra International Community,” which is simply a collection of people living in our area who are originally from outside Portugal. The only other commonality is that everyone speaks English (and most of them Portuguese, along with at least one, two, or three or more other languages). Recently, we got together for a potluck. To represent typical American fare, Carolyn made a casserole, and I made a cherry pie. Yes, we could have been as American as apple pie, but cherries are in season, Besides, I like cherry pie better, and aside from the pitting, it’s easier to make. And neither George Washington or I had to chop down a cherry tree to do it.

We were delighted to find the following nationalities represented (and I hope I didn’t miss anyone): Italian, Mexican, French, Portuguese, British, Australian, and Slovenian.

Chatting with someone from Slovenia for the first time allowed me to ask whether Melania Trump, who is of course Slovenian, is well regarded there. I was told that she is (while allowing for the distorted worldview she surely has when one gets so rich and famous). Slovenia only has two million people, so the Kevin Bacon six degrees of separation thing is probably only about three there.

Everyone enjoyed the lunch and all the conversation. We were the only two Americans there, which made it that much more delightful for us, even if I sometimes have to strain through the accents. I’ve never been very good at understanding accents, but I think it’s improving, if for no other reason that almost everyone we speak to has one sort or another.

While many Americans visit Lisbon and the rest of the country on holiday, not that many, percentage-wise, settle in Portugal, and in fact very few Americans live in Sesimbra. As a result, sometimes we feel like we are scrutinized a bit as everyone tries to figure out what these crazy Americans are all about.

Like in so many social interactions in the U.S. today, politics tends to come up in most conversations. What I almost always hear is that everyone is pretty puzzled by what’s going on there today, especially because America has long been a country well regarded by most Europeans.

The Portuguese in particular see America through the lens of movies (almost all the movies shown are American with Portuguese subtitles) and other pop culture, as well as of course through the world news, which is often dominated by the U.S. They generally seem to look up to America as rich, successful, and powerful. But now they are a little baffled as to how this very powerful and rich country elected someone like Donald Trump. I still have yet to find one European who even remotely likes or respects him. When the topic first comes up, I notice most Europeans are initially cautious about it. They don’t want to offend me, if I happened to be a Trump supporter. When I’m able to confirm that I see the same things they see, I usually perceive a palpable sense of relief, and the conversation opens right up.

My analogy about it all is that it’s a lot like finding out your parish priest is a pedophile. Suddenly everything you liked about that priest and church is called into question.

Speaking of pedophilia (something so heinous that even among the worst of the worst in prison, pedophiles are considered scum), in America you can even be a pedophile and still be given a pass simply because you’re rich, famous, or talented (and not in prison). As a comedian we recently watched pointed out, Charlie Chaplin (he married both a 16 and 17-year old) and Elvis Presley (he first met Priscilla when she was 14) were both technically pedophiles. There is also Woody Allen and Michael Jackson as well. Closer to home, my late wife Dolly was abused by her father throughout her childhood years, and that awfulness still reverberates around that family.

And yet Elvis and Charlie Chaplain still command some degree of respect from most Americans. Which begs the question, just how talented, rich, and famous do you have to be to get away with raping a minor? I guess Elvis and Charlie have answered that question.

While Trump isn’t apparently a pedophile (although his very creepy comments about his daughter, including: “…If I weren’t happily married and, ya know, her father….” and “Is it wrong to be more sexually attracted to your own daughter than your wife?” are comments that make you wonder once you’re done being totally creeped out), his other sins are many. But because he’s rich, famous, and promoting a conservative agenda, it’s apparently all okay.

It’s hard to explain to anyone who isn’t American that the American culture has lurched headlong into one that worships two things above all else: money and fame. If you have both, you can pretty much do whatever you want, and many of the rest of people will even clamor for you, even if you’re a known liar like Trump (with a documented 10,000 lies and counting). But he’s also a known cheat (any serious golfer knows if you’re a golf cheat, you’re pretty much a low-life), philanderer (anyone doubt that?), self-professed pussy-grabber, bigot (obviously), and name-calling narcissist (double obviously). Everyone in the world sees this, and can’t imagine what’s going on with America. I mean, come on!

