Tuesday, November 5, 2024

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?

Tuesday, July 16, 2024

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

 

 

Monday, July 10, 2023

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

Wednesday, April 12, 2023

Postcard from Medellín - postmarked 31 January 2023

We joke in Canada – and probably in all Western countries – about corrupt politicians or about the corrupt system. In Montreal, we had our own “Mr. 3%” who was exposed, after over a decade of operating, of taking 3% off the top of all city contracts. He was always paid in cash, apparently as in the movies, delivered to him in paper bags. The mayor of Laval, our province’s second largest city, was thrown in jail for stealing from the public purse. And, we’ve joked about the mafia running Italy (and maybe still does). In Colombia, it is well known that today the paramilitary collects protection money from every store and business in the country. These payments ensure that no shop, no store and no business will be robbed. In Canada, we can pay for insurance against theft. In Colombia, protection must be paid, and so insurance is unnecessary.

 




One of the most notorious cities in all of Colombia is Medellín, comprised of some 25 neighbourhoods, or comunas. They are each numbered, from 1 to 25, but some are better know by their names: Poblado, apparently where most tourists stay, is one of the most well-off neighbourhoods in Medellín. And there’s Envigado, where Pablo Escobar is famously from. If you’ve forgotten, he was the first big narco-trafficer in Colombia, maybe in all of South America. He managed to get elected to the Colombian congress, which position no doubt helped him to manage his growing, illicit empire. He was gunned down in 1995, but his name lives on. I believe there is, at the moment, a popular Netflix movie about his life, even all these years later. Medellín has expanded over the past decades in size and now comprises 5 million citizens, spread around the 25 neighbourhoods. The city is strikingly beautiful as it is built across many mountains. I have never visited anywhere else on Earth a city that is so mountainous. Can you imagine your own city, instead of being flat or hilly, actually mountainous? 



The Medellín public transit system has an extensive subway and bus network. In six different locations the network connects to a cable car which will take the rider a kilometer or more up one of the mountainside communities, stopping once or twice along the way to allow passengers to disembark or climb on. Your transit ticket includes all the subway lines, bus lines and cable cars, too. A ten-minute ride up to the top of one of the cable car lines will save the rider at least a half-hour on an equivalent bus ride. And there is never traffic, although there may be a few minutes to queue up for the next available cable car.

 


Comuna 13 is the most famous of all the comunas. I know this because it is the only neighbourhood that boasts its own walking tours and graffiti tours. In fact, there are many different walking tour companies which collectively offer about 10 to 15 walking tours every day in Comuna 13. It is the No. 1 rated attraction of things to do on Trip Advisor in Medellín. Why is it so famous? Up until 2010, three gangs controlled all of Medellín, each in its own territory. The borders that defined the territories of the gangs were well know and respected. Comuna 13 was the only comuna where all three gang territories intersected. It was especially poor and most dangerous. Because it is built or situated on a mountainside, it was next to impossible for the police or the military to control. There was only one street which ran up to the summit and back down the other side. Otherwise there were just hundreds and hundreds of shacks, randomly arrayed, with narrow pedestrian laneways between them.



 The miracle of Comuna 13 started the year that the city decided to build a series of outdoor escalators, six of them in a series, leading from nearly the bottom of the neighbourhood to the top, more than 500 metres of escalators. They are each covered with an awning to provide shade from the sun and every awning is, in turn, covered with solar panels which produce the electricity needed to power the escalators. Over the next ten years, a miracle happened, or I should say, evolved: with the new easy access for getting up and down, and with the gangs getting replaced by the paramilitary due to a series of battles for control, the residents started to open, poco a poco, cafés, stores, bars, a tattoo shop, a beauty parlour, restaurants, and more. All of them dotting the sole narrow winding road leading to the summit, more or less parallel to the escalators. Now, in 2023, there are so many tourists visiting every day, all year long, that the winding road that was once about the most dangerous road in all of Colombia, is now thick with pedestrians of all ages, from all countries, slowly walking up or down, or taking the escalators, spending money liberally in the shops. Most of the length of this path is on a cliff overlooking the valley below and over to the mountains on the other side. Stopping for a bite or a drink anywhere along the way offers you stunning views that are unequalled anywhere else in Medellín, or nearly so.

