More on the Seas

Loaves of bread consumed: 10 (8 on Santorini)
- We got into the fresh bread routine late, but we made up for lost time. There are few things more integral to the diet of the budget traveler on the road, then a healthy dose of warm, fresh bread on a daily basis. With cheese, Nutella, salami, bologna, olive oil, salt, and even nothing at all, bread makes the day. A country loaf can be purchased from an island fornos for around sixty cents, and rarely does pocket change not cover such a purchase. Be it morning, noon, or night, you can always find a bakery that will be open, with a grizzled chap in a sleeveless shirt dourly manning the counter. His eyes brighten a little at your entrance, somewhat more at your decision to purchase anything, and then, if this happens to be the case, even more when you snag something more than just the cheap bread. This morning, I caved and got a small bag of fresh cookies in addition to the usual breadstuffs. Definitely don’t regret the crispy raisin cookies nor the softer honey-walnut.

Bicycles Rented: 3 (Rethymno)
- One word. Sunscreen on calves. Alright, that’s three words, but I’m a heavy tipper (hat’s off to those Rocky and Bullwinkle fans among the readership). Anyway, that’s really all that’s needs to be said. Oh yeah: don’t play chicken with a bus while on a bike. You really can’t win.

Impressively Overladen Waiters Furtively Observed: 1 (Cafe Classico, Fira, Santorini)
- See the earlier note about the expensive beer. The waiter serving the beverages managed to balance hefty drinks in the double digits on a single tray and then bound up and down stairs without breaking a sweat... or a glass. Reminded me of Hello Dolly... no actually, it didn’t, but I thought that would be a good pop culture reference. See, I'm hip.

Times we ran into the same Russo-Canadian: Too Many
- E- (for the sake of discretion I'll avoid using his full name), a Soviet-born Canadian finishing up an engineering degree at Trinity College, somehow managed to find us time and again on the islands of Crete and Santorini. Accompanied by one other Canadian (presumably), his so-called “traveling mate,” E- was putzing about in Europe for the umpteenth time and had an endless store of inane stories which he felt no compunction about sharing. He originally approached us on the ferry to Crete and then popped up at regular intervals thereafter. His preferred method of saluting us was the sudden, “Hullo,” and we’d turn to find him crouched beside us grinning from ear to ear. Every random encounter invariably concluded with an exhortation to get together, travel together, and “party and drink.” Needless to say, we somehow managed to avoid the planned rendevouz yet E- never failed to remain unflappably assured of our good intentions. The traveling utopia he seemed intent on constructing was obscured by one enormous obstacle... himself. A reasonably nice guy with absolutely nothing to say, he disarmingly ridiculous and the persistence of chance in arranging our meetings only added to the hilarity that arose whenever his presence invaded our wanderings. His traveling companion was far less distinguishable; a fly-catching (slack-jawed) sort of fellow who seemed to have lost command of his lower jaw, I didn’t hear him say more than two words, the entire course of our admittedly brief interactions. Given the sheer volume of verbiage spewing from hsi friend though, the contrast was akin to Podunk Falls and Niagara. He, traveling mate, remained an enigma that I had no interest in cracking.

Cones of ice cream consumed: 11 (between me and Emily)
- Nummy. That includes “cookies” a flavor that’s not quite cookies ‘n cream, but too hauntingly familiar to be foreign in origin. The girls were suitably impressed that you can get a cone of ice cream filled to the bottom for one euro. I’ve been impressed that I haven’t been eating more ice cream while in Greece. Man, that stuff is great.

Tiny little shells found for tiny little Goodwin girls: 2
- I think sea snails and hermit crabs only come in one size on the Greek islands...extra small. I’ve only found their empty shells, but none have been bigger than the nail on my pinky toe... which is to say, very small.

Kooky men talking to themselves (in a voice like a castrati) dressed only in purple and gold chains: 1
- No comment.

Times Greek men have whistled or catcalled at girls I am with (on this trip alone): Countless.
- You might as well substitute French, Italian, or Greek male for sleazebag in the Oxford English Dictionary. I’ve seen every caliber of man, from the greasiest street rat to the toniest Kolonaki-dwelling urbanite all engage in the same pathetic hissing, pinching and cooing. Really tragically pathetic and distasteful. It's terrible to generalize, but there's no way around it. Chivalry's more than dead here; it's being routinely dug up from its grave, drawn and quartered, then put back under sod.

Taverna dinners: 2
- The constraints of the budget limited our ability to engage in the regular taverna feasting that has been a staple of most traveling thus far (this trip featured a lot of breads, spreads and cheese). We did manage, though, to have a couple good meals. The best and most homegrown was at Taverna Pontios, run by the woman of the same last name, who served us herself and treated us to both homemade wine and raki over the course of the meal. Cretan to a fault and unlike any other meal I’ve had in Greece, the stuffed kalamari and strange lamb-spiced pea-potato-tomato-cheese combo wrapped in foil concluded the day’s dining perfectly.