Seriously, if you need a guy like that to champion your agenda, shouldn’t you think just a little teensy bit about whether your agenda needs a little re-thinking?

Most Europeans express those sentiments in a variety of ways, and remain perplexed, because they love America, and don’t understand how it has gotten so far off track.

In the end, the world is a lot nicer place when people from all over the world come together and recognized that we’re all just human beings. Experiencing it in our little town of Sesimbra was a welcome reminder of all that.

Chapter seven of seven. Hoo boy! Writing the blog about our trip may have taken me longer than the trip itself!

Indeed, the delightful weeklong drive around northern Portugal provided a plethora of picturesque photos (I just had to pay homage to the “P” right there, especially since, um, our journeys were often defined by the “P” if you know what I mean… and you’ll automatically know what I mean if you’re middle-aged or later), but we certainly didn’t see all there is to see. I found that out because every time we talk to a Português and they ask where we went, they follow up with a question as to whether we saw this place or that, and our answer always seems to be, “Oh, we must’ve missed that!”

Apparently the things to see in Portugal are never-ending. We know we’re going to have to go back up north again when we get tired of not being bored in retirement.

Regardless, we enjoyed every minute of our journey. We also saved one of the best visits for the last entry:

Tomar

The town of Tomar has a population of about 20,000, and was an important city throughout Portuguese history. The main attraction is the Convent of Christ: a former Roman Catholic complex which also was a stronghold run by the Knights Templar. The castle of Tomar was built around 1160; the Keep in Tomar is one of the oldest in the country.

The towers of the castle were a something of an advancement in that they were built in a round shape, which provides better defense than square towers, unless of course the attack is nuclear.

Originally, most of its residents lived in dwellings located inside the outer walls of the castle for protection. The entire complex is quite expansive; they probably could have hidden almost everyone in the town inside the buildings.

In fact, legend has it that the song made famous in the movie Annie was first written here to make the people who couldn’t be squeezed in feel hopeful that there might be room the next day: “The sun will come out, Tomar-oh, bet your bottom escudo that in Tomar-oh, it’ll be fun! Tomar-oh, Tomar-oh! I love ya Tomar-oh! You’re only a day away!”

I so wanted to show all of our individual pictures and make corny jokes or pithy comments on all of them, but there’s too damn many photos for that. I think Tomar set a personal record for us in terms of photos taken; we were there for quite a while. Of course, I had to share a few separately because they’re just too ripe for the pickin’. For instance in the above I’m sitting right next to a kitchen and I’m pretty sure those holes had something to do with cooking, but it sure doesn’t look like it. It reminded us of the public toilets in the Roman Colosseum and a story of sponges we have since tried very hard to forget. Still, based on looks alone, the phrase, “this food tastes like shit!” can’t help but come to mind.

This is just to give you a sample of the many glorious pictures you’ll see if you have the time to watch the slide show. We were quite impressed with the entire shebang.

And so without further ado, I present the slide show of photos. Wait, where is everyone?

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And that’s it for our trip up north! We’ll surely be up there again sometime, because there are a lot more sights to see. Portugal is truly a historical and natural wonder.

You can scroll down if you missed any of the previous six chapters.

Tchau for now!

On Top of the World, Ma!

The Serra da Estrela (which translates to “Star Mountain Range)” includes mainland Portugal’s highest point (6,539 feet / 1,993 meters) above sea level. Unlike most mountain summits in the world, you can drive right to the tippy top. So we did!

Here are some panoramic shots from atop the mountain. The temperature was almost exactly 32 degrees, or in the much more sensible measurement of celsius: zero. It was easily the coldest we’ve been since we’ve been to Portugal, except for that time I got locked in a walk-in freezer after thinking it was the men’s room.

We drove up one side of the mountain and down another, and both were slightly harrowing, made all the more so after we noticed many of the guard rails were made of stone. I’m not sure I’d trust the stone not to break in a thousand little pieces if rammed with any amount of force, meaning we’d break into yet another thousand pieces when we hit the ground two million meters below.

But as you can see, we made it safe, sound, and chilly.

