Epilogue

It’s been a bit over a month since I returned from my adventure, and I must admit that I haven’t been that motivated to sit down and write my last entry. Perhaps it’s because of the time that it takes; perhaps it’s because this entry truly signals the end of my journey. Honestly, I think it’s due to the fact it’s taken me some time to think of an appropriate summary for what was the trip of a lifetime, an entry that tries to sum up six months of extraordinary experiences in a few concise paragraphs. I’ve concluded that it is impossible to do so, but here are a few final thoughts…

My trip took me far and wide – countless airline flights, bus legs, subway trips, and boat voyages. I returned to the same city, one that I love and embrace after seeing how Chicago matches up to others around the world (and it’s pretty fabulous, if I do say so myself). But the only word to describe my return to my homeland was bittersweet – a combination of a loving reception by friends and family and those special hugs of warmth, with the reality of a return to work and a return to a life that now seemed a bit underwhelming. Not only has the return to my “normal” life taken some adjustment, but assimilation to the U.S. has proven more challenging than I expected. My friend Paula commented that returning home after a stint overseas often allows you to have a more discerning look at your own country, which unfortunately may not always be so rosy. I have concluded that reverse culture shock during my indoctrination back into the U.S. was 100% worse than the culture shock I experienced in any of the foreign lands. Needless to say, it’s taken me some time to adjust.

I’m also finding that, almost five weeks back, my trip is starting to seem like a distant memory. I’ve plastered my cubicle with photos from my trip in an attempt to remind myself of the first six and a half months of this year. I’ve tried to withhold prattling on about my trip too much, but honestly must say I’m thrilled when anyone plies me for details. I’ve gotten used to the ten minute “sum up” that I’m often allowed by acquaintances, with prepared answers for the obligatory questions of “what was your favorite place,” and “where would you go back to?” But just when I feel like the trip has already slipped to memory and photo books, it comes leaping back at me – seeing a food market in Beijing during Olympic coverage that was two blocks from my hotel; reading an article in the paper about Laos with a photo of the Buddha park where I chatted with a monk for an hour; and sitting in an Eddie Vedder concert singing as loudly as I could to the songs from Into the Wild that got me through the tough times. I’m fighting to keep the lessons and the experiences in the forefront of my life and am pleasantly surprised that little tidbits find their way to me as well.

Despite the challenges of adjusting back to life in the States, I must admit I couldn’t have picked a better time to come home. Summer in Chicago is incredible. I’m trying to overlook the ever-present PDAs and the concept of staycations in favor of the better things the U.S. has to offer – our democracy, played out over the next two weeks through the Republican and Democratic convention; our freedom of press, appreciated only when the constrasting oppression of China was imposed on foreign journalists during the Games; and the spirit of America, embodied in a young man from Maryland who millions of us watched make history with his eight swimming gold medals. I was absolutely jumping up and down for his victories.

One of the silver linings of returning home has been the ability of Ben and me to talk much more regularly. When I was traveling, he had to track my time zones and pray that my phone had reception wherever I was, whenever he had a chance to call. We could go days without talking, but now it’s much easier for him to track me down. Since learning more about his experience in Greece, I’m now able to ask better questions and learn more about his experience, and I even found myself telling him this morning to soak up all he can before he comes home. He’s working his tail off seven days a week, often 18 hours a day, and I can tell he’s tired. But he’s also resilient and tough, and ready to continue to the fight for the remaining two months. While our travel together in Greece was blissful and without incident, I couldn’t help but see the irony and the sadness that we happened to be in Istanbul the day of the attack on the U.S. consulate – the first such attack in Turkey in years. I hated to see my husband leave, but couldn’t ignore the clear reminder of why he was gone.

I half expected to see Ben when I returned to Chicago – my adventure was over, wasn’t his too?? But I’m finding that the last few weeks have gone by quickly, and hopefully mid-October will be here before we know it. I feel like I’ve left travel mode in favor of preparation mode – preparing to move back into my apartment, preparing to get things ready for his return, and preparing for what I hope will be the best welcome home party that’s ever been thrown. It’s like I’m biding time – wishing away these weeks until he’s back for our lives to really begin together. Day 54 and counting…

In trying to adapt back into society, to fight the trip nostalgia, and to expedite the next few weeks, I also try to find those fleeting moments of solitude to reflect on the past few months. I must say that I hope I’ve returned a different person – maybe not outwardly visible to others, but certainly clear to myself; with interests in new topics, with new perspectives on work and life; and with a renewed desire to make the most out of my life with Ben. It’s absolutely cliché, but absolutely true. I’m eager for my next trip, eager for the next opportunity that affords those life-changing experiences – but next time, with Ben.

Welcome back to a Rightside life – that will finally be “Up” when Ben returns. In 54 days.

The Greeks and the Turks

I arrived in Athens from London on June 25, anxiously hoping that somehow Ben had been able to make it out of Kuwait and into Europe a day earlier than expected. I was disappointed to see no familiar faces in the arrival area, but even more concerned when my taxi drove through some fairly dodgy neighborhoods prior to dropping me at my hotel. Only the breeze on the hotel’s roof deck and the view of the spotlit Acropolis helped to brighten my mood in anticipation of the next day. I could barely sleep out of excitement for seeing Ben.

Mid-day on the 26th, I left the hotel on my way to the Metro and discovered that the dodgy area was actually quite pleasant during the day. I arrived at the airport well-ahead of Ben’s expected landing and attempted to busy myself by pacing the length of the arrivals hall, stopping only to purchase a few cans of beer to celebrate our reunion. After all, Ben hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since November.

What started out as a crowd of 150 Greeks pushing to see their loved ones ultimately ended with only six Bahraini men and me standing huddled behind a steel barrier. It took ages for anyone from Ben’s Gulf Air flight to pass through the customs clearance, and I was convinced that he had missed his connection in Kuwait. Just as I was poring over the arrival screen trying to calculate the time it would take to pass through the customs line, Ben came strolling through the sliding doors, arms in the air as in victory. I couldn’t have been happier, as I ran to him for our first hug since the awful early morning I left him at dawn in a Ft. Jackson parking lot last October.

We spent the 26th and 27th in Athens, enjoying our first tastes of Greece together. Ben adapted amazingly well to civilian life – seemingly unsurprised by the luxuries and the freedom. We ate dinner both evenings at our hotel’s roof-top restaurant that overlooked the city of Athens and the Acropolis, enjoying drinks and champagne along with local fare. On Friday, we ventured out to see the Acropolis up close, stopping for lunch in the quaint Plaka neighborhood and strolling around Syntagma Square. Just being together was a gift, and even the most mundane tasks like booking ferry tickets seemed more fun with him around. All was finally right with the world.