 


I read this morning that ChatGPT is now writing short stories and postcards, too! I am wondering if I am out of a job! Here is what ChatGPT has to say about Communa 13, let me know if I should retire from writing:

 

Comuna 13 is a neighborhood in the city of Medellín that was once known for high levels of poverty, crime, and violence. Over the past 15 years, however, the community has undergone significant transformation and renewal through innovative social and urban initiatives. Starting in the early 2000s, the government of Medellín began implementing a number of programs aimed at reducing poverty and violence in Comuna 13, including improvements to public transportation, the construction of new housing developments, and the creation of cultural and recreational centers. At the same time, the community has been actively involved in shaping its own future through initiatives like community-led graffiti tours and youth-led cultural events. These efforts have paid off, as Comuna 13 has become a symbol of urban renewal and innovation, attracting tourists and visitors from around the world who come to see the transformation for themselves. Despite continued challenges, the community remains a vibrant and hopeful place, with residents and local organizations working together to build a better future for themselves and their families.

 


One of the most awesome experiences of my life was realized in the countryside near Medellín. A few years ago, I wrote about “flying” the highest zipline in the world, in Italy: 1,500 feet above the valley below, 1.5 km long. I had reached a top velocity of 102 km/hr, according to my Strava app recording the speedy 60-second long ride. There was a very similar zipline available to daring individuals in Colombia, but with a twist – instead of zipping across from one mountain peak to another (which was also an option), I was slowly reeled out along the same zipline to about the halfway point between the two peaks, where my guide (who was close by) unpacked a hammock which was then strung up on the zip line. I climbed on it, the guide left and I was basically left lying about, hanging by a thread, 1,000 feet above the lush, valley floor. As there was no breeze, it was utterly silent, and extremely spooky, I admit. As I see it, one has two options in this situation. One, take in the beauty, the two waterfalls in sight, the spectacular views of the verdant mountainsides and the confluence of the two rivers rushing below. Or two, start wondering about all the things that can possibly go wrong, the hammock rips apart (unlikely), the zip line snaps (possible), the carabiners connecting you to the zip line fail and break (hhmm…). Once your worries begin, look out below, they just snowball, worries graduate into fears, fear turns to anxiety, and ultimately to panic. I know this because my friend that I was about to share this novel adventure with didn’t last 10 seconds and she was quickly escorted back to the starting point. I, on the other hand, was in awe by the fact that I was on a hammock where I never that it possible! And awesome beats panic every time!

 


During my comings and goings, I managed to meet a large number of ex-pats, mostly Canadians and Americans who have moved to Colombia to enjoy the good life: In the part of the country that surrounds Medellín, for instance, it is springtime all year long, never hot and never cold. The countryside is spectacular, lots of mountains for hiking, many rivers and lakes for swimming and boating, and a number of adventure activities available, like ziplining and rock climbing for the brave. They start businesses in, or relocate their existing businesses to, an environment that celebrates raw nature and beauty. If you can work remotely, why move to the suburbs when you can move to another country, where the cost of living is roughly one-third of that at home? In addition, I noticed that male ex-pats were frequently with much younger Colombian girlfriends. Seems like win-win relationships, from what I can infer. Colombia issues six-month visas with no questions asked. When your visa is close to expiring, a short day trip to Panama, to leave the country and then return, gets you another six-month visa. Wash, rinse, and repeat. On a similar note, I ran into a number of retirees who have sold their houses, cars and possessions back home and have moved to Colombia to enjoy their remaining years in relative luxury, compared to the limited buying power that their savings afforded them at home. I suppose that every second- and third-world country attracts a large number of first-world retirees. It has me thinking and wondering…

Barry

Tuesday, November 15, 2022

Postcard from Portimao - Postmarked 15 October 2022

 I didn't know what I was getting myself into. How could I have known beforehand? Now that it's over and done with, I can reveal to you all about one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.

