Postcard from the Galápagos Islands (postmarked 05 October 2025)

The Galápagos has three main islands, Isabela, Santa Cruz, and San Cristobal, and about 15 other smaller uninhabited islands. Of course, I mean to write uninhabited by people. As Darwin discovered when he arrived here in 1835, the islands are teeming with millions of animals, in flight, on land, and underwater. It is said that 40% of all the species of fauna found here are found nowhere else on Earth, they are endemic to these unique islands.

Fortunately, my mega-yacht cruise was able to weigh anchor at more than 15 different coves throughout the week, giving me (and 11 others) the extraordinary opportunity to swim with, and walk among, many of these special and unique animals. The entire archipelago and surrounding waters is a protected environment with very strict protocols. Remember Covid-era rules, here it is prohibited to approach within 2 metres of any wildlife!

 

Because humans are not a threat to the animals, they in turn have no fear of us. When snorkeling, a giant turtle may swim right by me but I must not hop on for a ride. I little disappointed I was at each opportunity. On the other extreme, the million sharks infesting these same waters are supposedly eating their natural prey with such abundance that they leave swimmers alone. When sharks were sighted, I elected to stay onboard. Call me chicken, but I feared becoming that solitary exception.

 

On our maiden Zodiac tour of the coast, I saw my first ever blue-footed booby perched on an outcrop, a few of them, in fact. One ingredient in their unique diet gets converted by their livers into a blue substance which then gets deposited into their feet and skin. As their skin is completely covered in feathers, the only evidence we see is in their bright blue feet. Why they are called boobies yields another interesting story: when they mate, the males do a dance that makes them look like a drunken fool, or bobo, in Spanish. Which became boobie, in English. I did manage to avoid purchasing that most popular T-shirt sold, emblazoned with, "I love boobies!"

 

My entire time spent at sea and on the islands themselves made me feel as if I were on the movie set of Jurassic Park. At any moment, if I looked down into the waters, I would see sharks, or eagle rays, or very large sea turtles swimming about. If I looked up, there were pelicans, hawks, or pterodactyl-like birds with six-foot wingspans soaring above. Often, one or two of these birds would tuck in their wings and dive bomb straight down into the sea at high speeds, and then surface moments later with a fish wriggling in its beak. And if I looked over to the coastline, I would see many sea lions, bright red crabs, marine iguanas warming themselves up in the sunshine, preparing to head into the sea, swim underwater and feed on the algae and other flora. When their internal temperatures gets too low from the cool waters, they climb back out onto the warm black lava rocks and heat up again, a new cycle begins. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

 

On the roads and motorways, cars often stop to allow iguanas or turtles to cross. In the three towns, the sea lions rule. They are so often found lying about on the sidewalks, bike lanes, on benches and beaches, apparently resting or warming themselves in the sunshine. It's shocking to see at first. But after a few days, what was shocking becomes the norm and I barely notice these large animals anymore as I casually walk around them on the sidewalk. The pelicans are perched casually on posts or rooves without a care or risk of being threatened by humans. I realize that I've become accustomed to this surreal environment, and wonder if I will long for it once I depart. Will I need to return to feel the wondrous rapport with all things animal? Is this why so very few people who were born here ever leave for the mainland?

 

One of the only three towns, Puerto Villamil, appears to me to be a scuba diver's paradise. The town itself has only dirt roads, reminiscent of what I recall from my experiences in much of Africa. The shops are all small, offering up food and supplies, targeting the free-wheeling lifestyle of young, carefree divers, who live in the various hostels. No souvenir shops to be found, in contrast to the other two towns on the Islands. But there are many beach bars or shacks along the nearly one kilometer-long stretch of town. In many respects, it feels like paradise: off the beaten path, only basic necessities available, a party atmosphere permeated the salty air. And wetsuits hanging out to dry in the sunshine, awaiting their next dive in the cool Pacific waters. I think I've reached the age where I sometimes long to be 21 again!

See my travel coffee table book for more postcards: www.amazon.com/dp/B0CNL6WD3C

Postcard from Arezzo - postmarked 21 June 2025

While strolling about in Florence, I felt fortunate to stumble across a few hundred shady characters dressed up in Medieval outfits. I quickly noticed that they were grouped according to the colours of their outfits. From jesters to jousters, drummers to trumpeters, and archers to swordsmen, they wore outfits sporting a pair of colours, unique to their team. Later I learned that there were four teams, or four quartieri, neighbourhoods, that competed each year in a Medieval reenactment of various events. Before long, an orderly parade emerged out of the chaos. It was too hot to stay out in the sun much longer however I was mesmerized by the realistic, elegant costumes, one quartiere after the other parading, with drummers drumming and trumpeters trumpeting. It was sensational! 