Touring the Acropolis

The Parthenon

Looking out on Athens, with Greek coliseum in foreground

A view of Athens from the Acropolis

I now understand why the flag is blue and white - for the blue of the ocean and the skies, and the white of the buildings on the islands (or at least that's my theory!)

More photos at the Acropolis

Strolling in the Plaka district of Athens

View of the Acropolis from the roof-top restaurant

Athens at sunset

We left Athens on Saturday morning, the 28th, for Santorini. The island was every bit as picturesque as had been described to us by the family and friends that had suggested we stop there for a few days. We had a front row view from our business class ferry seats as we arrived into the port, four hours after leaving Athens. The best part of the ferry trip was hearing more about Ben’s time overseas and finally understanding what some of his day-to-day life is like in Iraq. Despite the extreme differences in our lives over the past six months, it all seemed so natural and normal to be cruising on Hellenic Seaways, hearing about the Middle East and discussing my time abroad.

Santorini has two main towns, Fira and Oia. Again, thanks to the suggestions of friends, we had booked in at a hotel in Oia, at the far side of the island. The accommodations were fine, but what was most impressive about our hotel was its birds-eye view of the caldera, or the volcanic crater that is now filled with water. Hundreds of years ago, Santorini was a circular-shaped island, but after a volcanic eruption, a significant part of the island was submerged by water. From Oia, we had a view of the outer rim of the island, broken by four or five inlets to the sea. After a quick lunch, we spent the rest of the afternoon on our small private balcony that overlooked the caldera, sipping on a bottle of wine and celebrating our good fortune. We were also thrilled to talk with the Markeys, our dear friends who had welcomed little son Brendan into the world the day before. Dinner that night was one of the best we had the entire time in Santorini – on a rooftop balcony, overlooking the caldera and the sunset.

Walking down to our hotel in Santorini

Our favorite spot in Santorini - our balcony, looking out on the caldera

Walking to dinner at sunset in Oia

Sunset in Oia

We quickly fell into a routine in Santorini for our next few days - waking up late, calling for the included breakfast to be delivered to our porch, spending a few hours at the pool, eating a late lunch of our newly-found Greek favorites (tsatziki, saganaki, huge and fresh greek salads, cokes, and beer), and napping until dinner time. We made sure to enjoy the beginning of the sunsets each evening with drinks on our porch, before strolling down the main pedestrian road in Oia to select a restaurant for dinner. Our walk always took us through the small town square, where local kids played a raucous game of soccer each evening. One evening, we ate at the Red Bicycle at the far end of town; one evening was an old ship captain’s house where we had a great view of the sunset; and the best dinner of all was at Ferodini, where we discovered that the Italian food was every bit as tasty as the Greek. Adopting a term from prior wars, Ben claimed he was on “convalescent” leave, and proceeded to make up rules of convalescence that must be followed throughout the vacation. Waking up early was clearly a violation; having another beer or glass of wine was absolutely encouraged.

Vibrant colors in Oia

A dog's life in Greece

The famous blue-domed church at sunset

Oia at sunset

Our daily lunch - Greek salad, saganaki, and tsatziki, with a view of the caldera

Scenes from Greece

On our final day in Santorini, we decided we should venture around the island a bit, so Ben rented a motorcycle. As a former bike owner, I’m confident he selected the biggest one he could find to bypass the scooters otherwise clogging the roads. We set out for Fira, driving along the curving roads until we ended up at the biggest town on the island. After so many peaceful, restful, and quiet days in Oia, we were a bit overwhelmed with the size of the town – the street touts and tourist hawkers were too intrusive for our taste. So we continued further south, driving past vineyards until we reached the lighthouse at the southern tip. Although we certainly weren’t pioneers to the area, it felt like we had a small piece of the island to ourselves for a few minutes.

Stopping in Fira for a view of the caldera

Visiting the southern tip of the island...

...and the lighthouse

Sunset on our last night in Oia

And soaking up some last good reading time on our balcony

After our five days in Santorini, we felt well-rested and quite taken with the island. We left on the morning of the 3rd on a ferry to Mykonos, the other well-known spot in the Cyclades. On the way, the ferry stopped at three other islands for passengers to hop on and hop off. I have to admit that I cringed with every backpacker, as I was so thankful to have exchanged my bag and be on a non-backpacking trip for a bit. I think it will be awhile before I saddle up with my pack again.

Our hotel in Mykonos was outside of town a bit and had only opened a few months prior. We loved everything about it – its serenity, comfort, private deck, pool, breakfast, and view. The hotel was directly across the street from a huge mansion owned by the head of Vodafone, and we strolled past the monstrosity each night on our way from the three local oceanfront tavernas. I kept hoping I would see someone there so I could make friends and be invited inside J Again, our days passed beautifully in Mykonos, with late breakfasts and afternoons at the pool. On the 5th, we again rented a scooter but for the more pressing matter of securing tickets back to the mainland. I must admit we did little exploring, with the exception of walking through the narrow streets of the main town one afternoon. The highlight was eating fresh gyros in a town restaurant before returning to the peace of the hotel pool.

Windmills in Mykonos

Little Venice in Mykonos

Tasty gyros for lunch

Ben relaxing at the hotel pool

Dinner at an ocean-front taverna

The 6th was a VERY long travel day for us. Ben and I had decided a couple of days prior that we would travel to Istanbul during the next week and had chosen to do so overland. After an early morning flight back to Athens, we schlepped our bags via bus to the metro, then took the Athens metro to the local train station. Unlike most European train stations, this one was tiny – only a couple of platforms and a small ticket office where we sorted out the tickets for that day. We first took a six hour train from Athens to Thessaloniki, the country’s second biggest city. The best part of this trip was seeing the changing topography and foliage, and I kept looking for Mt. Olympus out the side window until I fell asleep and presumably missed it a couple of hours from the end of the train ride.

Ben described Thessaloniki as “wretched,” although I’m sure there are many redeeming qualities that we just didn’t find. It didn’t help that it was almost 100 degrees, or that everything was closed up on a Sunday afternoon. We ended up biding time in an air-conditioned Starbucks and reading books in the train waiting room when our exploring left us unimpressed with the city. Ben purchased some provisions for our train ride, and we finally boarded around 8:00 that evening for our overnight trip to Istanbul.