Have you ever heard of the sport, Ultimate Frisbee? I admit that I had heard of it once a few years ago but I had absolutely no idea about the game, the rules, nor about the worldwide community of passionate players.

 


Imagine a team sport that is very competitive yet has no referees. No umpires. All fouls or infractions are called by the players themselves and then quickly resolved themselves. The two (or three) players party to the infraction, talk it over quickly, using hand signals (there are about 40 of them) so the other players on the team also understand what is taking place, and then they agree on how to proceed. Another interesting reason for the hand signals is because players from opposing teams may be from different countries and not share a common language!

This team sport is called Ultimate Frisbee, or simply, Ultimate, for short. As you may recall, I had expected to be cycling with Marc for two to three weeks in the south of Spain immediately following my sailing adventure in the Argolic Gulf in Greece.

Marc, however, two weeks prior informed me that he would be flying to Sardinia for a month after only five days of cycling with me in Spain. Something about a woman. 

 


Of course you've heard the expression, when one door closes another opens? No sooner was I out a cycling buddy, I received an offer to be a scorekeeper at both the European Ultimate Beach Club Championship and the World Great Grand Master Ultimate Beach Championship, both taking place, consecutively, in Portimao, in the Algarve, Portugal.

Of course, I accepted the invitation that came in through that open door. While at home, everything in Europe appears to be so close together geographically, but when in Europe even traveling from one country to its neighbour may take some time. Thus, after a five-day unplanned visit to Sevilla and two more days in Lagos, I arrived on schedule in Portimao to learn about my scorekeeping responsibilities. Those two city visits en route may land in their own postcard one day soon.

 



With 900 players representing approximately 60 clubs from 25 different countries playing on 12 sandy courts for three days straight, you may imagine all the logistics that are needed to manage even a half-day of games and their results. Plus of course the fifty volunteers and staff, including scorekeepers, medics, I.T.,  meal preparation, the media, etc.

By now you must be wondering how complicated can it be to keep score? Each scorekeeper starts the game by blowing the whistle and yelling "Play" or something similar and then starts the stopwatch. So far, easy-peasy. I like to give the two teams a five-minute advance warning, too, as they are all on the field warming up by then, and they love to have enough time for a team huddle before the game officially starts, to boost their energy and team spirit. We also have to keep track of who scored and who assisted each goal plus the time of the goal, and then change the score on the scoreboard. We have to keep track of the time elapsed throughout the game.

 


The teams flip a couple of frisbees before the start of the game to choose who starts on the offense and we note this, too. At the half time, at 25 minutes, or when one team reaches seven points, the teams switch sides as there may be wind or sun which favours one direction or the other. There are many other timing rules to know however I will spare you any further details. Enough to understand we are blowing the whistle regularly to keep the game moving along.

However trivial all of the above may sound, it is this that I found both mind-blowing and heart-warming: one team's players sometimes congratulate the other team's players during the game after a well-played goal. When a player calls a foul on another player, say for interfering with a shot or a catch, the player calling the foul explains what he or she feels was the foul and the other player will agree or else explain why what happened was not a foul. There is never a fight or raised voices, even in an important game where every goal scored can ultimately determine the winning team. After about 30 seconds of negotiating they agree on a resolution and the play continues. We scorekeepers do not mix in. In my seven days of scorekeeping, on only one occasion the two players were remarkably making no progress after a full two minutes of "arguing" so I blew my whistle and yelled, "captains." I remain uncertain if that was a legal call, but every player on both teams was relieved as the two team captains got on the field to weigh in and 10 seconds later a decision was agreed on.

The players from both teams often mingle on the field (ie., the beach) and chat about the last time they met at another competition or about a game earlier in the day. Or they horse around with each other, like kids playing on the beach. They often give each other advice for improving their playing. This takes place both before and after the game is played, or during the game as the players on the sidelines don't always stay close to their own teammates.



