I found Costco yesterday. As it turns out, it’s across the street from La Organica, a vegetarian-friendly restaurant recommended by my hosts. Jorge even drove me there as he was on his way out to get beer. Viviana was home preparing for her meditation class, held on the main floor of their home. The night I arrived, she was having a class on Middle Eastern mysticism or something of the like. Viviana is a renaissance woman.
The shy and elusive Costco barely visible amongst the forest vegetation.
At Jorge’s suggestion, I walked to el Parque Urbano Kabah this morning. I wanted it to be brisk so I did not have coffee beforehand, The thought of that caffeine fix made for a pace that would make my running group proud. The park is in the middle of busy downtown Cancún, however when you are within its perimeters, the city and it’s noise fall away and peace abounds. Lots of walkers and runners, and even an outdoor gym where a handful of young men were getting their reps in.
I even came across a critter. Dr. Google says it’s a coati…part of the raccoon family. It was having breakfast and though it kept an eye on me (and vice versa) it did not appear flustered. I’ll admit I was a bit, only because I had no idea what it was. Now that I know it has very long sharp teeth, I will continue to keep a respectful distance.
Haven’t made it to the beach yet. There’s lots of time for that and I’m enjoying being in the midst of Mexican life instead of the tourist bubble. The pool here is gorgeous and mostly empty. Ahhh…
So this post isn’t about travel, but it’s a story that needs to be told.
On October 24, 2018, I went to a flu clinic in the building adjacent to mine for my annual flu shot. The shot itself was quite painful, and I noted that the clinician – a pharmacist from a nearby national drug chain – had injected me high up on the arm, close to my shoulder. The pain was quite intense but it eased after about 48 hours.
I’ll make a very long story short. The pain returned about a week after the shot, and it affected daily life significantly. I saw a duty doctor in December who diagnosed nerve pain and prescribed something that did nothing for the arm but made me seriously contemplate suicide (stay away from old antidepressants). In December I saw another duty doctor with more experience. He gave me a strong anti inflammatory (and told me to stay away from anyone who wants to give me a flu shot who isn’t a doctor).
The second round of meds helped a lot with symptoms but the pain and weakness persisted so I saw my own doctor in February. She ordered an X-ray (it didn’t show anything) and wrote a referral to a local physiotherapist who she said was the best.
She was right! Andrea’s diagnosis got right to the heart of the issue and within a week or so, with some work on my part, I started to feel a lot better. I continued my visits and the exercises, seeing her for the last time on Monday of this week. Immediately afterwards, I submitted my claim to Sun Life for more than $500 in physio fees.
This morning, I received notification from Sun Life that the claim had been processed. And denied. Reason? My doctor had failed to include the word “physiotherapy” on the referral. She had gone a step too far and written the name and location of the physiotherapist she wanted me to see. It apparently doesn’t matter to Sun Life that they have this physiotherapist in their data base…that they know she’s a physiotherapist….the word must be on the prescription.
Yes, I will fight this. But I gotta tell you, I’m gonna think twice before I let anyone approach me with a needle. Unless it’s filled with something that’s gonna make all this go away…
Sitting in Marco Polo, the coffee lounge on the ground floor of the building I used to call home. It’s fitting somehow…Marco Polo was an explorer, and looking ahead, I feel a certain kinship with him. Beyond the urge to travel, we have nothing in common of course. Imagine what the early explorers could have done if they’d had internet…keeping tabs on the castle via Alexa, setting up online banking to make sure the rent on the catacombs was collected on time…Speaking of internet, I’ve been a week without it. I am every bit as hooked and dependent as any 20-something. I’m developing a nervous tick as I think about all the crap I missed this week.
Another chapter comes to an end.
So…moving….not a gift. Despite my best efforts, I still own way too much stuff. And the fact that I’m heading out for an undetermined period of travel doesn’t seem to have deterred me from wanting more. I was looking at a linen dress in Winners a few days ago…after all, I only have five…and only two blue ones…I can justify anything. And no, I didn’t buy it. But I really wanted it.