Leaving Thessaloniki for Istanbul via train

In general, I have been quite pleased with my train journeys on my trip, as the Asian trains in Thailand and China seemed equipped with the basics – A/C, food carts, good-sized cabins, and well-run train cars. Unfortunately for us, the Greek train had none of these amenities. Our car was tiny, tiny, tiny – with no working A/C. The only reprieve from the heat came once we finally left the station, when a breeze from the opened window would cool off the train car. Within minutes of our journey, water started rushing in from the cabin next to ours – I ran next door, thinking a faucet had been left on in the bathroom car. Unfortunately, the sole passenger of the cabin had no idea that water had started to rush in from an unknown source, soaking his bag as well as ours. The Greek employee slowly found us a new cabin, which Ben declared was “first class,” due solely to the functioning light switch. We held out hope for the A/C, to no avail.

Ben trying to make the best of the train ride


I must admit the scenery of the Greek fields at dusk was beautiful, and we passed the hours until the dark set in with reading, talking, and sipping on beers. We finally settled into sleep, only to discover that the insects would take over our cabin whenever the train stopped (thanks to the open window). The moving train was anything but peaceful, as the brakes squealed against the tracks all night. At 4:00 a.m., we were awakened at the Greek border by border patrol returning our passports; at 5:00 a.m., we were awakened again at the Turkish border to pay 15 euros for a requisite visa. We learned then from fellow travelers that the Turkish trains are supposedly quite a bit nicer than the Greek train that we were on, and it was only luck of the draw that we ended up with the poorer of the two options.

As we were scheduled to arrive around 8:00 a.m., I woke up early at the sight of buildings in hopeful anticipation of the train station. However, we kept pulling through small towns until we realized that our train was running over three hours late, for reasons not disclosed to us. The silver lining of that morning on the awful train was the sighting of beautiful fields of sunflowers separating the small Turkish towns alongside the railway.

Greek countryside at dusk

Sunflower fields in the Turkish countryside

At 11:00 a.m., the train finally pulled into the Istanbul station, and we hailed a taxi to our hotel. We had decided to treat ourselves to nice accommodation in Istanbul, and I couldn’t wait to get there. As our room wasn’t yet ready for check-in, the reception desk suggested eating some lunch or spending some time at the pool. He then took one look at me and said, “perhaps you’d like to freshen up a bit in the spa/fitness center area?” I realized I was a little travel-worn but didn’t realize I looked that bad!

Our hotel was situated on the Bosphorous, and from our lunch table, we had a great view of the ferries that transported passengers through the strait to various stops along the way. As you may recall from your high school geography, Istanbul spans two continents – with the Bosphorous separating Europe from Asia. Our hotel was situated on the European side, with the houses and buildings of Asia clearly visible right across the water. Only a few kilometers away was the Black Sea.

Our stay in Istanbul was fabulous, as we found ourselves “convalescing” every day. In addition to lounging by the pool, reading books, taking naps, and eating delicious meals, we ventured into the old city center to visit historic and iconic Istanbul sites. We first walked through the Blue Mosque, a huge and ornate mosque still filled on Fridays for prayers. As Istanbul was the first predominately Muslim city I had every visited, I was fascinated with the culture and loved taking in every corner of the mosque. Afterwards, we walked to Hagia Sofia, a church erected several hundred years ago when the city had been under Roman rule. Following centuries of wars and ultimate victory by the Muslim Turks, the cathedral had been converted into a Mosque. It now contains interesting religious symbols of both cultures, from gold mosaics of Christ and the Virgin Mary, to huge placards with Arabic text.

At our hotel in Istanbul on the Bosphorous - with Asia on the other side

Enjoying some Turkish coffee

Sunset photo by the Bosphorous

The Lesters at dinner

The Blue Mosque

Arabic texts inside Hagia Sofia

Hagia Sofia

The minarets at Hagia Sofia

Looking back at the Blue Mosque

Strolling through a city park near the Ottoman Palace

Our final dinner in Istanbul was in the Taksim area, a pedestrian street lined with shops, cafes, and restaurants. Based on the suggestion of our concierge, we booked a reservation at a restaurant on the top floor of one of the taller buildings, and we were rewarded with sunset views across the city and the Bosphorous. Our meal was delicious and quite filling, and certainly a good way to end our stay.

Because we hadn’t enjoyed our experience on the train, we ultimately decided to fly back to Athens and spend the last couple of nights there to ensure Ben would have no issues making his dreaded flight back to work. We were sad to leave the beauty of the Turkish city and weren’t so thrilled to be back in Athens again – but managed to make the most of the last two nights with delicious dinners. I was craving tsatziki, so we ate at a small tavern in Plaka one evening. The second evening, we walked to a local brasserie and had a filling dinner of Greek salads and pasta. As we weren’t much interested in more sight-seeing, our final full day together included relaxing while watching the Tour de France.

We woke up on Saturday morning, sad about the fact that it was the end to sixteen wonderful days together. Ben and I had enjoyed an amazing vacation, and we weren’t ready to say good-bye. On the way to the airport, we kept reminding ourselves of the fact that he only has 90 days left – and that the summer will (hopefully) fly by quickly. At least I had a return to the U.S. – and to our friends and families - to look forward to. So, two weeks after I stood in a group of Bahrainis to welcome Ben to Europe, I watched him board a Gulf Air flight back to the Middle East. I missed him the instant we were apart.

Only three more months to go!

My flight to London left soon afterwards, and after a trip on the Stansted Express, two line changes on the Tube, and a stroll through Chelsea, I found myself back at my friend Chris’s flat. Although he was in the U.S. on vacation, he graciously offered for me to stay there for the last two nights before my flight home. I used Sunday just to wander around, enjoy brunch, and catch up on emails. I quite enjoyed having one day to myself to reflect on the past few months before re-entry into the Chicago world.

The past two weeks have, by far, been the favorite of my trip. I think that Ben and I could have been anywhere, and it would have been blissful, but spending the time in Greece and Turkey with him was an added bonus. I now find myself back at home, wishing for delivered breakfasts and sunset drinks on our Santorini balcony, and praying for the time before I see Ben again to pass quickly. And, just as I arrived safely back home, I can confirm that Ben also is back in Baghdad, returning to work this week as I have also done. His return trip included an unfortunate night of sleep in the comforts of a Starbucks chair inside the Kuwaiti airport, followed by a night’s rest in a tent on the Kuwaiti base. I’m just glad he made it back into the country without incident.