Another oddity which I've never witnessed elsewhere: after the game is over, all the players from both teams huddle in a large "spirit circle." They alternate in sequence a player from each team, so that every player has on his or her left and right a player from the other team, their arms are all interlocked behind each other's backs, everybody facing inwards. Each team awards a small meaningful gift to whom they have voted the best player from the other team and to the player from the other team who has shown the best spirit.

 


In this sport, the object is not to win the game at all costs, but rather to win the game with the best spirit. How many times did players thank me and my partner scorekeeper (it takes two scorekeepers to keep track of all the details during each game) for being volunteers, I lost count? We were always greeted with enthusiasm both on the field and at random encounters in town in the evenings. In fact, some of my fellow volunteer scorekeepers were players themselves on teams that did not qualify for this championship. They wanted to witness the games without having to pay all the travel expenses, as all the room and board expenses were paid for the volunteers. Thus, I met dozens of players from all over Europe, the States, Canada and Japan. I can count some of them now as friends.

It is a passionate worldwide community. The Japanese team had a relatively high expense to participate due to airfares (I suppose) and were short a couple of players. Thanks to a worldwide Ultimate Facebook group, a German and an American joined their team, having already met the team's members at a prior championship. I am under the impression that many of the teams had to borrow a player or two in order to compete with enough players, usually 15 per team, although only 5 at a time are on the field during the game.

To cap off the three or four days of games, at the end of each championship, the biggest disco club in town, The Mixx, was rented at night for a big private party for all the players, volunteers and staff. Similar to what I witnessed during the games, everybody mingled, danced and drank with others regardless of team membership, country of origin, etc. The very competitive spirit on the field is present but always within the context of the sport remaining non-contact, the rivalries friendly and the spirits high. And it is these high spirits that warmed my heart continually, that were contagious thankfully, but not because of what I have shared with you, above. Rather because we so often lack such high spirit in our daily routines and now I am invigorated, I am reminded that I can smile even more and congratulate my friends for a goal well played, and to pay it forward, as it were.

 


My only sad moment was in saying farewell to all, the morning after, when nearly everybody departed Portimao. In my case, I wasn't going home however, but on to Madrid for another adventure with no set end date.

Retirement is highly underrated!

Frisbee Barry

Monday, October 10, 2022

Postcard from the Argolic Gulf - Postdated 30 Sep 2022



At first blush it would seem preposterous that I would return to Greece to go sailing with Kosta. As I recall from my first (and only) sailing expedition with him, five years ago, the cabins were tight and the bathrooms were tighter still (use your imagination). On the other hand, what a fantastic opportunity to visit so many ports without having to unpack and repack my luggage at each stop as one has to do on a road trip. My last adventure with Kosta was for five days, so I doubled down and suggested that we sail this year for ten. I invited some others to join in and before I knew it (months later), we were all aboard, meeting the sailboat in Poros, a most lively town on a large island about an hour away by "fast ferry" from Piraeus, the famous port that serves Athens.



Kosta's sailboat, the Kime, which means Wave, in Greek, is a 38-foot catamaran with four cabins below deck. Each cabin has a double bed, some shelves and a tiny porthole which is more for air ventilation than for peering out. In fact, I have to admit now, that it is spacious enough if you are solo, and as long as you only use the cabin for sleeping and nothing else. Back upstairs, there are two large areas for sitting or eating on deck, one inside which is practical if it is raining or cold (not often the case in Greece), and one outside which fortunately is covered by a bimini to keep ourselves from broiling under the very hot Greek sun.