I possibly missed a highlight event at the parade's destination, I learned a few days later. Normally, I'd have informed myself, however I was seriously overheating in the 38C sunshine. It occurred to me that somewhere, there must be some jousting matches, as there are apparently a few annual Medieval events taking place in Italy. Now, that would be fun, I thought! I continued imagining this possibility...

 

Fast forward one week. I am in the front seat of the minibus heading back to Florence after a week of heavenly cycling in Tuscany with TrekTravel. Our driver, Marcello, and I are chatting half in Italian, half in English, when he, out of the blue, decides to tell me about a huge Medieval festival tomorrow in Arezzo, an hour away by train. This town also has four quartieri that compete in various competitions ending in a spectacular display of jousting! It is tomorrow and only an hour away! What a stroke of luck... Let's go!

In the next few minutes, I Google the event to purchase my ticket to see the 9:30pm jousting event. But wait, it is all sold out! I tell Marcello about this disappointing twist of fate. He replies, "don't worry, I'll call my son." Yet another twist in the tale: his son, Alex, is one of the organizers of one of the four quartieri, Sant’Andrea. The others are called Santo Spirito, del Foro, and Crucifera. Marcello leaves a voice message as we motor along. Alex replies to the voice message an hour later, directly to my phone, that a ticket is being put aside for me. Another stroke of luck... tomorrow I am going to see real live jousting!

 

The free portion of the day's events in Arezzo, the parade and various performances, start at 6pm according to Alex. However ChatGPT informs me of something important going on at 3:30pm. I can find absolutely nothing on the Internet about the day's program, so I aim to take the 2pm train. But first, with my morning free in Florence, I head off to see Michaelangelo's David. Here, too, tickets are sold out online for both today and tomorrow. Sound familiar? I walk over to the Accademia Gallery anyway, to learn that I can stand in line for a while and buy a ticket. A hustler sees me circling around the different queues and approaches me. For an extra 5 euros, he will sell me a ticket whereby I can walk right in. Sold!

Admiring David and seeing jousting, both at sold out events, on the same day! Fortunately, it is air conditioned inside the museum, so I linger in front of the many statues, busts, and huge paintings before arriving at David. I sit on a bench in front of, and then on another behind David and admire the statue. I imagine, if this is David, how big Goliath would need to be, to remain in proportion. Did you know that David's sling is also etched into the statue as it is draped over his shoulder and down his back? It is difficult to notice. I also learn that David’s head and hands are disproportionately large but nobody knows with certainty why Michaelangelo chose to do this.

 

As I hinted at earlier, ChatGPT was hallucinating. There is no 3:30pm event scheduled. Arezzo, maybe because of the high heat, was dead in the afternoon, no townspeople, barely a tourist, certainly no knights nor trumpeters to be seen. I make my way up the hill to the Cattedrale dei Santi Pietro e Donato to get out of the sun. Lucky break for me, a wedding ceremony was just then beginning. Organ music, the priest's benedictions, the whole nine yards, replete with a beautiful bride in white, of course, with a very long train trailing behind her, a groom, and 150 guests, all in a magnificent 850-year-old church. I stayed 45 minutes for the experience, angelic melodies, and cooler air.

 

I had decided yesterday to fly home tomorrow, three days ahead of schedule, and pass up spending those planned days in Sienna, due to the broiling heat. I changed my flight. So staying overnight in Arezzo became risky as my flight home was now at noon tomorrow. The last train back to Florence from Arezzo was at 10:45pm. I noted another one later, at 1:11am, on my train app, but GoogleMaps couldn't confirm this. Nor could Rome2rio.

 

The 6pm procession lasted 90 minutes. It was most impressive! Hundreds and hundreds of townspeople dressed up in elegant Medieval costumes, many with shields, spears, or crossbows. The musicians are all playing their instruments in unison, mostly drums and trumpets. Many flag bearers, priests and bishops, all marching in step and ultimately congregating on the terrasse and front steps of the very same church where two hours earlier I found welcome shelter from the heat. The costumes were dazzling. Before long, I easily imagine myself a peasant in Medieval times, watching in awe as the parade of important and powerful people file by, the rhythmic drumming overpowering my senses. You must add this phantasmagorical experience to your bucket list.

 

But let's jump to 9:30pm when the by-invitation-only big event starts. The crowds arrive, starting a half-hour earlier, taking their seats in the stands, built on either side of the path where soon mighty stallions will be galloping at top speeds. My gifted ticket placed me in the standing area, where I am surrounded by a couple of hundred cheering 18-year-old kids from the Sant'Andrea quartiere, each one wearing the team colours, green and red, on their identical loose-fitting scarves. I am wondering if I should have bought one, the better to blend in. The other three teams are clearly visible by their colours, too. Two teams in my standing area, two teams in the other, across the way. A lot of yelling and cheering by the kids, supporting their quartiere.