The road led by this massive wall, the other side of which was crawling with crazed zombie Mexicans just like in World War Z. Oh wait, those weren’t Mexicans, those were Spaniards! Good thing Portugal already built a huge wall! Actually, it is the non-water side of a dam. At least we hoped it would stay non-watery.

At the top, they have about five different stores, each offering various cold weather gear, cheeses and meats. Because nothing says “keeping warm” like cheese and meat.

The funny thing was, each of them offered almost exactly the same thing, even though some of them were side-by-side and even shared the same entrance.

They each had display cases filled with aromatic cheese and meats, always with a friendly offer of some samples, and each of them had snow gear and souvenirs, apparently all purchased from the same very talented distributor salesperson.

It was like being in a strip mall with five 7-11’s in a row.

On the plus side, you could try on a hat exactly like this in five different stores!

During our explorations, we took a small detour on a road with no idea as to where it led. It ended up being a pretty hairy drive, with drops off the side that would’ve turned our VW Polo, Marco, into a pancake… covered with raspberry syrup from our bodies, if you know what I mean. But we survived, with the added bonus of confirming that the sweat glands in our hands work just fine, thank you.

Here is a slide show of some of the sights we saw in the surrounding area:

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The next slide show is filled with incredible vistas of the countryside, unmatched by even that of the highest castles we’ve been on.

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On the way down, we stopped in a little town called Manteigas.

As you surely must know by now because of all the Portuguese lessons you’re taking in preparation for your visit to us in Portugal, “Manteiga” means “butter.”

Accordingly, I assume those are terraces are where they grow buttercups. Because buttercups are what they make butter out of, right? Carolyn says “no way.” I say “whey.” She says, “I curd of told you that.” I say, “Tit for tat!”

You don’t want to have butterfingers when you’re driving on the roads leading to the town. You’d turn into butter squash pretty quickly.

I think this is a butter stream where they churn all the butter, kind of like Willy Wonka did with his chocolate rivers. Or maybe they were churning margarine, it was hard to tell because at that point in its production butter is clear, as we all know.

Despite the fact that butter can be a little fattening, it was a charming village. We had some pizza there, because everyone knows when you go into a Portuguese town named “Butters” you have to have pizza. The crust was, of course, buttery. We were going to have pepperoni, but we decided on da udder one.

A picturesque view of a butter farm. You can tell by all the buttercups and milkweed.

Okay, don’t have a cow, you know I gotta milk these cheesy jokes for all they’re worth, right? What? They’re not worth much? Oh, well, you’re getting what you pay for. I guess I’m the butter of my own jokes. Dough!

Anyway, we very much enjoyed the drive through the mountains. The scenery was awesome, the views were to die for (literally, if you made one wrong turn), and it was great to see some snow, even if the yellow snow didn’t taste anything like butter.

But the best news is… this is the second-to-last entry in the Portugal Road Trip Saga! Just one more to go!

 

Ha ha! It’s not really part thirteen, it just feels like it.

We spent about ten days driving all over northern Portugal, snapping pictures of castles and scenery like we were picture-taking-y snapping turtle-y people.

(That’s what you call an analogy that not only went completely off the rails, but off the bridge and into the river 500 meters below.)

In any case, the result is a lot of photos, memories, and blog entries, and this is really Portugal Road Trip – Part Five. I think.

Almourol

We thought Almourol would be the crown jewel of our castle visits. Indeed, when you see a picture like the above, you can see why we were looking forward to the visit.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as cool as the pictures make it look. But I guess you could say that about most models and movie stars too.

However, I did sustain a wound in pursuit of my art, the definition of which is to entertain you, dear reader, especially as a reward for slogging through this blog, probably while you’re sitting on the pot, or driving. If it’s the latter, stop that! And watch out for that lady with the stroller! Aaaaaggghh!

The sign on the right, fittingly, means “Danger Zone.”

“Ha!” I said to that. “Danger is my middle name!”

(My parents are a bit strange. I have a brother whose middle name is “Middle Initial.”)

Anyway, those signs should be all over pretty much every castle we visit, because almost every one of them has stairs and/or battlements with no railings. Also, some of them are still guarded by descendants of soldiers who just can’t quite understand that the wars are over, and so you often have to dodge arrows and boiling oil and the like as well.