One of the advantages of sailing with Kosta is that he is as active as I am. At nearly every port that we docked, we either rented bikes or hiked up a nearby mountain, usually in the afternoons. One memorable hike was near Astros, a charming town, four kilometers walk from the marina. The entire uphill portion of the 14-km hike was on a dry creek bed. It was rather steep, about 900 metres up over 6 km (this calculates out to 150 metres elevation gain -- a 45-storey building's worth --  for each km walked). The creek bed, at the bottpm of a canyon with nearly vertical walls up to the ridges high above, was strewn with huge boulders, mostly bunched up in cascades to form huge obstacles, each about 10 - 20 feet high, between short strectches of flat hiking. These cliff-like rocky structures transformed this climb into one of my best hiking experiences. It was loads of fun scrambling up the rock faces, often at a faster pace than simply walking. It reminded me that I need to return to rock climbing again after the long lull caused by that spooky pandemic.



It was a typical Greek scorching hot day, although mercifully a couple of degrees less extreme in the mountains than in town below. The weather called for short pants. The only downside were the hundreds of prickly and thorny small bushes that reached out from the edges of the trail or from between the rocks that we were scaling which frequently scratched my legs. You know that you want to avoid these nuisances as many of the scratches drew blood!



Once we eventually reached the summit, a two-km walk on top of this mountain range followed, between grazing herds of bleating goats and sheep. Before long it was time to follow the trail back down to Astros. Nobody warned us that we were about to walk down the face of a 2,500-foot cliff. If Kosta hadn't promised us that he had done this once before, I would have bet a year's pay that only mountain goats and suicidal burros would venture down the narrow path etched into the cliff face. If you look at the photo below you will be hard-pressed to even imagine, let alone actually see, a path down from the summit, switching back from left to right and right to left along its descent. It was exhilirating. It was exciting. And it is unforgettable. Now I long to find more such hikes and simply skip the casual ones, starting today.



After a few days of sailing in the Mediterranean Sea and the Argolic Gulf, I more fully appreciated the freedom that sailors enjoy: unlike on the restrictive, crowded one-dimensional terrestrial highways, at sea we are free to sail in two dimensions, in any direction on its surface, and at any speed with hardly any concern for traffic. When it gets very hot, we simply find a bay, drop the anchor and dive off the boat for a swim. We did this every day, taking advantage of the warm, clear blue waters and regularly swam about 500 metres to a beach where we chatted, skipped stones along the water's surface and then swam back to our sailboat. A kilometer swim each day in the healing salt water is likely more healthy than jogging or weight training. With perhaps only an exception or two in decades, I hadn't skipped stones since I was very young and the joy of (again) perfecting the art quickly brought back to mind my fondest childhood memories of summers on Nantasket Beach, on the South Shore of Boston, where I "grew up" on the Atlantic Ocean. 



In case you haven't inferred, each of these beaches is deserted as they are inaccessible by car. At times the bays where we weighed anchor had other sailboats parked as well, however we were usually the only swimmers. It is cool to be able to see clearly 20 meters down to the seabed but I suppose it may be scary for most people to swim in such deep water. I was wondering if maybe it's not the depth, however, but the fear of scary marine monsters that may be lurking below, waiting for their chance to snack on an unsuspecting human above.



Did you notice that I referred to the Mediterranean as healing. I am uncertain how well documented the healing powers of salt water are in the medical literature, however, I am convinced that a daily swim in salt water will cure all dermatological problems. Pimples gone, dry skin no longer, toenail fungus healed, itches and scratches disappeared. If you forgot that I revealed to you how my legs got scratched up the day before while hiking, my legs did remember for me: each scratch was burning in the salt water, feeling as though razor blades were maliciously cutting up my legs. I imagine that this is the first symptom of speedy healing and so, in my own mind, I transform the discomfort of a thousand cuts into little pleasures. These are some of the reasons why I always imagined that I would return to my childhood summers by living again on the sea, once retired, somewhere in the world. At least for part of the year. This is a work in process, of course, and this season's progress is marked by ten days of sailing in Greece.



Naturally, one of the benefits of living on the seashore again will be a visit from you!

Barry, retired but not yet retarded 😂

Friday, June 24, 2022

Postcard from Sicily - postmarked 09 June 2022

This past week I experienced first-hand the meaning of the saying, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" I am fairly certain that this wasn't my first such experience however it so very easy to forget yesterday's suffering while enjoying today's pleasures.