 

The excitement is palpable, the first 25 minutes pass with hundreds of medieval warriors marching into the central arena, drums beating out their music, one quartiere at a time. The outrageous outfits, the brilliant colours, the thunderous drums and blaring brass sounds, the synchronous marching, my senses are all simultaneously overflowing with excitement. Only once in your life do you get to enjoy something novel for the first time; I know it and I am loving it! Following this, a 20-minute flag-waving and “flag-throwing” exhibition, a spectacular event under the glare of the bright floodlights, the likes of which I have never seen before. 

The jousting hasn't even begun and I know that I would have to leave any minute and make my way back down to the train station. I certainly got my "money's worth" by now and refuse to feel disappointed at missing the jousting competition. Just then, riders, one at a time, are galloping along the jousting path at top speed, faster than I've ever seen horses gallop before. In full regalia, they each in turn, extend their right arm as though holding a lance, ready to joust and then ride out of sight. The jousting exhibition would soon start and by 11:30pm a winning team would be selected by the judges. Alas, exalted, I exit the arena and head to the train station. I smile to myself, grateful for all my good fortune, and know that next time, I must buy a proper seat in the stands weeks ahead of time, after securing two nights in a local hotel.

 

As with nearly all my travels, every place I visit beckons me to return to see and experience what I have missed the first time round. Which is precisely how David lured me to return to Florence.

 

 

Postcard from Antarctica - Postmarked 15 January 2025 (the mail takes months to arrive from Antarctica!)

The excitement built slowly and surely from the time I decided to explore Antarctica, until my departure date, only two months later. When asked where I'd be traveling next, I had gradually become more thrilled to reply, Antarctica, and then wait for the expected look of disbelief. I get it -- I know not a single soul who has ever voyaged there. I began to feel like one of the crew of the starship, Enterprise: to boldly go where no man has gone before! One of the reasons for the sparse tourism there, aside from the hefty cost, may be that three flights were required, straddling 32 hours of travel time. I had experienced more than my share of missed connections on my most recent voyages overseas and so I decided to allow for an extra three days of margin on my flights south. Arrive three days early, to not be a minute late! The boat was sailing with or without me on the 4th of January. On the one hand, I missed celebrating New Year’s Eve at a terrestrial party. On the other I witnessed from above the night skies of Buenos Aires, lit up with fireworks for 15 minutes, as my second of three flights approached and landed there just after midnight on New Year’s Eve. The most magnificent welcome I could have imagined.

 

Arriving a few days early in Ushuaia, on New Year’s Day, the most southerly city in the world and departure point of my cruise to Antarctica, was a great decision, in the end. It was summertime with sunny skies and daytime temperatures of 15-20C. The city’s population has multiplied from only 30,000 to over 100,000 in the past 15 years, thanks to exploding tourism and the need to service all those tourists. The majority of travelers quickly head off to a backpacking adventure in nearby Patagonia, an order of magnitude less expensive than a cruise to Antarctica. Ushuaia is a charming city with basically one main commercial street lined with shops, restaurants and cafés, more than a kilometer long of them. All the streets are one-way for cars, a service to the pedestrians, too, as it simplifies crossing them. All the other nearby streets are where the hotels and lodges are located, and further uphill are the small, adorable houses where most inhabitants live. There is a palpable vibe in the city which is contagious: everybody is about to leave on an adventure of a lifetime, or they have just returned from one.

 

Ushuaia has a lot to offer for day-trippers, too. Kayaking, cycling, hiking and touring the nearby national parks. I rented a bike my first full day and decided to cycle to the top of a nearby hiking trail. My mountain biking skills are questionable and I was not too proud to walk my bike whenever a section of the trail became too steep or too scary. After sitting in airplane seats for a day and a half, it felt great to exert myself and the views from the summit were most rewarding as well. I did attract some attention as I was apparently the only fool on a bicycle. My next day, I went for a hike with a new friend to Emerald Lake and to walk on snow at the bottom of a glacier that feeds the turquoise lake. I would soon be seeing a lot more snow! 

