Finally, on Board

The taxi driver told us that 9 pieces of luggage and 3 passengers were too much for his cab.  I could understand that much from his body language.  I didn’t have to speak Spanish.  Somehow Wyona fit all of us in, and Greg offered a generous tip, so the driver left the port happy. 

We proceeded to get on board.  For us – entering the day of final miracles – no need to unpack again until we leave for home.

The same delicious Sunday market was in full swing and Wyona and I had pesos to spend at the market. Knowing that this would be that last of the really big markets for us we proceeded to the best market of all.

Greg found coins that had been carved so as to leave the interesting figures still in the circle of the coin and the rest cut away.  If only he were a jewellery wearer.  But he couldn’t bring himself to buy one of those, nor lls one of the purses that other men carry.  But to give him his due, he happily carries any of Wyona’s bags, often two or more at a time.

At the end of the day the church bells were ringing at the San Telmo Catholic Church.  We stopped in to watch a priest dressed in jean light the candles getting ready for the service.  Then we headed for the bus, only to be stopped by Spanish music coming from a derelict hacienda.  The front courtyard was full of musicians.  A sign said, come in, stay, free, the musicians are not being paid so give what you can.  At first we watched through the spaces in the high wrought iron fence.

from a website for One Day Cafe in San Telmo
(http://onedaycafe.me/tag/san-telmo/)

Then we could smell the grill where chorizo sausages were grilled, split, and place on buns that were only vehicles to get meat into the mouth.

I would have stayed forever.  Greg and Wyona forever and a day.  The end of a dream day.

Corfu, Greece

We walked through the square, through the local church, stopped to take pictures at a typical square surrounded by dining establishments, and then we walked through the streets of markets, looking at the precious gems, the gold, the shawls, the wooden salad tongs and the toys. I tried on a one-armed black shawl, well worth the price of 40 euros and though, “If I only wear this to the Ward Christmas Party, it will be well worth the price.” When I walked away and left it in the shop, Wyona asked, “What happened there.”

“The handsome Greek clerk insisted on helping me with shawl. I knew I could do it alone, but he was insistent, I slipped the sleeve on and then went to wrap the rest of the shawl wrapped around me. But he stood a little too close to me. And when I had the sleeve on, he took his hand and smoothed out the rest of the material on the left side of my body and around my hip, giving me a massage along the way that was just a tidge too familiar. Am I imagining this, I thought. But no, he wrapped the other side of the scarf through my midriff and over my shoulder the same way. All that went through my mind was – I am used to getting a massage like this for free. It is not going to help him sell me this scarf this way, even though I really want it I am going to leave it here.” So I scarified and and went away empty handed. “You should have told him, You would have bought it, without the familiarity.” ” said Wyona when I told her. “I know. I know. But I am not quick enough and besides, I am on holidays and so I will find that scarf somewhere else on this trip.

At a Venetian Well

“Go that way, if you want to see a real local sight,” a local said to me as I was waiting outside of a grocery store for Greg and Wyona who needed some cool refreshment. The Donair Shop had offered her a coke for 2 ½ Euros. Too expensive. In the grocery store it was only one euro. So with a Fanta Orange her hand, we climbed some stairs to an empty courtyard where the well was a two step platform of white marble and inscribed 1693. I wondered how many families had drawn their water there.

A bougainvillaea tree was splayed against one of the apartment walls. A grape vine rose two stories and then branched its vines out over the windows. A woman sat on a balcony hanging her laundry out over the street. School boys came running by, empty handed, hiding in the niches of the wells so they could scare the girls whom they knew would be coming after them. The girls walked by, shrugging their shoulders with disdain at the silliness of the boys who were trying to attract their attention. Their mothers all followed behind them in a few minutes, backpacks over their shoulders. “Did you notice,” said Wyona, “things are the same all over the world. The girls all carried their own back packs and the mothers were carrying the backpacks of the boys, one of them having 3 sets of shoulder straps slung over her shoulder.”

So nice to see down so many streets in Corfu.

Arta

Barcelona, Spain

Greg and I flew through Frankfurt and landed in Barcelona.

Wyona is the one with travel status, which lets her take everyone (that is the two of us) travelling on the same ticket with her, into the elite lounges.

People sit on leather chairs and do their email, snacking their way through healthy vegetables and finishing off with cookies.

I tried to use the airport email to lure Rebecca onto the trip with us.  I was unsuccessful.

I have asked three other people ahead of her to accompany us in the fourth spot.  I was unsuccesful in each attempt.

Small wooden tables for patrons

"Nice to travel with Greg, eh," said Wyona. "He brings all of the right equipment." 

She is right. He carries the bags, has brought the electronic adaptors, brings the travel maps, and is sucessful in intervening when Wyona's luggage falls off of her trolley as she is driving it done the moving elscalator

Greg and I left Wyona sleeping in Quatre Naciones and we went out to discover Barcelona on our own, walking down to the pier, on the tree-lined boulevard of La Rambla.

We peered in small restaurants, waiting for their 9 pm customers. 

Greg studied the knives in a speciality shop.  We walked down the flea market at the harbour's edge.

Greg was looking for old lanterns that he loves.

Clams waiting to be cooked

He has an eye for architectural detail.  He would point out small alleys where there were 30 foot walkways, or where you could see the spire of an old church.

I am the one who has a passion for the beauty of the claims in this restaurant window.

Greg was drawn to the pastry windows -- and we both agreed, if Wyona had been with us, she would have purchased at least 2 of every kind.

"When I look in these windows, I am reminded again, of why MacDonalds doesn't cut it for me at home." 

Pastries we didn't buy

Greg has always loved churches.

On our walk we stopped first at a small church, and then at the big cathedral, where a service was going on.

As well, on the way home, we stopped at another church,in this one the lesson was led by different people and a guitar was initiating a musical call and response from the congregation.

If I am walking with Greg and there is a any sign of a church, he says, "Let's go in and take a peek."

If there is music going on that makes it even better for me.

... a stained glass window, high in a dark church corner ...

We saw gothic arches, Roman spires and steeples being refurbished.

We walked through the courtyard of the church that houses geese in one of its 

When Wyona is tired, Greg goes out to explore cities on his own.

The top of a celebratory wagon

Since Greg is a history buff, he can come up with the answers to my questions: 

• who was Garibaldi? (a politician who united one part of Europe)
• what is the difference between a ship and a boat? (a ship has at least 3 masts)
• what is the modern day word for gypsies? (Roma is what the Canadian government calls them Roma)

I am already having fun.

I do have some residual guilt about taking this indepth tour of the Mediterranean. Wyona tells me we are only doing it once which does not make me feel better.  It is 9 pm at night, 26 above, the streets are alive with excitement -- and this is my last time here?  Wahh! to that.

Arta