The first day of a week's cycling in Sicily greeted us all with very hot temperatures of 30C at 9am, climbing to a steaming 36C by mid-morning. Ouch!

Three days previously, to help overcome jet lag, we spent our first day abroad onboard a privately chartered sailboat. The hot sun broiling us from above was countered by the cooler sea breeze blowing all day from one side or the other. Cold drinks, lots of inactivity punctuated by a refreshing swim in the 200-foot deep Mediterranean waters, gave us good reasons for not realizing that it was actually scorching hot.



The next morning , we took a bus to the base of Mount Etna. There, at over 1,000 metres ASL, we had effectively left the high heat below. We had been advised weeks before to wear long pants and to take a jacket as we should have expected temperatures as low as 5C near the summit. However, on account of the heat wave blanketing all of Italy, it never got cooler than about 20C. Black lava covers the entire mountain, some of it is fresh from April's eruption, while the greater majority is left over from past eruptions. Etna is still active today: When hiking closer to the summit I could hear the mountain rumbling continuously as the smoke and steam belch from the crater at the peak. The top 1,000 metres is off limits to hikers due to the high risk of another volcanic eruption without warning.

 


The landscape looks exactly like images of the moon's surface that we've all seen many times by now, the only difference being the colour. I reached about 2,400 metres elevation when hiking up. Here and there along the slopes are smaller volcanos from earlier eruptions. Many are too steep to climb down into, or up onto, but some others provide a safe access. While standing at the bottom of one of these smaller extinct volcanos, everything is silent. The sounds made by Etna pass overhead.

Here's a cool fact: there are glaciers buried everywhere beneath our hiking boots. In different places, due to the shifting ground, parts of some glaciers are forced to the surface. You may see hot volcanic steam or smoke coming out of the ground a few metres to one side, while there is snow exposed on the other side.

We started our cycling week inland in the mountains, in Caltagirone. Every town we cycled through, or spent the night in, is special, with its unique arrangement of narrow, black (think lava), stone streets and various restaurants, cafés and shops lining them. Our first day of cycling was planned to be 65 km in length with 1,200 metres of net elevation gain. If you aren't clear what this means, let me explain: On flat ground, my group can ride 100 km without a problem. Once you mix in some climbing, it's wise to reduce the distance in proportion. Normally, our trajectory would be considered challenging but doable. However, with the temperatures at 36C starting at 11am, little breeze if any, and a clear cloudless sky, we suddenly have all the ingredients for heat stroke!


In these conditions, it is imperative to drink about a litre of water per hour, even if not feeling thirsty. If your lips or mouth are dry, you need to drink regardless of thirst. Even so, the day was grueling, if not tortuous. On the one hand, the stunning views out over the panoramic valleys of mostly dry farmland (must be between growing seasons now), the mountains in the distance, the narrow stone wall-lined roads nearly always void of cars, and on the other hand, the extreme heat, our relentless thirst and fatigue, it was often confusing to know whether to feel elated or exhausted. Our climbing speeds were most often embarrassingly slow, 7 or 8 km/hr, on account of being overburdened from the unrelenting heat and broiling sun. Shade stops became the norm, every half hour or so.

 


Even with all the precautions, two cyclists in my group suffered from heat stroke, became delirious (in my opinion) but insisted on finishing the ride, whatever it took: stopping often, walking the bike whenever going uphill, keeping the speed and effort low. I frankly feared for their health and safety, but was sadly unable to persuade them to abandon their first day's ride. Happily, they both arrived intact, two hours after the rest of us, at our next stop, in Palazzolo. Most of us felt completely normal again after a rest and a cool shower, allowing us to enjoy the town's sights and a well-deserved dinner and cold beer al fresco.

 


Wash, rinse, repeat. Seven days and evenings of cycling, novelty, surprises and the occasional serendipitous moment. The perfect formula for exploring eastern Sicily! Stay tuned for more Sicilian adventures :)

Barry