Let’s get to the part that you have been waiting for… my cruise. It takes more than two days to sail to Antarctica. From the most southern point of South America, which I have just described, we have to sail further south by first crossing the dreaded Drake Passage. It’s known as the Drake Shake. Most crossings experience seas with 6-meter swells, and more. This, because of ocean currents from the Atlantic on the east, and from the Pacific on the west, and the narrow passage between South America and Antarctica through which these currents must pass. We are told that a few times a year, the Drake Shake becomes the Drake Lake as the waters are completely calm. Luck was not on our side and the 180 passengers onboard the Ocean Victory were all warned to take anti-seasickness pills before we left port, not to wait for The Shake. I followed the sound advice and it was clear from the sparse attendance at mealtimes for the next two days, nearly half the passengers spent this time in their cabins, seasick. The ship was rocking and swaying continually. At times it was hard to walk forward, hard to avoid bouncing off the hallway walls, hard to sit down and land squarely in the seat beneath your butt. Fortunately, I never got seasick thanks to the half portion of pills that I took, nor was I too drowsy from the pills. I had brought fresh ginger with me as I had read somewhere that ginger helps also. I chewed on a big chunk in the morning and in the evening, too. I conclude that the combination worked well for me. 

No sooner are we out of rough seas, I spot my first iceberg. What a thrill! I felt amazing! It’s quite different from seeing them on television or on a computer screen. Before long, they are everywhere, big ones, small ones, white, blue, and every shade in between. One day, out on a Zodiac ride, we saw a couple that were larger than a building, a hundred feet high and five times as long. I suppose ten times that lay underwater, too. Yes, we had a Zodiac ride every day, ten of us in each rubber dinghy. We are supposed to stay clear of the big icebergs as they may calve and when a big chunk breaks off and falls splashing down into the sea, a mini tsunami results. We often spotted whales and motored over to where they were swimming to watch from up close. One can grow tired of watching sea lions, but never of watching whales. One day we saw a pod of orcas from the ship, supposedly a rare experience. I feel terrible about this, but I went to the gym twice during the 10-day voyage, and one of these workouts was during the orcas experience. While I was sweating on the treadmill, unbeknownst to me, nearly everybody else was outside on the bow of the ship taking pics and videos. In life, you win some and you lose some. I know I’ve had my share of wins. 

There are also two landings every day. While half the passengers are zooming about in Zodiacs, the other half are ferried to land, ten at a time, where we disembark and walk around Antarctica for a couple of hours. There are always hundreds of penguins to admire. They waddle around, feed their chicks, maintain their nests, fish, swim and apparently, they play. It does look this way. We are supposed to keep our distance from them, 10 meters minimum. Often, however, they come walking along to within a couple of feet of where I am standing, before continuing on. Humans are not programmed into their DNA to be dangerous. So, you can stick to the law and not approach, but if you hang out in their path, one will surely pass right by you, affording you a rare close-up experience. There are a lot of other rules, too, to follow. One is that we are not allowed to bend down. I had to break this rule in order to get good photos, but then I got scolded by the staff who watch over us. Sometimes, a penguin stops at your feet and looks up at you quizzically. I was possibly the first human ever seen by one penguin or another. 

It takes your breath away to be walking on Antarctica. Everything is so white, there are mountains and glaciers everywhere you gaze. If it is sunny, the blue sky reflects off the sea and the icebergs take on a blue tint near the waterline. It is surreal. Overwhelming, really. And then, the penguins. They often appear to be planning on doing something surprising, like sliding down an icy surface and dropping into the sea, one after the other. Once, from the ship, I saw a column of penguins following one another on top of a huge iceberg; when they reached the edge, they all dove off, one by one, into the sea 10 meters below, beak first. Did I mention there are albatrosses flying around, too. They are big, beautiful birds. The entire tourist ecosystem is managed very carefully here. Each ship must make a reservation in advance before sailing anywhere and weighing anchor in a cove. In our five days visiting the White Continent, we never once saw another ship. Antarctica is huge with thousands of miles of coastline. There are only fifty tourist ships permitted along its shore at any one time. I understand that there are only 70 ships in the world outfitted for the cold weather and the ice. In summer, however, the temperatures are wonderful, close to 1C or 2C degrees. Although I had read that it is much, much colder at the south pole itself, even in summer. 

Get comfortable because the best part of the tale is starting. Only 70 passengers get to go out in kayaks, ten at a time, for an extra fee. I failed to win the kayak lottery and was not one of the 70 chosen. However, the first morning in Antarctica had rough seas with overcast skies and it was snowing/drizzling/windy outside during breakfast. These were borderline conditions for kayaking but the decision was made to do the tour in any case (it is cancelled sometimes). I imagined that one or two of the more timid kayakers reserved for that first morning would bail due to the inclement weather, so I went down to the third deck to learn that, yes, one person had cancelled! I suited up (everybody wears a drysuit in case of accidental capsizing), I took their place, and before long I was kayaking, two to a kayak, along with four other kayaks and two guides, one in front leading in his own single kayak, one in back in a Zodiac. I am kayaking in Antarctica! 