In preparation for summing up my trip (one final entry to be written next week), I realized that I hadn’t issued any “Must-See Awards” in quite some time. So, here are the final prizes: 1) Because of its beauty and peacefulness, I issue a “Must-See” to Halong Bay, Vietnam, which is best discovered on an overnight trip on an old Chinese junk boat and on-board a kayak. 2) The Inca Trail also deserves recognition, for its outstanding scenery and trekking experience in the Peruvian Andes. I’d highly recommend anyone interested in an active vacation to sign up, as it was absolutely my favorite part of my trip in South America. Just a warning, though – it takes months to get one of the coveted permits, so plan ahead! 3) And finally, my final award is given to Santorini, for its beauty, and for delivering on everything I thought Greece would be – blue skies, blue water, white-washed cave buildings, delicious food, and relaxation. For the rest of our stay in Greece, we kept reflecting on our time on the island and just how perfect it was.

Don't Cry for Us Argentina (and Brazil...and Uruguay)

Hi everyone - I wrote this entry two weeks ago before my reunion with Ben but didn't have a chance to post this prior to my arrival in Greece. Below is a recap of my travels with Paige in South America - with an update on the past two weeks to come shortly. Enjoy!

What an amazing final two weeks on my around-the-world ticket! Paige and I spent most of our first week in Argentina, first in Buenos Aires. It’s often referred to as the “Paris of South America,” and it was easy to see why – wide boulevards, tree-lined streets, fabulous cafes, and amazing shopping.

After my restful and indulgent day in the Buenos Aires Marriott on the morning I arrived from Peru, I was thrilled to greet my good friend Paige on Wednesday, June 11. We hit the town running on that Wednesday, heading first to the local bus station to purchase tickets for our trip to Mendoza the following day. After a small mix-up with directions (thanks to me), we found our way onto Bus #33, which took us to the middle of the city. We walked to the Plaza de Mayo, where we paused to look at the famous pink governmental building – known as the one from which Eva Peron, or Evita, addressed the crowds (and for those of you in my generation, the one from which Madonna famously sang “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” in the modern-day musical “Evita”). Afterwards, we headed to the Puerto Madero area, a part of town newly renovated and known for its hotels, restaurants, and flashy new condos. We happened upon a great café and enjoyed a long lunch, catching up on the past few months and our lives on the road and in Nashville, respectively. We decided to mark the occasion (our first day together in Argentina, of course!) with a couple of glasses of champagne, and then strolled back along the canal to another café, where we paused for a late afternoon drink. On our way back to the hotel, we walked along the pedestrian street Calle Florida, and arrived at our hotel in time to rest a bit before dinner. That evening, we took a taxi back to Puerto Madero to one of BA’s famous steakhouses, where we enjoyed some quality South American beef and Malbec wine. Although we had previously intended to continue our evening with a tango show, we both concluded mid-meal that we were exhausted, and opted to postpone that for another day.

With Paige in front of the governmental building, made famous by Evita for her speeches off of the top balcony

A lesson about Argentinean beef at El Mirasol steak house

We had a big day planned for Tuesday, starting out first by walking down the Avenida de Libertador to shops in Plaza Bulrich. We enjoyed a long stop in the shops but ultimately continued walking through the upscale Recoleta area, past the famous Hotel Alvear and more shops, until we arrived at the gates of the Recoleta Cemetery. Before entering, though, we had a filling lunch at a café right outside, sitting on the sidewalk and soaking up some sun in the winter Argentinean air (which wasn’t really that cold!!).

After lunch, we strolled through the cemetery. While this may sound morbid to some, this is actually one of the biggest attractions in BA, mainly because of the intricately carved and crafted gravestones. The gravestones are more like little stone crypts, housing several family members, inscribed with poems and artistically designed. The most famous, of course, is the marker for Evita, which was the most popular of all of the headstones in the cemetery. We walked there, along with the crowd, gave our respects, and continued on our way back through the cemetery to the front gates.

Evita's grave in the Recoleta Cemetery

Based on recommendations of some of Paige’s friends, we then headed to the Palermo district, which I found to be very similar to Lincoln Park at home – cute houses, condos, and apartments, with boutiques and little restaurants dispersed throughout. We stopped along the way for a coffee and a hot chocolate, as we had heard that the best way to really see the city was to sit in a café and watch the world go by. When we finally headed out into the street again, we walked around a bit longer and then ultimately headed back to Plaza St. Martin, where our hotel was located.

That evening, we caught a bus to Mendoza after confirming that there were no problems with the route. As you may have heard on CNN a couple of weeks ago, the Argentinean farmers have been strongly protesting against several tax increases which have effectively raised the tax rate 30% in three months. One such manner of protest was to block traffic from passing on major highways (or “corta la ruta” in espanol), causing significant problems not only for transportation, but for vital food supplies as well. The hotel had called and confirmed that we would still be able to travel on the overnight bus, but we learned upon arrival at the bus station that the bus was a bit delayed due to problems with the road. Once we finally set out on our 13 hour bus, we were pleased to see that the “accommodations” appeared nice – a steward, a warm meal (although NOT good), and movie en route. We had fully reclining leather seats and my DVD player with which to watch some of The Office (my new favorite show). We fell asleep quickly, but I awoke mid-evening when the bus was paused on the road…it turns out that we HAD run into some of the protesting farmers, who insisted that our bus (and the three following) turn around. Fortunate for us, our bus driver apparently knew a side route, and we took off across a dirt road bisecting the middle of a field. After several turns through a local town, I drifted back asleep and was pleased to wake up to a view of the Andes rather than a view of BA.

Paige and I were to spend the next three days in Mendoza, an area of Argentina known for its prolific wine production and for its proximity to the snow-capped Andes, including the tallest mountain in South America. We arrived at our bed and breakfast in the quaint town, which happened to be across from Plaza Italia, one of the five main town plazas. After chasing down the taxi that attempted to drive away with our bags (good call Paige on keeping your door open when you got out!), we were welcomed by Mercedes and Tito, an older Argentinean couple that runs the Plaza Italia B&B. The house was cute, but we were most taken by how wonderful Mercedes was. Of course, she showed us around and gave us a full tutorial on the use of the keys, but we enjoyed her explanation of good restaurants and local sites. We were especially shocked when she was describing one local restaurant, as she happened to know the words for “Hitching Post” (the English translation of the Spanish name), as well as the description of what a hitching post is – not to mention her other detailed explanations of popular spots. I certainly couldn’t have described many of these things in my broken Spanish!

