Category: TRAVELS

Two Women and five Greek Islands

After a bit of a bump (illness—poor, poor Susie), the two of us headed for the Greek islands two days late. We took a bus from Izmir to Cesme (CHESH-may), and hopped on the ferry to Chios, Greece.

Though my heart remains with the warm people of Turkey, I couldn’t help but be charmed by the light-spirited Greeks. It was a pleasant shock to see women operating as equals with men—waiting tables, driving motorbikes, and working in shops. This was quite a shift from Turkey, where nearly all service workers are male (though women are well-represented in the professional world). I was also surprised to see the ample physiques of the Greeks—obesity is rare among young Turks. A friend told us that the Greeks are the heaviest of the European populations. My theory is that their diet relies more heavily on olive oil and bread, while vegetables predominate the Turkish diet.

OCTOPUS, ANYONE? WINE PERHAPS?

Chios Town was a bustling port, the harbor ringed with outdoor coffee shops, bars, and restaurants. We wheeled our suitcases to a spot near our targeted hotel (no reservations) and ordered cold drinks. As usual, we were drenched in sweat, but smiling. I went around the corner to make reservations at the Hotel Filoxenia, which was another second-story hotel, up about 25 marble stairs. Oh, well. We managed. Our corner room had a well-lit make-up mirror, a tiny balcony, and huge windows. We were happy!

The next morning at breakfast we started chatting with a Greek man about our plans for the day, and he offered to show us the island. Takis lives in Athens but was born on Chios and loves it dearly. He drove us (in his father’s rickety old Volvo) over the mountains to a beautiful secluded beach near a lovely chapel dedicated to Saint Markella, who was killed as she tried to escape her father (who intended to rape her for becoming a Christian). We swam in the turquoise water, shared grilled fish at a small beachside restaurant, then swam and lazed in the shade while Takis visited his home village to finish plans for a home he was building there. That evening we treated him to dinner and dancing. It was quite a day, let me tell you!

TAKIS AND TWO HAPPY WOMEN

Our next stop was Mykonos, famous for its ancient windmills and pink pelicans. We took two ferries to get there, one to Samos, then another to Mykonos. They were both slow ferries, so we were able to wander the indoor decks as well as the top open deck. We enjoyed the ferries as much as the islands, which is good since we spent a good portion of our time on them. (Note to self: plan at least three days for each island, as it takes hours to travel from one to the next.)

A PINK PELICAN HITCH-HIKER ON MYKONOS

When we arrived at Mykonos, we were a bit slow getting off the ferry, so we missed the bus and the taxis. Oops! We decided to drag our suitcases down the road and see if we could flag down a taxi along the way. Two young men stopped to offer us a ride in their open Jeep. We were surprised at their offer, and I imagine they were even more surprised to see that we weren’t sweet young things. However, they never showed their disappointment; they were charming—two Turkish guys who worked on a cruise ship and had rented a jeep to go into town for the evening. They laughed their heads off at my Turkish, though they were tickled to chat with me. They dropped us off near our hotel, though we chose a long, convoluted route through the meandering crowded streets of Friday Night Mykonos.

MYKONOS CHAPEL

We finally found the Apollon Hotel, which was more than lovely. A sprightly old woman hopped off her antique daybed in the living room when we knocked on the door. She grinned as she embraced us, welcoming us warmly to her family home of hundreds of years. Although it was midnight, we went out to seek food and dancing. We ended up at a Greek taverna where we had saganaki (fried cheese) and moussaka (an eggplant hotdish). The people watching was incredible, with people dressed in every imaginable attire (including a man in a long-sleeved black T-shirt and grey briefs—my goodness!) By the time we were done eating, it was 1:30 and we were bushed. Oh, well.

After a good sleep, we packed up again (Maria needed to clean the room for her full house the next night) and headed out to explore our charming island. The streets in old Mykonos are all flat stones, and the buildings are all painted white with colored doors. It’s gorgeous. When we went back for our luggage, Maria charmed us yet again as we took her photos. Though her English is limited, she was an absolute delight, possibly my favorite thing in Mykonos.