I have to pinch myself to ensure that I am not dreaming! Our kayak smacks into icebergettes, as we paddle. Sometimes a small piece of ice floats by that is completely colourless, transparent. These are supposedly at least 10,000 years old, as all the tiny air bubbles have been compressed out of the ice over the millennia while on land under hundreds of feet of ice and snow. Eventually, this ice breaks away and falls into the sea. We brought back a chunk to mix into some drinks at the bar. As it melts, we get to drink perfectly clean and pure scotch on the rocks. Let’s get back to the kayaks! We kayak the whole morning in the choppy sea, spotting whales nearby as they surface for a breath of air after first exhaling a misty spray from their blowholes. And we see seals, some large birds and many penguins swimming by, of course. The weather has improved with drizzle giving way to some intermittent sunshine, painting the mountainous shoreline with sunny spotlights. As the Zodiac idles far behind, it is completely silent, surreal again. I can dream of kayaking every morning in the Antarctic, possibly more rewarding than yoga and meditation that millions practice just to hope to achieve this very Zen feeling. 

Before signing off, I must relate how our evenings were spent. My expedition was nothing like the typical National Geographic style of cruise. Nearly all passengers were single, 30s, 40s and 50s, and ready to party. Three different pairs of DJs were flown in from the Netherlands, Germany, and the US. Sometime late in the evening, a dance party would break out. With world class electronic dance music, endless daylight (the sun never sets) offering no clue as to the real time, unlimited drinks, the parties wound down only sometime after 5am (I am told). I am unsure about other Antarctica cruises, however on this cruise, every individual had met and talked with nearly every other individual at some point, on land, on the water, or on the dance floor, allowing for unique, and occasionally long-lasting, relationships to form. 

Finally, I would be remiss if I omitted reporting one of my highlights: the polar plunge. Anybody who wanted to, had one opportunity to dive or jump into the freezing cold sea and have it captured on video. A few people even jumped in, naked. Ouch! One hundred and forty of us made the choice and thus it took three hours to complete the whole process. Why so long? Each person, in turn, had to wear a belt to which a safety line was attached. Just in case. Both the seawater and the air temperature are about 1C during the month of January. Cold enough for you? I attempted a back dive and a moment later my body froze and tensed up the instant I entered the water. It felt like 30 seconds before I surfaced but that pause is probably due to brain freeze. It was difficult to take my first breath for some reason. Am I in shock? The ladder handles and steps felt so very, very cold on my hands and feet that I forget to feel cold myself. I fail to understand why, but I never felt cold from that moment on. It was more a feeling of awe that washed over me and kept me warm somehow. I basked in the emotion, chatting with the others who were around me just inside the ship's hull. Afterwards, one by one, we quickly climbed up to the topmost deck to jump into the heated pool, and meet more new friends. 

I am slowly beginning to understand why the captain of our ship has been returning to Antarctica for 35 summers and is having difficulty retiring, in spite of his age. I had three long conversations with him during the voyage, and I can feel his angst. I am wondering if I would enjoy spending a summer working on such a ship, maybe doing a job like Steve’s, our onboard photographer.

Postcard from the Aegean Sea - postmarked 02 October 2024

With most ambitious objectives, we rarely come out the other side the same person as we were going in. Indeed, with a little self-reflection we will likely realize how we have grown immeasurably. With this belief in mind, I accepted my brother, Stan's, invitation to join him and our cousin, Steve, on their annual week of sailing. This year, it was to be in the Dodecanese area of the Aegean Sea, beginning and ending on the Greek island of Kos, only a few kms across the bay from the Turkish port city of Bodrum.

As many of my regular readers know, I have sailed several times with friends, on my buddy, Kosta's 37-foot catamaran, always in and around the Argolic Gulf, the body of water that opens up south of the Greek Peloponnese town of Nafplio. I must come clean: after these few sailing adventures with Kosta, I failed to acquire more than 25% of the skills required to sail a boat. Perhaps now it is clear to you why I say that this sailing objective is ambitious, first being an inexperienced sailor and second spending a week in close quarters with two family members for the first time in decades. Between my brother and our cousin, together they have about 95% of the necessary skills. These are: navigational; technical; radio communications; choosing an awesome protected cove for lunch and swimming; good habits to minimize all risks of personal injury and of falling overboard; maintaining sufficient fresh water and gas; and the discharge of waste when permitted. Did you know that boats do flush their toilet's holding tanks straight into the sea, untreated, once they are at least 3 nautical miles away from land? It's best to choosing swimming spots close to the shore!

Now that I have sufficiently communicated these niggly details to you, let's get back to my adventure. The main town on the island of Kos, is predictably named, Kos. Nearly all references to Kos, when written in Greek capital letters, drop the last letter, leaving kappa omicron (ΚΩ vs ΚΩΣ). No Greek individual could explain this anomaly to me so I turned to AI: "Some Greek signs and casual writings abbreviate place names, especially short ones, for simplicity or stylistic reasons. This is especially common with tourist locations, where it’s understood that "Κο" still refers to "Kos." This is a feature of the Greek language’s flexibility with nouns, particularly proper nouns like place names."