Not much left to do. After experiencing total mental exhaustion worrying about how to prepare the car for storage, I’ve decided to take it for a long drive, wash it and park it. This Golf is such a diva. I never worried about leaving the Echo for any period of time, and it never let me down. This computerized puff ball has all kinds of wants and needs in comparison, but I’m practicing tough love.
I received an email yesterday morning from a woman I don’t know. She said she was at Cardamom House near Athoor Village, Dindigul, South India and had just picked up a book I left there in 2011. The book was Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand (excellent as I recall), and I apparently left a note with my email address inside of the front cover along with an invitation to visit Nova Scotia. I remember Cardamom House…an oasis in the middle of nowhere with excellent food and staff who catered to my every whim. It was my first visit to India, and I was travelling with a driver…staying at places hand-picked by a travel agent who wanted to present the best that his country had to offer. I don’t travel that way anymore, opting instead to find my own way through the most chaotic country on earth, so the memories this evoked were sublime.
Thanks to Apple, I can’t find most of my earlier photos. So pictures of pictures will have to suffice.Shot of this family is one of my favourites.
Back to the email. Jane said she didn’t foresee being in Nova Scotia anytime soon, but she invited to me look her up in the event that I was ever in the UK. As it happens, I finalized two bookings in the UK about a week ago – one in Cheltenham in the Cotswolds and the second in Swansea, Wales. Guess where Jane lives. A 30-minute drive from Cheltenham. And guess where Ruth lives…Ruth whom I met three years ago in Bangkok. Ruth lives in Swansea. I didn’t remember that until it was pointed out to me by Lucinda, a friend of Ruth’s whom I met exactly two years ago in India.
Lou and I in Mumbai.The lovely Ruth.
The universe in general and this planet in particular are astonishing places. Had this email arrived ten days or two weeks ago, it would have been a pleasant diversion. But it arrived yesterday., after I had finalized the Airbnb reservation. Nearly eight years after I penned that offer of Nova Scotian hospitality. So instead of looking ahead to complete solitude over the summer of 2019, I now have two solid connections in these unknown places. Because I do intend to contact Jane when I get to England. I just can’t ignore this obvious signal that there is something there for me to explore. It may be uplifting, it may be downright depressing, but undoubtedly, it will teach me something. And I’m looking forward to seeing Ruth, Kate and Lou again to take up where we left off in Asia.
The countdown to March 27th is on! On that day, I will be officially homeless. All of my earthly belongings will be in storage, and I will have borrowed an address to satisfy societal norms. I do hope you’ll come with me…
Last on our itinerary, and certainly not least, is the tiny island of Antiparos with our hosts Arie and Meghana, their young son Nirvan and dog Maya who is reddish brown with a grey face and looks like a small wolf.
I don’t know how to describe this place. For one thing, it is ginormous. It appears to be a series of separate houses connected by cobblestone paths, vegetable and flower gardens. The landscaping is indigenous to the area, and as a consequence is lush and green in comparison to the dry, scrub vegetation that dominates the region.
There are two pools, one outside of my room which is situated in a separate building above the main house. The second, larger pool (both infinity style) is below the main house, overlooking the sea and completely hidden from view. I only found it with the help of the dog. In total, there must be room for 30 or more people on this property. All rooms have their own attached bathroom and several feature small kitchens.
Lower, bigger pool.
Upper pool.
Arie is an artist of sorts and Meghana is a former model who was born in Mumbai. They live most of the year in Tel Aviv but for three months, June to August, they call this island home.
We had dinner with our hosts and their friend Michaelis our last night on the island.
Antiparos is beautiful, quiet and deserted in comparison to its bigger sister Mykonos. I prefer this pace. It I were rich – and I would need to be – I could stay here indefinitely. The population in winter is 800, and the temps never fall below zero. You could walk this island easily, day after day, in the 280 days of sunshine that Greece gets each year.
They dry fish at the restaurant…tough gig for a vegetarian.
I don’t remember if I mentioned the water temperature. It is simply perfect. But given that the pools are right here …
Just a few days left in my Greek adventure. We leave tomorrow for the smaller, less populated Antiparos where we will again be staying with one of Evi’s wide circle of friends.