SUSIE AND MARIA

Next stop: Santorini, our “grand destination”. The island of Santorini is actually the top of a submerged volcano that erupted thousands of years ago. The city sits atop a steep caldera like white icing, overlooking small islands in its center. The great draw of Santorini is its spectacular sunset over the caldera. The first night Susie and I found a front-row table at a city cafe, and the second night we took a taxi to the Santos Winery, where we enjoyed a flight of wines with cheese for the big event. The wine on Santorini was delicious—far better than the Turkish wines I’d grown accustomed to. Of course, my favorite drink in Greece was Mythos, their slightly-sweet beer. I’m sure I drank my share! Needless to say, we found great dancing both nights on Santorini; I dragged Susie home before sunrise each night.

SUNSET ON SANTORINI

A SANTORINI CHAPEL

We also spent a night on Naxos, where we mostly basked in the pool of our hotel to while away the heat of the day. We explored the old city in the evening, though. The streets were strewn with oleander blossoms along the route of a Catholic procession that would happen later that evening. After relaxing on a secluded beach, imbibing in a late afternoon beer, and much searching, we found a restaurant recommended in the Lonely Planet, where we had what was easily the finest meal of our trip. Such luck we have!

Actually, we had many fine meals, incredible views, and delightful experiences in both Turkey and Greece. What a month!

No one can convince me that life isn’t truly grand.

FAREWELL TO GREECE! (AT LEAST FOR NOW)

Spring break finally arrived, and I couldn’t wait to get to Trondheim to see my friends (Anne, Tony, and Nona) and to SKI! I’ve really missed skiing these past two years, so imagine my delight when I arrived in a snowstorm. Hooray! (Cross country skiing just isn’t big in Istanbul, even when there’s snow.)

Saturday afternoon we wandered the city in the snow, then opted for a movie. The city was deserted, as Norway closes down for Easter week, including Easter Monday. No buses run, no shops are open—Norwegian businesses are clearly less mercenary than American stores.

SNOWFALL ON THE RIVER NID

Easter Sunday we headed eagerly to nearby Bymarka Mountain Park to ski. Bymarka is a huge park that covers an entire mountain, and it has hundreds of kilometers of ski trails, as well as a ski jump. We stopped midway for a lunch of waffles with jetost (sweet goat cheese), lefse, and cocoa. I was amazed that rather than sitting inside, people settled happily into spots in the snow while they ate. Norwegians are DEFINITELY outdoor folks. All along our tour, we saw groups nestled into snowy settings everywhere, picnicking, sledding, and just enjoying the day.

RELAXING FOR A PICNIC IN THE SNOW

We skied 15K, then returned Monday for yet another 5K. ARAUGHHH!!!Muscles screamed from every part of my weary body. Of course, I was smiling anyway; it was welcome pain.

I’ve always considered myself a competent cross country skier. Not great, mind you, but good enough to take on nearly anything. Well, these mountain tracks are challenging, and the experience was humbling. Mere three-year-olds raced by me, as well as skiers nearly twice my age. Children too small to ski are pulled behind mom or dad in a Pulke, a cozy ski sled with a windshield. Tony skis with his dog Major attached to retractible lead, as do many skiers. Skiing is definitely a family affair. In fact, Anne and Tony had to borrow equipment for me, as there is no such thing as ski rental here. Everyone has their own gear.

SO I’VE LOST MY SKI-LEGS–BIG DEAL! ANNE AND ME AND NONA:

Trondheim is gorgeous—mountains, lovely multicolored buildings, a river (Nid) through the city, ancient cathedrals, and the fjord–ah, yes, the fjord. After our Easter ski, we took a drive along the fjord to revel in the picturesque shoreline punctuated by fishing huts and lovely farms. Norway is obviously a prosperous country. In fact, it is one of the wealthiest countries in the world. And it shows. People aren’t ostentatious, but I saw nothing that even approaches poverty. And NOTHING here is cheap.