We set out in search of a café, traversing the small town in about 15 minutes and winding up at one of the several cafeterias lining the pedestrian mall east of the Main Plaza. Afterwards, we stopped by a travel agency to book a Sunday trip to the Andes, and later finished off our morning with a stroll by shops and past some of Mercedes’ recommended restaurants. Around 1:30, we noticed that many of the places were closing up shop – going as far to pull down metal coverings over shop windows and empty out the parking lots. We learned from a local shoe store that the entire town takes an afternoon siesta from 1:30 until 5:00, only to open again at 5 to work until 8 or 9. It was amazing the extent to which everything was closed! We decided to take a lesson from the locals and headed back to the B&B for our own afternoon nap, which we needed after our evening on the bus.

When we woke, we decided to walk to the Vines of Mendoza, a local wine tasting restaurant that had been opened a couple of years ago by two Americans. We were also intent on finding someone that could take us around to local wineries the next day, as all of the tours we had found were over $125. I was taking a lesson from my trip to Sonoma/Napa last December with my friends Michele and Chris, secretly hoping that a local would be willing to make a few $$ on the side. We were fortunate enough to start chatting with Marcella, a beautiful young Argentinean working at the Vines of Mendoza. As we snacked on an impressive cheese tray, she called a local contact and inquired if he would be willing to drive us around the next day (which he was). Marcella was also so kind to give us a local history lesson and fill us in on some wine basics over the two flights of wine Paige and I shared that evening.

To bide time before the “proper” dinner hour of 10 or 11, we stopped by a local hotel for an appetizer, then headed to Francesco’s, an Italian restaurant. Prior to traveling to Argentina, I was unaware of the significant Italian influence, but we had continually seen several Italian eateries and heladerias (ice cream/gelato shops) in both BA and Mendoza. We decided to sample one that Friday evening and were thrilled with the selection suggestion by Marcela. We returned to the B&B after dinner to rest up for our next day.

On Saturday, we headed out to wine country mid-morning with Pedro, the man that Marcella had contacted from the night before. Pedro greeted us on Saturday morning at the B&B, and we quickly learned that he had lived in the US for over 50 years, during which time he happened to spend a few years in Chattanooga (where he met his former wife). We instantly enjoyed talking with Pedro, and we were happy to adjust our plans for his suggested itinerary. He took us first to the winery of Carmelo Patti, a cute little Argentinean man who came out of his workshop to greet us with hugs. Carmelo’s winery had no signs outside advertising the entrance and was only marked with three non-distinguishing palm trees. Despite the lack of advertising (or rather because of it), this turned out to be favorite stop of the day, as it was so quaint, and Carmelo was kind enough to give us his own private tasting and tour. At the end, he requested that we sign a gigantic guest book, which was halfway filled with names dating back only to 2003. Although he engages in no advertising, his winery is quite popular, and his wine sales continue to grow due to overseas interest. Pedro even told us that a group of Russian tourists once made a special second trip back to Mendoza to present Carmelo with a t-shirt with his picture screen-printed – one that was also worn by all of the Russians themselves! Of course, we purchased a bottle of his wine, which Carmelo himself signed before boxing it up and sending us on our way.

A winery tour with vitner Carmelo Patti in Mendoza

Carmelo signing our purchased bottles of wine

Afterwards, we stopped at two other wineries. I was most interested in the 20+ year old bottles at Weitner, collecting dust and aging beautifully, and the cement tanks that were used (in addition to French oak barrels). I had never known that the cement tanks were so popular, but perhaps this is special to Argentina?

After the third winery, we joined Pedro for lunch at Casa de Campo, a small restaurant in Maipu, one of the towns of Mendoza. We had what I think was a traditional lunch, laughing with Pedro as he tried to imitate the southern accent. We also tried to make some sense of one of his phrases…”If You Get Burned by Milk, the Next Time you See A Cow, You will Run.” ???

We had one last stop at the San Felipe vineyard, that also happened to have a museum inside. This was probably my least favorite, as the wine wasn’t that great, and I get bored easily with museums. But we had a great view of the Andes over the top of the vines, and wrapped up our trip with Pedro with a lot of laughs. What a great day in Mendoza and in what turned out to be my third wine tour of my trip. That night, we headed to a small pub for a good and filling dinner, before returning back early to sleep off the wine consumption from that day.

Vines in Mendoza, with the Andes in the distance

Pedro and Paige on our wine tour

On Sunday morning, we left our B&B early on the trip to the Andes. I had underestimated the Argentinean winter and found that I was a bit cold on my way up into the mountains. We also quickly learned that the surcharge we had paid for an English speaking guide was a ruse, as our guide spoke basically NO English. Now, I’ve been traveling long enough to know that I have no right to expect an English-based tour, but also long enough to know that paying an extra few dollars for a guide that does speak the language is well worth it. So, we were none-to-happy to find that our guide would speak in Spanish for 20 minutes, to follow-up with only 1 minute of English translation…clearly, we were missing out of a few things. We stopped for an early morning coffee mid-drive, in view of the Andes, and then finally had a chance to “sort things out” when we arrived in the last significantly-sized town on the Argentinean side of the Andes. We were told to rent some snow pants and boots for the next couple of hours, and waited in a small café for our group to finish their morning cup of coffee.

Our guide did a better job for the next couple of hours that we spent driving further up into the Andes. About 20 miles away from the Chilean border, we stopped in the snow for a view of Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in South America at 6900M. We then started driving back the way we came, stopping along the way to view the Incan bridge, a natural stone walkway of various mineral-like colors. Near the bridge was a small church, as well as ruins of what we later learned was a hotel that had been crushed in an avalanche in the 1960s. By a miracle, the snow had fallen over the top of the church and left it virtually untouched. The church still stands today, but no visitors are allowed to walk inside, given the uncertainly of the structural integrity.

A snow stop in the Andes, with Aconagua in the background

The Inca bridge, with the miraculously-saved church on the right

The group stopped at a local ski resort for an hour of sledding, although the idea of sledding was a bit much for Paige (who had come from a Nashville heat wave) and for me (who has been in “summer” since January). The tour ended with a traditional Argentinean lunch at a small estancia (a ranch-like restaurant), where we took the tour guide’s suggestion for a lunch of empanadas, beef, potatoes, and dessert. We arrived back in Mendoza that evening after a two hour drive, during which time Paige happened to wine a bottle of wine from an Argentinean license plate driving game. The driver announced “Pa-he Men-he has won!”