The town is very touristy, dominated by its wide harbour and many, many large (tourist) pirate ships that each promises to take its passengers for a day sail to three nearby islands and the opportunity to swim at each stop, serve a lunch, and all the suntanning a 20-something could hope for. The street parallel to the harbour is lined with many restaurants, a few bars and more than a few tourist shops, all of which spill over onto the wide sidewalk. Several narrow streets and laneways in back contain many more shops, kebab stands, markets, and ruins, too. Similar to the rest of Greece, Kos has remnants of civilisations long gone: stone archways still standing, leftover columns with missing capitals, and pieces of ancient buildings strewn about. Hippocrates supposedly lectured his students here, they say under a large tree, still standing 2,400 years later, labeled the Hippocrates tree, one of Kos's must-see highlights. The main harbour, just referred to, is for commercial boats only. Our marina is a 15-minute walk away, very modern, with space for 400 sailboats, enclosed by a seawall which keeps out waves, currents and swells. Most of the boats here are from 35 to 55 feet in length, both monohulls and catamarans (which have two hulls). Our boat, The Hobbit, or Χομπιτ, is 35 feet long with three cabins and one head, or bathroom. Of course, we have a kitchen, dining area below deck, and living area on deck.

Ideally, we would have had light winds early in the week, which would get stronger as the week advanced along with our sailing skills. The gods had different plans for us! Our first day of sailing had winds of 25 knots gusting to 35 with swells of two to three metres. I believe that the Universe gives us not we want, but what we need. And evidently, we needed to sharpen our sailing skills with no time to lose as these strong winds can blow a boat over, or onto the rocks had we steered off course. The winds were blowing from the northwest today and guess what? Our first day's destination was to the northwest as well, to the island of Leros. Sailing into the wind is uncomplicated under normal conditions however when the winds are strong the forces acting on the boat can be challenging to manage, doubly so when the whitecaps are crashing against the bow as we pitch forward on the backside of each swell. If you are prone to seasickness, my advice to you will be predictable. An interesting phenomenon to note: even though our speed across the water is barely 9 knots (16 km/hr), it feels like 30 or 40. It is an illusion that nobody can explain. In any case, it is exciting to manage the sailboat's course, tacking occasionally, as we steer slightly left of straight upwind, then slightly right, to keep to our northwest bearing overall. One of our daily pleasures, which I alluded to earlier, is searching for and choosing a small cove or inlet for our lunch stop. If we can find one that is protected from the winds we will be sure that our anchor will hold so that we can enjoy our meal in calm waters. Did you know that the weight of the 40 metre chain, when letting out the anchor, is as much a reason as the anchor itself for keeping the boat from drifting?

It is always a thrill for me to dive into very deep water. There is no chance of touching ground (even if you tried to), so the swim has another degree of freedom. An entire world may exist below, perhaps schools of fish passing by in search of lunch, but at the surface it is just me and 360 degrees of choices of which direction to swim. The water is so very blue, I think its colour is enhanced by reflection off of the sandy bottom. Thankfully it is warm enough that I avoid getting the chills as so often happens at home in my lake after only fifteen minutes in the water. When I was an avid runner, I used to joke that all runners end up in the pool. Once your body starts complaining about the pounding it takes from too-frequent running, we turn to cycling as it is easier on the joints. Until the shoulders start hurting from continually leaning forward on the handle bars. In the pool, or in the sea, there is no tension at all. The water supports every swimmer's weight just perfectly. Even more so in the sea as salt water is more buoyant than sweet water, which makes it even easier to stay afloat and swim greater distances. A bonus: Salt water is nature's purifier of skin and nails, killing, over time, most superficial skin infections, pimples, toenail fungus, etc. I always swim wearing a long sleeve swim shirt, however, to protect my back and arms from the sun's rays. After a few minutes of using the same stroke, I confess that I start to daydream. It's a wonderful feeling, I highly recommend the experience, until thoughts turn to what may be lurking below! I sometimes wonder whether it is me that is on some deep-sea predator's fish of the day lunch order!

I imagine it must be quite a unique lifestyle to actually live full-time on a sailboat. All your worldly possessions have to fit in the boat as you have sold your home or given up your apartment. No fixed address. Pick a coastline anywhere in the world and spend the next year or two sailing from port to port, deciding on a whim to stay put at this town or another for a few days or a week, and then sail on. I suppose you could do this in an RV camper, too. But, it simply seems so much more practical to have the sea as your highway, with no traffic lights, speed limits, traffic jams, or roads under construction to contend with. I understand some people make a compromise effort and go on an around-the-world cruise for a year, if they can afford this. I have a friend who contracts himself out as a first mate and sails for weeks at a time, helping the captain on a daily basis. He is neither paid, nor does he have any expenses while aboard, and, he gets to see the world one port at a time. How would you choose to see the world?