But, intrepid explorer that I am, when I saw this bilingual sign (which means I could completely understand it despite the lack of French), I had to have some fun with it.

So I jumped off the stairs just to prove that there really was a danger of falling from heights. As a result, I sustained near life-threatening injuries (well, they would’ve been had I jumped on a spear or something).

Below are photos of the leap in progress, <parental advisory warning for extreme gore> and photos of the resulting damage done… all because I no longer have the balance required to land on my feet.

Getting old sucks.

For those of you who know of the venerable Paul Harvey: and now… the rest of the story.

Actually all of the above is true, and I didn’t Photoshop any of those rivers of blood (although the head hitting on the right was a different catastrophic injury), but the real truth is seen in the picture below.

You see, I did jump off the steps, but from the third one. And I did fall as a result, because I’m too damn old to stay on my feet after jumping off just three steps. Sheesh. I Photoshopped the first photo above to make it look like I jumped from halfway up.

This is the un-Photoshopped version that caused my gruesome injuries, as well as the destruction of my favorite pants.

As I said, getting old sucks.

So the first thing you gotta do before you go to the castle is pass inspection by these fearsome army men. Actually, they’re the aforementioned soldiers who are still attacking visitors. Okay, best one out of three: there’s an army base not far from the castle and they were there to escort some dignitaries (besides Carolyn) to the castle for sightseeing. They were kind enough to pose for a picture in exchange for not shooting me.

You have to walk the plank to a large cruise ship which takes you to the castle for a few euros.

This is the bow of the ship. There wasn’t enough room to do the “Titanic” scene, unfortunately. Our hearts will still go on.

This is the cheerful and garrulous Captain of the ship. Just kidding. He was none of those things. But he was quite adept at steering a small boat for a couple hundred meters.

Once you land, they like to see if you’ll take these steps to nowhere, and if you do, everyone laughs hysterically.

If you take the correct path, you get to walk under a bridge of cactus. My speculation is they might have once served as a eco-friendly defensive tactic way back when, which means those cacti probably weren’t there in 1129 when it was conquered by Portuguese forces. Indeed, none of the historical writings mention any kind of massive sticker shock.

Once in the castle, you can look down and see where the boat docks, as well as our trusty Marco the Polo. Not sure if you can tell which one it is in that sea of cars, but it’s the dark one.

But here’s what I found interesting. They take you in a boat to the castle, but this is the size of the river channel you would otherwise need to cross to get there.

And here’s how wide it is right next to the castle.

In fact, here’s a little crossing you could take without even getting wet! All they have to do is build a walkable path beyond and voila! No more boat needed! I’m guessing they keep the boat because it’s sort of a nice story that you have to take a boat to the castle.

But that means when you’re all done with your visit you have to wait at the dock for the boat to return. He gave us about twenty minutes to look through the castle. We got back to the dock in nineteen. Despite that, he was already on his way back to the original dock when we got there, so we had to wait some more. Oh, well, we’re retired. We can wait. I decided not to even give him a dirty look when we returned because I didn’t want to be dragged out to the middle of the river and keelhauled.

As you can see, from the outside, it’s a pretty cool-looking castle. The location of it dates back to the 1st century B.C.E. (Before Castles and Everything), although they’re not sure exactly when the current castle was initially constructed. When they excavated in and around it, they found evidence of Roman occupation, but it is otherwise medieval.

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Once inside, you’re treated to some nice views of the river and surrounding countryside, although not as much as castles built on top of mountains.

These are various shots from inside the castle. Since it’s a castle, it’s still kinda cool, but it is fairly small, and doesn’t really compare in coolness factor to many of the other castles we’ve seen.

Still, from the outside, it is unique and interesting. Enough so that I’ll close this entry with a repeat of that top picture. We really did take this photo, even if it almost looks professional. We’re happy with one impressive shot per trip, even if it’s completely the fault of the subject matter.