Mercedes welcomed us back at the B&B, where we asked to wait out the last couple of hours before our bus left for B.A. Not only did she confirm that we would be able to proceed on the road (still problems with the farmers), but she also fixed us a cup of tea and chatted with us about American politics, Argentinean politics, and her life in the country. Hearing about her years in BA and Mendoza was fascinating, and certainly a highlight of our trip to the western part of the country.

We took a taxi to the bus station, where we were fascinated by the hordes of people bidding adieu to their fathers and grandfathers, as it was Father’s Day here in Argentina as well. Aside from an elderly Argentinean woman, we were the only ones on our bus back to BA and settled into our nice seats quickly. We didn’t seem to get as much rest of this trip, as there were (again) problems mid-evening with the roads, and it was much colder on Sunday night than the Thursday night prior. We arrived back at the Marriott in BA the next morning, looking forward to hot showers and comfy-looking beds.

After catching up with my parents to wish my father a belated Happy Father’s Day, Paige and I then had to spend the next few hours sorting our flights and plans for the upcoming week. At 2:00 p.m., we finally set out to see some more of the city, but were quickly side-tracked by beautiful shoes peeping out from a store window. We made a small detour back to the hotel to drop off our packages after our shoe store stop, and the proceeded to the Avenida 9 de Junio, the large boulevard that runs through the middle of the city. Because it was Flag Day and a national holiday, few stores were open – but we did stop for a sandwich close to the Obelisk, a large monument resembling the Washington Monument in DC. Our stroll continued through the city, where we stopped to purchase tickets at the famous Café Tortoni for a tango show later that evening.

After another walk down Calle Florida and a quick stop at the hotel, we ventured over to the tango show. We were seated with a lovely Brazilian couple from Brasilia, the capital, and had some snacks and drinks prior to the show commencing . We had heard that a tango show was a must-see in the city, and the show was certainly enjoyable – if for nothing else than to marvel at the flexibility and passionate dancing of the performers. I still don’t know how those ladies learned to move their legs like that!

Performers at the tango show at Cafe Tortoni

On our way home, our taxi driver pointed out a large protest taking place around the Obelisk; apparently, many of the Argentineans were out to support their fellow farmers. Our taxi driver was also extremely animated in describing his opinions of the situation, and by the time we arrived back at the hotel, all the local news stations were covering the demonstrations. As Paige had said earlier in the week, “we Americans just don’t know how to stage a good protest!”

On Tuesday, I woke up and headed to the Brazilian embassy to claim my passport. Although the woman to whom I had spoken the Tuesday prior had said someone else could collect the passport for me, the concierge was unable to do so on the Friday prior. Because the embassy was closed on Monday for Flag Day, I was determined that I would finally claim my passport on Tuesday morning, especially as we were hoping to spend the day in Uruguay. Unfortunately, I was informed that I could only obtain my passport between 12 and 1, which seemed like a ridiculous rule to me. After much fuss (including some on-the-spot tears and a claim that there were “problemas con mi familia” – don’t know WHERE I came up with that!), the woman behind Window #4 relented and returned my passport. I quickly confirmed that they had, in fact, granted me my visa, then quickly exited the building and hustled away from the embassy before they could change their minds.

Soon after, we headed to the ferry terminal, which was possibly one of the nicest buildings we had seen yet in BA. We purchased our tickets, checked in, had a coffee, and were off to Uruguay! Again, thanks to recommendations, we had been told that a one day trip to the small town of Colonia was quite enjoyable and were looking forward to seeing the UNESCO World Heritage site. We wandered from the ferry terminal to the old town, which was full of quaint shops and brightly painted buildings leading down to the sea. We found a small café to enjoy a lunch, then spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the small cobblestone streets, stopping to shop along the way. We paused for photos of the old city gates and the town lighthouse, later wandering out to the pier and snapping snots of the sunset. We arrived back in BA around 9:00 that evening and were glad we had decided to make the day trip.

Snapping a street view photo from our lunch cafe, Colonia, Uruguay

With friend and fellow traveler, Paige, in Colonia

Sunset in Colonia

On Wednesday, we woke up fairly early to finish packing our bags for the airport. We had purchased tickets up to Iguassu Falls and were eager to see what was supposedly one of the top three sites in South America. Our master plan included storing my bag and my box of Mendoza wine at the airport for the next five days, while we traveled around outside of BA; after storing the luggage in the International Terminal, we were then going to head to the domestic terminal for our Iguassu-bound flight. The only problem was that learned too late that there IS no domestic terminal – only a separate, domestic airport – ACROSS TOWN. As soon as we learned this, we hurried out of the terminal and found a taxi, the driver of which was an old man who took off running across the parking lot to get his car. Despite his best efforts, we arrived at the Aeroparque airport right as the flight closed and were denied entry. And although we could have requested a flight refund, we learned that no other flights were leaving that afternoon due to a city-wide (and possibly country-wide) strike in support of the farmers. The pilots weren’t going anywhere after 12:00 p.m. (note that the flight we missed was at 11:50 a.m.!).

The only option was to return into the city and rebook on a flight for the next day. Paige and I were frustrated – although we had enjoyed BA, we were ready to move on to some place new. We made the best of the day, heading back to the lunch restaurant we found the first day in celebration of Paige’s half birthday. After a delicious and filling two hour lunch, we spent the rest of the afternoon shopping along Calle Florida and buying some funny souvenirs. That evening, we had a delicious dinner at Sucre in Belgrano and reflected that it hadn’t been such a bad day afterall.

On Wednesday morning, we arrived at the correct airport well ahead of schedule and safely made it onto our flight to Iguassu. Upon arrival, I was immediately pleased to feel the temperature change and see the beauty of the rainforest in the northeastern corner of the country, and after a quick stop at our hotel to check in, we headed off to the park. We were anxious to see what the fuss was about, and after our first siting of the falls, we determined that all of the talk was well warranted. We went first to “The Devil’s Throat” by walking over a series of metal walkways that were suspended over the rivers that ultimately end up rushing over the side of the mountain. Paige and I paused at the edge, just amazed at the force of the huge falls. We were also able to see the Brazilian side of the falls, just on the other side of the Devil’s Throat.