Mykonos has been a gift after the congestion of Athens. It is crowded in town of course. Ferry after ferry arrives filled with vacationers anxious to experience the charm of island life, but the heavy crowds won’t arrive for another couple of weeks. Weather has been fabulous, as usual.
We are staying with Babis, a friend of Evi’s from way back. She actually worked for him a long time ago at the older of the two clubs he owns here. We visited them yesterday but Astra, the older place, was closed with no one about so we couldn’t get in. We were luckier at Void; the cleaning staff was there preparing for the evening. Christo, one of the senior managers, invited us in and insisted that we visit the VIP area upstairs, the place that costs a ton of money to gain access to. They get a lot of celebrities there from the sound of it. Babis is actually friends with Keith Richards and there are a couple of Stones pictures in his home and an original of Keith in a place of honour in the living room. Wonder if I’m sleeping in his room…
My bathroom. Has Keith Richards showered here?
Evi doing home improvements.
Another amazing house!
We have been all over the island since our arrival. Evi has spent a good deal of time here and she had many places to show me….houses of friends and former lovers, secluded beaches far from the crowds, the church where she and Nicos got married, a grocery store with a live DJ that caters to the rich and famous from all over the world.
The entrance to Astra where Evi used to work.
We stopped at a small beach this afternoon for a swim. There were only two other people there – both male and both naked. Evi also swims in the nudeso once we had settled, I was the only one not in my birthday suit. India this is not😀
I am sitting at a cafe in the seaside town of Galaxidi. Evi is at her weekend yoga retreat, and I am on my own. Even the simplest of tasks seems difficult in a different country. For instance, I have yet to figure out coffee. I ordered a double espresso, thinking it would be double the amount. Instead, it is double the strength. I will be good and truly buzzed by the time I consume the ounce of liquid in my cup.
The port is lined with seafood restaurants and casual cafes.
Peloponnese is a part of Greece about which I had heard little before this trip. It has been a wonderful surprise. From Koilada and Evi’s friend’s villa, we took day trips – the first to Nafplio, the former capital of Greece. Nafplio is beautiful….nestled against the sea with a majestic castle overlooking it from above and a second guarding it from the centre of the harbour. Actually, I think the building on the island was a prison but I prefer to think happy thoughts…lalala…instead of about the potential horrors that occurred there.
Who knows what happened here?
The tiny island of Spetses was about a 30-minute drive from the villa, followed by a 12-minute zip across the water. We took one of the private boats over and the larger passenger ferry back. Spetses seems like a playground for the rich; indeed, much of this area is filled with estates and yachts owned by wealthy folks from Athens who can zip out by boat or BMW for a quick getaway.
The water is that particular shade of green.
Contrary to popular belief, she is rolling a cigarette.
One of the smaller yachts moored in the harbour.
We left Koilada Thursday afternoon after one last swim in that incredible pool. Along the way, we visited a national historic site, the name of which I failed to capture, consisting of two small churches hidden away in a grotto accessible by a set of steps hollowed out of rock. It was so peaceful there…we were alone until the sound of an engine broke the silence and a busload of French tourists descended. I helped out with directions until their tour guide showed up. We may never see them again😀
Yesterday morning, we walked for about 10 kms along a narrow gauge railway line that runs through – and I do mean through – the mountains. Countless tunnels and trestle bridges with a river running alongside. This is not an abandoned line; the train runs four times daily and we had no idea of when because Greece doesn’t seem to think this kind of detail is important. Scenes from Stand By Me flitted through my brain until finally, my worst fears were confirmed. A train appeared about 100 metres in front of us. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that this did not happen on a bridge…or in a tunnel…I haven’t run in quite some time and I’d rather not think about what the outcome might have been.
I dropped Evi off at her guest house when we arrived in town and drove down to the port to see if I could find some accommodation. Luckily, I ran into a waiter at one of the restaurants who “knows everyone”. He made several calls before he found a room for me at Koukanas Hotel…clean and central for 25 Euros per night!