Trancoso

According to Wikipedia, Trancoso is famous for being the place where the 16th century poet and shoemaker António Gonçalves de Bandarra lived and made his prophetic texts. You know ol’ António, right? The only reason I mention it is because that’s about the only thing Wikipedia says about Trancoso.

Despite that, we enjoyed the town and castle. The town was quaint, and bigger than some of the small villages we’d been to. As usual, we had pretty much the run of the castle to ourselves, and came away with a slew of pictures.

This is one of the main drags. Not the guy in the picture, he never poses in drag. Publicly anyway.

The castle was mostly grass and walls. In the old days, that area would have been filled with wooden structures and smelly people. Now there’s only one. Wooden structure, I mean.

One of the reasons we love castles is because they’re almost always built on top of hills, where we can gaze over the landscape and be on the lookout for invading Mexicans. Oh, wait, that’s only in the U.S.

Saaay… why doesn’t Trump just build a bunch of castles? After all, it worked for all these Europeans way back when! In fact they could charge admission and have it all paid for quicker than you can say, “I thought Mexico was supposed to pay for a wall!”

You’re always on your own when it comes to safety. You have to pay extra for guard rails, except you can’t pay anyone, and there are no portable guard rails. Just be sure to wear New Balance shoes.

Anyway, on to the slide show:

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Sortelha

Most days we figured out where we were going to go the same morning, sometimes only after fighting over the phone and its map as we drove away from the hotel property while dodging pedestrians and going through roundabouts the wrong way.

“Let’s go north!”

“No, I wanna go south!”

“Okay, east is is!”

“Watch out for that pedestrian!”

But one of those mornings we were given a sign from above, and so knew we had to follow where we were being led. After all, it isn’t every day there’s a big X in the sky telling you where to go. It wasn’t a star, and we aren’t kings, but hey, if X’s are good enough for pirates, they’re good enough for us.

Unfortunately, we never found any ancient treasure, although we did up in Sortelha. Back in 1900, Sortelha broke the 1,000 person population barrier, and so was obviously primed to become the next New York City. Unfortunately, the latest census now lists only 444 people. Doh! Based on graphing a trend line on the decline that started in 1960, Sortelha will be out of people in a couple of decades. With property values dropping accordingly, we’re going to bide our time and try and buy the castle pretty soon.

I mean, who wouldn’t want to come home to that?

Or this?

Well, her anyway.

Ok, so once again we’ll present all the photos in a slide show:

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Côa Valley

We decided to stop at the Prehistoric Rock-Art Site of the Côa Valley because it isn’t every day you get to see drawings from over 20,000 years ago. Which makes you wonder about how far we’ve advanced when today we can’t keep most of our own pictures much beyond a few decades without them either degrading or disappearing into the computer because they can no longer be seen by the latest operating system.

But, in the meantime, you can still see vistas like this until the internet is replaced by something else.

The prehistoric art in Côa Valley was discovered when they were building a dam. The whole project stopped so they could investigate the priceless art.

Which also means we still get to gaze at the beauty of the valley.

These are artifacts from 24,000 and 30,000 years ago. BP means “Before Present, ” and is a time scale used in archaeology. Since of course the “present” time changes (unless you’re dead, in which case you really don’t care much about any of this), the present in “BP” is generally assumed to be January 1st, 1950. That’s also the month that U.S. President Harry S. Truman ordered the development of the hydrogen bomb, which may or may not be a coincidence. It may also mean that in the future, “BP” will mean “Before Pulverization.”

In any case, this is what little Johnny Caveman doodled while his teacher was droning on about how to kill antelopes or drag girls by their hair some such. Little did he know he’d be famous 20,000 years later.

Johnny Caveman’s sister apparently tried to one-up him by drawing a picture of their pet ox. I think she has it farting.

There was a large and modern museum where we learned all sorts of stuff about what these drawings probably meant, and how they cleverly depicted movement and things like that. Since we arrived late because, as usual, we had no plan or idea as to what we were doing, we didn’t get to take a tour down into the valley to see the actual drawings. So after we left I stopped off the side of the road and etched my own drawings into some rocks, giggling all the while at how confused archeologists will be 1,000 years from now since of course we will never otherwise find ancient cave art of a dinosaur.