After this first stop, we were anxious to see the rest of the Argentinean side, so we returned to the intra-park train stop. On our way to the other hikes, however, we were involved in an minor train wreck when the oncoming train failed to provide enough room for ours to pass…given that the train was only going about 10 mph (to which Paige had previously remarked earlier in the day that the train “was certainly no speeding bullet”), I think only one little boy was hurt but everyone else was just entertained. Within seconds of the “collision,” all of the tourists had hopped off the two trains with cameras in hand, ready to record the collision for their scrapbooks. Paige and I also hopped off, walked the last bit to the beginning of the hiking trails and started on “the upper circuit,” which had great views of the falls rushing below. After a poor lunch, we spent the next couple of hours walking along the lower circuit, where we took even more photos, had the option to walk out to the edge to get soaked by the falls, and then eventually took a boat trip around the base of the falls. On the boat trip, the driver drove the boat literally under the falls, such that we were soaked when we disembarked – but we certainly had the best view that way.

Minor train wreck at Iguassu Falls

Rainbow over the falls

Views of Iguassu Falls, Argentinean side

Boat racing into the falls - we were soaked on our own boat ride later that afternoon

Feeling small at the falls

Looking forward to our boat ride

Due to our long morning of travel and the poor lunch, we were starving and tired at the end of an eventful day. We then walked to the Sheraton hotel, the only hotel within the park, for an early evening dinner and drink. Although it was cloudy, we enjoyed sitting outside on the deck as the sky slowly turned dark and the mist of the falls seemed to rise up from the river below. We left the park around 8:00 that evening, caught the locals’ bus back to town, made a couple of pit stops in the town of Puerta Iguazu, and found ourselves in bed at an early and reasonable hour.
After a filling breakfast at our inn the next morning, we headed back to the airport for our flight to B.A. Friday was to be a travelling day, as we were visiting four airports en route to Rio – Iguassu, B.A. (domestic), B.A. (international), and Rio. I don’t have much to report from that day, except for the fact that I’m very thankful to my father-in-law Chris for gifting me an Admiral’s Club membership, as I enjoyed passing the time in the B.A. International airport in peace and quiet - with the help of a glass of free champagne.

Paige and I arrived in Rio de Janeiro around 9:00 p.m. on Friday evening and were greeted by Melissa Cooney, a friend from UT. Some of you may have seen Melissa’s comment on the blog a month or so ago…Melissa just recently moved to Rio to assume a position as the manager of all South American operations for the Nature Conservancy. Although we hadn’t been in touch since school, she welcomed Paige and I with open arms, graciously hosting us and letting us crash with her for our weekend in the Marvelous City (as it’s known to locals from Rio – who are known as “Cariocas”).

Melissa and her friend Leandro (a Brazilian from the capital of Brasilia who had studied in Boston and had perfect English!) escorted us back to her apartment in Ipanema, an attractive area of beautiful homes, condos, hotels, restaurants, cafes, and bars. Paige coined the term “SB ’08,” as it felt like this leg of our trip was reminiscent of a college spring break – warm weather, nice evening breezes, tanned locals, and an active night life. Melissa and I ventured out that evening for a taste of the nightlife, walking a few blocks away to a local bar. The place was packed with gorgeous Brazilians (it really is true that they are all so attractive), and of course, soccer/football was playing on all of the flat screens. Melissa, in her outstanding Portuguese, ordered us a couple of local draft beers, which we drank as we caught up on the last few years since graduating from UT.

Saturday in Rio was one of my favorite days of my entire trip. We started out by heading to a local juice stand, which are as populous in Rio as Starbucks in the U.S. For breakfast, we all had fresh mixed juices – I selected a pineapple/guava mix first, followed by a mango/passion fruit. Paige had an interesting aci, which is apparently an amazing anti-oxidant juice, mixed with granola. Afterwards, we ran a couple of errands in Ipanema before walking the two blocks from Melissa’s place to the beach.

Fresh juices for breakfast in Rio

I still find urban beaches, such as Bondi, to be a bit unusual, as my type of beach is quiet, solitary, and peaceful. Ipanema Beach was anything but, but it was also one of the most fun days I have ever had on the beach. We had so much fun people watching – seeing the little “teeny-kinis” on the Brazilian women; the too-tight, too-teeny suits on the men as well; the endless vendors strolling the beaches, hawking cookies, ice tea, fresh pineapple, sandwiches, hot dogs, etc.; and the locals playing volleyball, running, and wind-surfing. The crowds added to the vibrant atmosphere, and the dramatic scenery and perfect weather only helped round out the perfect day. After a relaxing few hours on the beach, we headed to a local restaurant, where Leandro ordered a delicious and traditional Brazilian meal that we shared – beef, rice, beans, and potatoes. Paige and I also decided to try a caipirinhi, the typical Brazilian drink made out of cachaca (a local liquor), lime, and sugar.

A beautiful day on Ipanema Beach, Rio de Janeiro

Our first taste of a caipirinhi

After dinner, Melissa, Paige, and I did some shopping in her neighborhood, stopping to pick up a few pairs of Havianas, the famous Brazilian flip flops. We then met Leandro and his friend Vinny that evening for a couple of drinks in Leandro’s neighborhood (near Sugarloaf Mountain) before having dinner next to the lagoon in the middle of the city. The night lights of Rio reflecting off the water by the restaurant were the perfect backdrop for our meal.

The next day, I made Paige get up early for a city tour, as I wanted to be sure to see some of the sights before we left town the next day. Unfortunately, the clear skies of the day before had passed on, and gray clouds were covering the city. As we ascended up into the national park with our group, the visibility decreased more and more – to the point where we were actually in cloud cover with no views below. By the time we reached the iconic Rio statue of Christ the Redeemer, the huge statute that lords over the city, we were in windy, cold conditions with no views of the city below at all. I had been waiting my whole trip to see this site but had to be content to make out the shape between the passing clouds. We also tried to sneak in some pictures of the city below, but weren’t so successful. We were actually looking forward to returning to our group and the warmth of the van when our thirty minutes at the top had concluded.