Postcard from Czech Republic (postmarked 07 July 2024)

Here is a fun fact about the Czech Republic: The Czechs drink more beer per capita than any other nation on Earth, about 138 liters per capita per year. This metric includes babies, children, women and seniors. I suppose if you account for all these non-beer drinkers, the count is probably closer to 500 liters per year per beer drinker.

One of the best ways to visit a country is by touring it by bicycle, which is exactly what we did for a whole week. Everything zips by too fast by car, not to mention that you’re unlikely to be taking side roads where life is lived, in the front and back yards of people’s homes and in the ciry parks. Walking is a good alternative, too, however one would need a lot of time to cover the distances. Cycling is a perfect blend, where one can see so much at cycling speeds, and stop on a whim anywhere to taste what suddenly smells good, or visit a 1,000-year old castle that seemingly appears out of nowhere around the next bend in the road.

At one such stop at the only bar in a village we were traversing, we went inside and asked for a small beer. In the Czech Republic, a small beer is usually 300 ml, a normal beer is 500 ml, and a large beer is one liter. It is prudent to stick to the small beer if you plan to continue cycling, more or less sober. The beer in this country is not fermented as it is most everywhere else, it is thus full of healthy probiotics, so were told more than once. A mid-day, cold beer is not only more refreshing than water it is arguably healthier! At this refreshment stop, the barkeep scolded us, I might say he shamed us into ordering a normal sized beer. In broken English, he tsk’ed, “you can’t order a small beer” three times and that ended the negotiation. The pilsners here are arguably the best in the world and the Czechs are proud of their beer drinking prowess. I have concluded that the small beers are for children as even the women drink the larger sized beers.

Interestingly, they have something called a “schnit” which is a beer served in a glass where the top half is all foam, and the bottom half is all liquid. Supposedly, it is the warmup beer to get you started on a night of drinking with friends. The bars and pubs that have the most clients tend to have the best tasting beer as the suppliers deliver fresh beer every two days, in tanks, in order to restock the joint before they run out. It seems that the connoisseurs can taste when a beer was delivered more than a couple of days ago.

Still on the subject of beer, I had the most delicious cherry-infused beer while in Prague. I think I have figured out how the Czechs get its youth and its women to become so enamored with beer. It is offered in many flavours and while I thoroughly enjoyed the cherry, another person may get hooked on the pineapple!

We had chosen to cycle the smaller villages of the Czech Republic by reserving a cabin on a bike-and-boat cruise along various rivers, namely the Vltava, and the Elbe. There are so many advantages to this style of cycling. The biggest one, I believe, is that I only had to unpack my carry-on once for the entire week, unlike when cycling from village to village and hotel to hotel. The riverboat had about 45 cabins and we snagged the last one seven months before sailing, so it seems that this style of touring is very popular. 

The rivers are always very calm as their flow is controlled by a series of dozens of locks – getting seasick is impossible, even if you are prone to it. There is no word, “riversick,” and to be sure I never once felt the boat rock. Sometimes we would head out in the morning for our daily ride and the boat would depart soon afterwards. We would meet up with it at the end of our ride. On a couple of days, we would cycle a loop, return to the boat in mid-afternoon, and then sail for a few hours along the mostly quiet river with everyone aboard, while having drinks and snacks on the sundeck.

I have never traveled to a city that has more clock towers or more museums than Prague. The stones that the clock towers were constructed from have all turned black with time. At first, they adirtyed dirty to me, almost ugly. But with time, they grew on me, and now have a kind of charm being blackened. The most famous of all is the Prague astronomical clock, or Prague orloj. Built in 1410, it is the oldest astronomical clock that is still running, in the entire world. It has two clock faces and between them we can read the local time, the day of the week, the month of the year, in which zodiac the sun is passing through, the time of both sunrise and sunset, and the phase of the moon. 

There are two figurines on each side of the two clocks. Every hour on the hour, the two pairs of them adjacent to the clock on top do a little show, which has been taking place for over 600 years! The four figures flanking the clock are set in motion on the hour, and represent four things that were despised at the time of the clock's making. From left to right, the first is Vanity, represented by a figure admiring himself in a mirror. Next, the miser holding a bag of gold represents greed or usury. Across the clock stands Death, a skeleton that strikes the time upon the hour. Finally, there is a Turkish figure representing lust and earthly pleasures. On the hour, the skeleton rings the bell and immediately all other figures shake their heads side to side, signifying their unreadiness "to go."