Monday night we ate at a little restaurant called Tavern Vertshus Siden 1739. That would make it nearly 300 years old, wouldn’t it? My goodness! It was a charming place, with a maze of tiny rooms leading off the main bar room. The tavern must have been an inn at one time, still decorated with rugged antiques. We stepped back into another century. We chose the buffet menu of salad, boiled potatoes, and spare ribs with BBQ sauce to die for. YUM!

DINING AT THE TAVERN VERTSHUS SIDEN 1793

I’ve also done other tourist things. We toured the gothic Nidaros Cathedral (circa 1000-1100), which houses the tomb of St. Olaf. Dark.

PEERING UP THE SPIRES OF THE NIDAROS CATHEDRAL

Then Tony guided Nona and me to a number of secondhand stores, where beautiful Norwegian sweaters can be purchased for five to thirty dollars. Not bad, compared to the $300 retail prices. Then yesterday we visited the National Museum of Decorative Arts, an eclectic collection of items from the 1700’s on. We’ve also meandered much of the city in pursuit of its many statues.

THE WELCOME WOMEN AT THE INFORMATION BOOTH

Our last stop yesterday was the public library, one of the nicest I’ve ever seen. We had a mid-afternoon latte in the library coffee shop, then headed home to make a delectable creamy fish soup. YUM! Today I helped out with a Macbeth project at Anne’s school, and tomorrow–who knows?

The snow has melted, and the sun is shining. As I often say, life is good!

It wasn’t easy getting to Jordan; the winds were high, and the ferry delayed. In fact, our ferry from Nuweiba, Egypt, to Aqaba, Jordan, sat out on the Red sea overnight. The only thing worse than waiting, waiting, waiting must have been sitting out on that ship—seasick, seasick, seasick.

We got to the ferry landing about ten o’clock Monday morning and waited all day. The back window of our van exploded (high winds?), and Mollie, Allana, and Leslie treated us to a hilarious sock-puppet show in the empty back window. “Put a sock in it!” “Do they let Red Sox into Jordan?”, “Once again, you’ve put your foot in your mouth!” What joy to travel with young people.

We finally gave up waiting for the ferry at 6 PM and found ourselves rooms at a quaint beachside hotel where they treated us like royalty. After a delicious Egyptian dinner, our host encouraged us to check out the beach (VERY windy), where we discovered a thatched-roof, adobe-walled disco that became our home for the night.

Our waiter spun the tunes and played the lights, while the owner pulled out water pipes. The chef grilled corn and sweet potatoes and brought out spiced nut and bean snacks. We danced off our huge dinner, then laughed ourselves silly at the cross-dresser-belly-dancer. Leslie raved, “I had a crush on him before his act, but now I’m CRAZY about him!” Too funny!

We finally boarded the ferry the next day after waiting in the station for three hours. We waited two more on board as they loaded, took three hours crossing, waited another hour to disembark, and stood yet another at customs—10 hours! Passport distribution in Aqaba was a joke. A guard read off passport names one-by-one as he held them aloft for anyone to grab. ARAUGHHH!!!! One of our travel companions quipped, “They couldn’t make this system less efficient if they tried!” Too true.

On Wednesday morning we finally made our way to Wadi Rum, a desert preserve in southern Jordan. It was BEAUTIFUL! We rode on benches in the bed of a 4-wheel-drive Toyota pickup, soaking in the moonscape terrain. We’d been outfitted in Arab red-and-white scarves, protection from sun, wind, sand, and cold as we raced across the sands.

A Bedouin rode up and offered us rides on his camel. (Mere coincidence?) We took a break to indulge. That was when I learned that our driver, Abu Kamel, had two wives. According to our guide, “He drinks camel milk, which gives him too much ‘energy’ for one wife.” Hmmm…

We explored the steep dunes barefoot, racing down and trudging back up. We drank Bedouin tea and relaxed with a HUGE outdoor lunch of countless dishes, my favorite a grilled eggplant salad. My goodness, it was GOOD! For about ten dollars we ate like kings.