Famous b&w tiled sidewalk at Copacabana Beach

Christ the Redeemer watching over Rio on a gray Sunday morning

Afterwards, we drove to the Maracana, the famous Brazilian stadium that houses almost 100,000 crazy soccer fans. Although we didn’t pay to go inside, we did have a chance to walk around the small entrance to the hall of fame and snap a photo next to Pele’s footsteps. We then headed onward to Sambadrome, the famous parade ground for Carnival, where the various samba schools perform their samba routines for the judges. For the low price of 3 reais, we were even able to try on a costume from Carnival, an idea on which I was instantly game. We had the best time observing the others in our group in their costumes, and I must admit that Paige’s outfit was the best. I left there feeling confident that I will return for Carnival one day.

Visiting Pele's footprints at Maracana

Our turn in the Carnival parade outfits

Our final stop took us through downtown Rio to the large beehive-shaped cathedral. Our guide said that the cathedral could supposedly hold 20,000 people at any given time, but we were all a bit skeptical that this was true, given her confusion with numbers earlier in the tour. However, based on Paige’s calculations, that estimate may actually be possible – and I can only imagine how cramped the cathedral must be under those conditions. The best part of the building were the massive, colorful stained glass windows stretching up on four sides to the ceiling, where glass formed the shape of a cross.

Driving through downtown back to our hotel gave us some insight into the scary Rio that we had heard so much about. Although we had received warnings from so many people about the safety of the city, we had not seen any reason for the comments until that day. Ipanema was beautiful and clean, and we felt (perhaps unfairly so) very secure strolling around Melissa’s neighborhood. However, seeing downtown Rio gave us sufficient pause, as the buildings were covered in graffiti and the crowd seemed fairly sketchy. I’m glad we saw this side of the city but even more thankful that Melissa was hosting us in her part of town.

Given the rain and dreary conditions, we decided to try a real Brazilian steakhouse that afternoon in lieu of more sightseeing. Melissa took us to Porcao, one of the most famous steakhouses in Rio. We heeded her warnings to take our time and eat slowly, so as to enjoy the long and filling meal. It was indeed quite an experience, as the restaurant was packed with fellow Brazilians enjoying a dreary Sunday afternoon. With soccer games playing in the background, we spent almost three hours enjoying appetizers, a huge salad bar, various cuts of meat, potatoes, fried bananas and wine. For those of you who have visited Fogo de Chao, or a similar equivalent, I found this experience to be similar…waiters walking from table to table with different types of meats on huge skewers. Depending on if the coaster in front of your plate was turned to red (for “no thanks”) or green (for “yes, please”), the waiters would slice off different types of meat onto your plate. My favorite, based on a suggestion from Melissa, was the grilled filet with a parmesan crust. Yummmm.

Enjoying a delicious meal at Porcao...thanks Melissa for hosting us!

We rolled ourselves out of Porcao, hopped on a local bus, and spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around a local shopping center and getting pedicures in anticipation of my upcoming reunion with Ben in Greece. Paige and I wrapped up our last night in Rio with a final glimpse of the Christo at night, from the edge of the lagoon, and with a relaxing evening at Melissa’s apartment.

I woke up Monday morning thrilled – not with the prospect of traveling the next three days (which I was about to do), but with the thought of flying home to Chicago and onward to see Ben. You see, I was on my way to fly my final leg of my around-the-world ticket, from Buenos Aires back to Chicago. I hadn’t flown an American flight since New Year’s Day, which also happened to be my last day touching U.S. soil. I had moved up my other ticket so I could meet Ben a day earlier, which meant I would only have three hours in O’Hare (and the U.S.), but I was, nonetheless, looking forward to going “home.”

We first flew from Rio to B.A., and then caught our onward connecting flight to Chicago. I was surprised when the Argentinean woman at the B.A. airport asked me my purpose for traveling, as well as proof of employment – which turned out to be more questioning than what I received at U.S. customs when I landed in the U.S. I arrived in Chicago, bid goodbye and many thanks to my friend Paige, and met Ben’s mom, who had graciously picked up some clothes from a friend’s house and generously purchased a few new goodies for my trip to Greece. Given that I’d been traveling with the same clothes for the past six months, I was thrilled with the sight of clothing I had long forgotten, not to mention the new items she had bought for me. To be honest, I was a little overwhelmed, and it took me a few minutes to sort through the bags I had brought home from traveling and the suitcase that had been brought to me. Ben called during my brief reunion with Emily, and although his flight was delayed a bit, I decided to continue with my 9:00 a.m. flight to London. The funniest portion of the morning was when an Indian woman, straight off her flight from New Delhi, looked at my scattered belongings and multiple bags and started chatting in Hindi to us. Given that I had spent the last couple of months speaking Spanish, my first response was in Spanish, which only served to confuse matters. Finally, once I realized we were getting nowhere, Emily and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and proceeded with the packing process. I died laughing when Emily commented, “maybe she wants to buy something???,” given that my things were scattered EVERYWHERE in the O’Hare International arrivals lounge. It looked like I was opening a shop for business.

The only word to describe my layover in Chicago was overwhelming. There were Americans everywhere (of course), and after months of running away from fellow American tourists, I found myself surrounded. I did manage to find a bagel (oh, how I’ve missed you!), a fountain coke (a true love), and the Admirals lounge, where I took a much-needed shower, checked my email, and rested for a few brief minutes. I soon found myself on my third American Airlines flight in three months and my second in 12 hours, headed to London. The flight was very uneventful, and to be honest, seemed short after my 10+ hour flights to South Africa, Australia, Thailand, Auckland, Chile, and back to Chicago, and I arrived in London around 10:30 p.m. that evening.

When I originally planned my trip, I was going to spend my first few days of January in London acclimating to life on the road and visiting with my Deloitte colleague and friend Chris. When I decided to instead spend the time in South Africa, I had to forego my stopover in the city. So, I was that much more thrilled when my itinerary on this leg called for at least 12 hours there. Chris was kind enough to meet me at the Tube station, and then take me for a couple of cocktails before I had a great night’s sleep in his beautiful London flat.

The next morning, we headed out to brunch at Chelsea Bun before I caught my bus, then train, to Gatwick. I couldn’t believe I was actually on my way to Greece, and on my way to see Ben. Of course, updates on Greece will come in my next blog, but rest assured that both Ben and I arrived here safely, and we’re having the best time together. I must admit that my English-major husband is sitting next to me on our porch overlooking the Santorini caldera, reading a book entitled “ABC of Reading,” which does NOT sound like a relaxing vacation book to me. He just read to me five rules of composition, and I concluded that this blog entry, like all previous ones, violates each of them. So, for those of you still with me so late in this entry, please forgive my long sentences, ambiguity, and use of meaningless words. I’m too late in the game to change my style :)