Athens is in the midst of an early heat wave, with temps in the mid 30s. Every ounce of water I consume in the run of a day – and I consume a lot – comes out of my pores as my body work overtime to keep me from frying. I have never been so cavalier about the location of public restrooms…
Aside from sleeping, life happens al fresco here. Cafes, bars, restaurants are everywhere and are filled to capacity until the wee hours. The streets, subway, trams and buses are jam-packed with folks coming and going, but they all seem to take time to sit and sip and chat or simply watch the world go by.
There is another guest at my Air BnB – Galena from Moscow – and we have been sightseeing together. Thanks to her, I have seen most of the attractions in the Centre. We try to get out early in the morning and again in late afternoon when it isn’t quite so hot.
Galena leading the way.
At the Roman Agora.
Which direction?
Lykeon
Evi picked me up mid-afternoon yesterday and we headed for the outskirts of Athens, driving the length of the coast past countless beaches. We drove a long, long way before we found a beach that suited us (meaning almost no people) and I had a wonderful dip in the sea! Afterwards, dinner at a lovely little taverna, finishing in time to watch the sun set from the Temple of Apollo.
My seat mate from Halifax to Montreal was a tiny, bird-like woman with a kind face and a fairly thick Newfoundland accent. We settled In and exchanged pleasantries, and I began to get sleepy as I normally do upon takeoff. It was going to be a quick, painless jump to Montreal before the long-haul flight to Athens.
I was right about neither of those predictions. Because no flight is quick when you are sitting next to a woman who is obviously starving for conversation….one-sided conversation. Painless it was not…
I smiled my way through the description of her children and grandchildren. We then moved on to her husband and his unwillingness to travel or do anything that can be considered fun which is why she travels on her own, leaving him in Deer Lake to his small business and preoccupation with the cars that they’ve purchased for their granddaughters. Then it was the children’s divorces and the inability of their exes to handle money or teach children how to be self-sufficient. Quick on the heels of that, descriptions of the various trips she has enjoyed to Florida and Vegas. I had nothing to add on any of these subjects.
Silence is golden.
I started to rummage around in my backpack, looking for my puzzle book but we were beyond the point of no return as she launched into an explicit tale of the colostomy bag she has to wear and the various operations and bad surgeons that she has crossed paths with and why she must have a window seat to keep the bag out of sight and how there was a time when she had lost all feeling and could not tell when the bowel movement was coming and ended up with a mess all over everything. Then the time she ended up on the floor and her husband had to call an ambulance and she could finally convince the specialist that yes – she was sick…
As the plane landed, she thanked me for being a good seat mate because one time they flew to Vegas and they had some asshole sitting next to them and he caused nothing but trouble for the cabin crew and she was afraid people would think he was with them and then he was next to them on the following flight and obviously someone had shared their personal information with him and she called the Privacy Commissioner and then she emailed them and finally succeeded in getting an apology.
I deplaned as quickly as possible, turned right at the gate, and ran.
I’m moving. Again. Fifth time since arriving in Rishikesh two weeks ago. It’s a long story, but I’m tired. Perhaps that’s why I called the airline today and changed the date of my return ticket to Halifax. If the universe is willing, I’ll arrive home on the afternoon of March 18…the first time in awhile that I’ll experience the pleasures of the third month of the year in Canada. But it’s all good.
The moves are a combination of things. I cancelled my original guest house on a whim, not realizing the yoga festival was on and would take up many of the accommodation options
in town. Then Evi arrived and wanted to stay at Yoga Niketan. Unfortunately, it’s not the same place she experienced 20 years ago. There are a number of difficulties, not the least of which is the shortage of decent yoga teachers. Case in point, one of the gardeners taught this morning’s class…
One of our yoga teachers (not the gardener) out for a stroll near the Sivananda arch.
Luckily, there are other possibilities now that the festival is over, so tomorrow we go to Ananda Prakash Ashram where she knows the teacher. (He is also married to a Canadian and spends time in Ottawa and Toronto so I had an “in” as well.) He personally saw to it that we got a room, so I’m confident we’ll be okay there. And we get to room together for my final three nights in India, so I couldn’t have scripted it any better!
Coming back down the hill from Tapovan, we saw a fire at a hotel. It was next door to a place I stayed at last week..dodged that bullet…
As usual, mixed feelings about going home. But home is home. And India is always here.