There were two other things I loved in Jordan. The first was Petra, which must be seen to be believed. The most impressive scenes of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade were filmed there, and I felt like an ancient explorer stepping into a secret world. Petra is a hidden valley in southwestern Jordan with spectacular classical facades carved right into the valley’s sandstone cliffs (by the Nabateans and the Greeks, for the most part). It’s spectacular, especially after hiking through the Siq, a narrow rock gorge (1.2 K long and 3 to 12 meters wide) that serves as the main entrance to the ancient city. Our guide, Mahmud, pointed out niches and carvings as we strolled down the Siq, but I’ll never forget my amazement as we viewed the impressive 3-story treasury building through the slit of rock ahead. Amazing!

We were awed at the many structures carved from the rock walls of Petra, but the most fascinating part of the day was our guide. Mahmud had grown up a Bedouin shepherd, shoeless and with one set of clothes. He shared many stories of growing up in a Petra cave, moving to the desert for the summer. His father had chosen him, the middle of nine children, to attend school in the winter. Mahmud hadn’t wanted to leave his world of goats and camels, but his father urged him to travel the 15 K to school, each morning saying, “just one more day.” Day after day, Mahmud hiked up the Siq and found a ride to school. Obviously a very bright man, he had been singled out by King Hussein as one of the top students in Jordan. He told of his anxious trip to Amman to meet the king, who paid for his high school education in England and university in Amman. “I was the only one of my siblings able to get an education,” he told us apologetically. “We all still struggle with the cultural shifts. My mother still lives in a tent, though the government has built her a house. When I’m feeling stressed, I visit her and find great peace in the smells of my childhood,” he said. Mahmud now has a wife and three children, and he feels stress about providing for them, just as his parents did.

So many stories, and so little space to share them.

Our last adventure was an afternoon at the Dead Sea. My goodness, if you ever wondered what it’s like to be a cork, go to the Dead Sea. It’s the most dense, most saline water in the world. While most oceans have 3.5% salinity, the Dead Sea has 30%. A jump into the Dead Sea evokes immediate hysterics, let me tell you. I never imagined it could be such a hoot to lie on TOP of the water, rolling like a bobble toy. You can lie in the water with arms and legs up in the air and STILL float! We met a film crew slathering themselves with Dead Sea mud along the shore, so of course we joined them. It was a blast, and Allana agreed to being buried in the heavy black stuff. (Of course, our skin is now beautiful.) People pay thousands of dollars for the same treatment, and we got it for free, including laughter therapy.

Well, all good things must come to and end, and we eventually left the water (and mud), said goodbye to Jordan, and flew back home to Istanbul.

I do love this life!