Unfailingly, most in the crowd of the 200-250 tourists who gather every hour for the display begin clapping and even shouting when the "show" ends. I remain uncertain what prompts so many people to applause a clock, albeit a very special one.

As for the museums, I can only guess that when there are so many tourists flocking to your town, why not open yet another museum. Most are dedicated to the arts, but I counted three beer museums, a sex museum, and of course a museum of illusions, which we selected and had a fabulous time Inside. It was too hard to choose between the over 100 art and Czech history museums, so the one illusions museum won out. The only hour of rain that fell during our Czech visit, fell during our museum visit. Or maybe that was just an illusion!?

Here's hoping that illusions surround you, too, from time to time.

Barry

 

 

Postcard from Europe, volume 1: Annecy - postmarked 04 March 2023

The majority of my travels in the past years has seen me spend each vacation in only one or two countries, before returning home. I turned this habit on its head this time by visiting, in order, Lyon, Annecy, Chamonix, Milano, Basel, Metz, Lichfield, St-Helens and London, with day trips to Martigny, Liverpool, Llundenon and Conwy. Thirteen cities in five countries in five weeks. 

I am accustomed to, and enjoy, the smaller cities having an Old Town, with their pedestrian-only streets and lanes, most often dating back over 500 years. Because they are free of cars, we usually see crowds of people shopping for basic necessities and otherwise, or sitting in the outdoor cafés for a meal, a smoke, or drinks.

What surprised me recently is that the larger cities have caught on. What were previously downtown streets and boulevards have been completely converted to pedestrian-only shopping districts. Even in Milano, Liverpool and London, all of these being large cities, we can walk around freely, not just on one shopping street, but on a network of many wide criss-crossing downtown streets, the roads completely converted to stone or tile, so that there are no longer distinctions apparent between streets and sidewalks. What is remarkable is that, day and night, there are thousands of people, tourists and locals alike, who are buzzing about everywhere. Buskers are entertaining folks with their performances, musicians with their songs, and magicians with their sleight of hand.

It's difficult for me to understand why Montreal doesn't do the same: eliminating the cars, street and sidewalk from Ste-Catherine Street would do wonders for business, from what I have seen multiple times in Europe. 

Before beginning three weeks of intense skiing in the Alps, I thought it practical to chill for the first three days immediately after arriving overseas, in order to get over jet lag, and only afterward make our way to Chamonix. Two days in Lyon, where our plane touched down, followed by 24 hours in Annecy, a quaint town that I had traveled through by bus frequently over the years, when connecting between the airport in Geneva and the ski resorts in the Alps. I had so many times made a mental note that I must spend time one day in this village, which lies along the impressive Lac Annecy. That day finally arrived as we disembarked from the train that brought us here from Lyon.

 

I found it odd, when booking our hotel two weeks before that so many of the town's hotels and inns were sold out. And then, when going for a walk into the Old Town, why were there throngs of people strolling in every direction? Was this typical for an early spring Saturday afternoon in Annecy? It didn't take very long for the answer to reveal itself: this weekend, Annecy was hosting its annual Venetian Carnaval, a two-and-a-half-day outdoor show of costumed and masked actors, who dress the parts of famous personalities of the 1600s, 1700s and 1800s European history. 

Annecy has been called the Alpine Venetia for centuries, with its canals crossing the historic town, hence the idea for a Venetian carnival. What serendipitous luck that our one-day stopover coincided with this amazing annual feast for the eyes. The very elaborate and colourful handmade costumes and masks are so intricately detailed that one needs to see each actor up close for several minutes to fully appreciate what is happening. I can speculate that each costume must have cost a couple of thousand dollars to construct and sew. 

I suppose there are about 200 such actors and actresses playing the parts of Marie Antoinette, Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier, or King Louis XV. During the two weekend afternoons, all the actors parade, in slow motion, along the lakeside, ultimately traversing a stage where they are introduced by an M.C., their characters briefly described, all in French, bien-sûr. There are thousands of spectators, nearly all taking photos. None of the actors speak a word. They mingle in the huge park adjacent to the lake after they've paraded, giving everybody additional photo opportunities. Finally, they slowly scatter, most of them strolling through the Old Town, only a few minutes away, for more photos or selfies with the personages, and just plain gazing.

I am always inspired by creative geniuses that imagine, in their minds, what can be accomplished. Some portion of them realize their dreams, possibly after many setbacks and rejections from the ruling or funding decision-makers. And then only a smaller portion of these events or shows do I manage to attend or witness by happenstance. Perhaps it is now time for me to actively seek out such marvelous expositions of creativity.

Barry