Ask me why I never realized that Mount Sinai was in Egypt. Never a great geographic or Biblical scholar, I still could have figured it out. I knew that Mount Sinai was the site of the burning bush where Moses received the tablets of the ten commandments as he led his people out of Egypt. Sinai peninsula—yup!
Our well-loved guide Moustafa met us at the Sharm el Sheikh ferry station and brought us to Dahab, a popular Red Sea diving community. We stayed in a luxurious beachside hotel, where we took full advantage of the pristine beaches and sunshine. We’d be leaving to climb Mount Sinai at 2:00 AM so we could experience the night sky and the spectacular Sinai sunrise.
Or not.
We climbed into our van bleary-eyed, shocked that we had our own private security guard, Khalef. He was a clean cut young man sporting a formal suit, and we didn’t realize until two days later that his jacket concealed a considerable weapon. He charmed us through five (count them) security roadblocks, one where we had to show our passports. Mount Sinai is well-protected.
Just our luck, the weather had turned cold, and St. Catherine’s Monastery at the foot of the mountain would be closed (Sunday), so there would be few hikers on a trek usually made by hundreds.
When we were told that the peak was snowy, my warm-weather friend Terri announced, “I have no burning desire to do this climb,” and returned to the van to sleep for the six hours we’d be gone.
The rest of us donned our warmies and started up the wide, dark, rocky path. Our Bedoin guide, Mahmud, often climbs the mountain two or three times a day (6 K each way to the 7,498 foot summit) . We smelled camels and were offered camel rides from the darkness, but we refused.
It took us a while to get used to the slope, and breathing was hard. The cold was shocking, too–about five degrees Fahrenheit with a major wind chill. Quite a change from lounging on the beach that afternoon. We were FREEZING!
Moustafa had never climed Mount Sinai and he’d never seen snow, so when spots of white appeared along the path, he was excited. Within an hour of climbing our shoes were soggy from the ever-increasing snow.
Rock hut refreshment stops are scattered along the path, but most of them were closed. About halfway up the mountain, Mahmud led us into a hut and lit a lamp. Lo and behold, there was a young Bedoin man curled up under blankets in the corner of what seemed like a little corner store, complete with a gas burner. Moustafa treated us to coffee, tea, and candy bars while we chatted with our guide and his friend.
Once again warm, we braced ourselves to continue our trek, which grew steeper, icier, and more difficult. Determined to get to the top, stars or no, we picked our way carefully up the mountainside, avoiding icy spots. We had flashlights, and the moon cast a pale glow through the fog and snow.
I thought we had 149 rock steps to climb near the summit, so you can imagine my dismay when I learned there were 749. Mahmud called them the Steps of Repentance, and believe me, I repented every stupid thing I’ve ever said or done. That’s a LOT of steps (and I’ve done a LOT of stupid things).
Actually, there’s another route up Mount Sinai, 3750 steps straight up the mountain, built by a monk as repentance for his transgressions, (which must have been considerable). Imagine how much repenting you’d do on THOSE steps!
Along the way we came across a small group trying to revive a man who had passed out from the altitude. THAT was a bit unsettling, but our guide seemed unruffled, so we continued. We saw the man later, helping a woman as she slipped down the path. Unfortunately, a number of hikers were underdressed and wearing slick (though fashionable) footwear. Oops!
In any case, we finally made it to the top, where there’s a small mosque (12th century) and the Chapel of the Holy Trinity. A group of young Egyptians were huddled under blankets on the lee side of the chapel, and they invited me to join them. They enjoyed practicing their English, and I found them very entertaining.
The sun rose while we were on Mount Sinai, the only sign a hint of light through the enveloping clouds. We shivered at the summit for about 20 minutes, then headed back down. Sun peeked through the clouds a few times, and the girls attacked Moustafa with snowballs. He was a fast learner and insists that he won in spite of getting snow down his neck. It’s a guy thing.
When we finally got to the bottom, Moustafa negotiated a private tour of the St. Catherine’s Monastery to see the reputed Burning Bush, a huge weeping rosebush. The monastery houses a Christian church, a Jewish synagogue, and a Muslim Mosque. All three faiths share the Old Testament, and at least in that one monastery, they cohabit peacefully.
Would that it happened everywhere!

I’ve just spent ten days in Egypt, exploring Cairo, the Nile River Valley
(on a cruise ship), and the Sinai peninsula, which was my favorite.
Actually, i’ve had a lot of favorite experiences. It goes without saying
that 4000 years’ worth of pyramids, tombs, and temples are awe-inspiring. We
even visited the Temple of Karnak, which should bring smiles to anyone old
enough to remember Johnny Carson.

Anyway,one of our most interesting experiences was a felucca ride on the
Nile. A felucca is a fairly primitive sailboat used along the Nile.
It has one sail that hangs at a bit of a slant from its single mast, much
like a sailfish sail, and one man runs the boat, which can hold as many as
12 or 14 people. Anyway, we had two delightful felucca rides in Aswan (which
is LOVELY), so when we had a free afternoon in Luxor, we decided to hire a
felucca on our own. We did that before checking the wind. DUH!

My friend Allana negotiated a great price–the equivalent of 9 dollars for a
two-hour sail to Banana Island, exactly half of what the young captain
requested. Of course, he initially refused the price, but when we walked
away, he agreed to it. Business was slow.

Captain Fox hoisted the sail, but he had to row out of the dock using hand-
crafted oars made from 2 by 4 lumber, painted. They were pretty worthless,
particularly for a 20-foot long and 8-foot wide boat. He assured us that he
would get out onto the river and catch the wind. What wind? Our tour guide,
Aiman moved in to row with him, and they were both working hard. Captain Fox
removed his sweater, then his shirt. He kept a t-shirt on, though. (I never
saw an Egyptian man shirtless.) They rowed us all the way across the Nile to
a group of people who were standing by some motorboat ferries, so we felt
confident that we’d get a tow. Nope.

Captain Fox removed his jeans (He had patterned boxers, which were quite nice),
hopped off the boat, and began TOWING us along the shore. We felt terrible.
it had been well over 45 minutes, and we begged him to give up and we’d help
row back. No dice. he was pulling toward a water buffalo, which we thought
might be enlisted to service the boat. he pulled on by it, sloshing through
the muddy riverbank, sometimes up on the prickly grass banks. He pulled us
by a few camels who looked at us curiously, but Captain Fox continued. He
was determined to get his fee–and to get us to the promised Banana island.
Allana reminded us that he had been well aware that there was no wind, and
that he knew what he’d been getting into. True, but it didn’t make us feel
much better.

He enlisted Aiman (our guide) to wave a white scarf as boats came by, which
became quite a production. Who could resist?

A tugboat finally came by towing two other feluccas, and they sidled up to
pick up a tow rope. There we were, three sailboats lined up behind a
tugboat. ‘The Nile Felucca Choo-Choo” Dee dubbed it. It was pretty
hilarious.

All good things come to an end, though, and the tow rope came
untied, so once again we were stranded in the middle of the river. Captain
Fox let us ‘woman’ the oars, which was fun–we rowed back to shore, and our
intrepid hero jumped back into the water and manned a new tow rope.

We finally arrived at Banana Island, after a farmer chewed out our Captain
for treading on his land. I think he wanted money or something. Captain Fox
pulled his jeans back on and escorted us up a path away from the water.
There we were treated to a serviceable bathroom, a banana plantation tour,
and a few bunches of delicious (though tiny) bananas. When we got back to
the felucca, Captain Fox scrubbed down the decks and pulled out a little
stove to brew us some tea. Nile water tea? Though we weren’t sure about
drinking it, we were all too polite to refuse. he had a little table on
board for serving, and he spooned in sugar from a china sugar bowl.

WE assumed we’d be towed back to the dock, especially since Captain Fox took
endless time cleaning up, tying up the sail, putting his shirt back on, etc.
We were pretty astonished when he pulled out the oars again.

No one offered to tow us, and we all took turns rowing the boat back across
the nile. Fortunately, this trip was downstream, so it wasn’t as strenuous.
There was no towing, just rowing.

We watched the sun set over the Nile,
laughed as we raced to escape the path of an oncoming cruise ship, and bid
our friendly captain a fond farewell. of course we gave him a big tip. A
HUGE tip. He had known exactly what he was doing. We negotiated a great bargain,
we had a delightful adventure, and he was well paid. Everyone was happy.

My goodness, we had a good time! Never mind that we had to leave campus at 3:00 AM. Never mind that it was drizzling when we landed. Never mind that I didn’t get quite enough sleep. I had a WONDERFUL holiday in Prague.

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We ten started our 5-day sojourn in Prague with a bus-tour-on-foot. That was a bit of a shock, as a few of our group had their warm clothes tucked away in suitcases. Inaccessible suitcases, as we wouldn’t be able to check in until afternoon. Luckily, the drizzle had subsided, and our Turkish-speaking tour guide (yes, another problem) did his best to communicate with us in English. Hmmm… So much for booking through a Turkish travel agent!

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Anyway, we navigated our way through the Prague Castle and St. Vitus’ Cathedral (OH, my goodness, it was splendid!), then on down through narrow cobbled streets to the famous Charles Bridge that crosses the Vlatava River.

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We gaped, gasped, and shivered our way across the bridge with throngs of other tourists, all enjoying the many statues, musicians, and artists along the way. I guess that’s why it’s such a hit; there’s plenty to see along the Charles Bridge.

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Our favorite was the statue to Prague’s Saint John of Nepomuk, who we had also seen in St. Vitus’ Cathedral. Friar Nepomuk had been a confessor to Queen Sophie and refused to reveal her secret lover to “Good?” King Wenceslas IV. After being tortured to death, his body was thrown from the Charles Bridge, and legend has it that bright light and five stars appeared from the water below the bridge. He was canonized in 1729, over 300 years after his death. His statue is a favorite on the bridge, and people wait in long lines to touch two brass reliefs at the foot of the statue for good luck. We were told later that touching the dog picture brings bad luck. Go figure!

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Speaking of dogs, they are on leashes everywhere in Prague. How different from Istanbul, where a leashed dog is a rarity. Libby would have been in heaven!

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We were chilled to the bone by the time we reached the Old Town Square and the Astronomical Clock. Some settled into a warm restaurant for coffee, while others of us hit the Christmas market for mulled wine and pork sausage. HEAVEN! You have NO idea how delicious a fat, juicy pork sausage tastes if you’ve been deprived of it for months. Hog heaven!

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We finally found our way to our hotel, which was lovely. The restaurant was cozy and had a delicious and reasonably-priced menu, and the newly-renovated rooms were tastefully decorated and spotless. Laura and I scored a spacious corner attic room, which she dubbed “the nicest hotel room I’ve ever stayed in!” Remember, though, that Laura has been living in hostels for the past month.

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Laura and I had a bowl of soup, dropped our clothes, and headed back into the city. Our hotel was near a tramline, and we found our way around the city easily using trams and metros. There was a noticeable absence of traffic, too, probably due to Prague’s convenient and inexpensive public transportation system.

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We wandered through the Christmas market again and across the Charles Bridge, then rested our weary feet in a little pub that served us “Christmas crepes”, which were over-priced Christmas cookies from a tin—the kind that all taste the same. The mulled wine and hot chocolate were good, though. After an hour in a used bookstore (a veritable treasure trove) we took in a music concert at the Lichtenstein Palace (they let Laura in free because she was Laura–my inimitable, charming niece), then stopped afterwards for hot ham sandwiches before heading back to the hotel.

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Sunday dawned clear, and four of us (Dee, Terri, Laura, and I) headed off for Kutna Hora, a town famous for a number of churches, including a Bone Church. Hmmm… It was fascinating–though a bit macabre. Most everything was closed, so we had a hard time finding our way to the Cathedral of St. Barbara. Our reward was an evening mass, complete with organ music and a children’s choir. It was spectacular to experience that 14th century splendor in the glory of worship. We felt a little like interlopers, but we kept our hands folded as we gawked at the workmanship of 500 years of effort.

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We got back to Prague just in time to be overwhelmed by the New Year’s Eve festivities on Wenceslaus Square. A brilliantly lit stage throbbed with music just below the National Museum, also lit and decorated for the event. Even at 7:00 crowds milled as the evening’s celebrations began. We wandered through the area and then on to the Old Town Square, which had its own celebration well in hand. We indulged in another meal of pork sausage and mulled wine–why not?

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We gathered at the hotel to ring in the New Year with our friends, amazed at the MASS of fireworks going off in the street as well as overhead, especially at 12:00. Young men sang in bass voices from across the street, and one climbed out on the roof just after 12:00. Maybe not such a good idea for someone who’d been drinking! A few of us finished off the night with a trek to the local pub, where we were warmly welcomed by an artist, his wife, and their grown daughter. That evening rubbing elbows with the locals was a real highlight for us.

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Another highlight of our trip was a tour of the Jewish Ghetto. We hired a private guide (for a whopping six dollars), and this elderly woman fascinated us for two hours with information about the history and lives of the Jews in Prague, trekking through the synagogues, through the streets, and around the Jewish Cemetery. It wasn’t until she finished her tour that we asked where she had been during the war. She’d been in hiding with her father until near the end of the war, when they were sent to Terazin Concentration Camp. The rest of her family had been deported sooner, and none of them survived. Hitler’s troops anihilated all but 15 percent of Prague’s Jews.

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The rest of the week was replete with shopping, eating, a boat tour, museums, a jazz club, and a pub crawl. We stayed busy every minute, yet somehow found time to sleep. I’m not just sure how.

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Our last stop in Prague was the grocery store. We came back with pounds of ham, bacon, sausage, and cheese. Of course, Prague has MUCH more exciting things to offer. It’s just that we live in Istanbul.