One of the challenges I’ve encountered when moving from one place to another is finding a new circle of friends with whom to enjoy winetastings, movies, evenings out and excursions outdoors. As we get older, Harry and I find the challenge has increased, too. In the past, one automatic introduction into a group of people of similar age and interests has been parents of kids of our daughters’ acquaintance. You meet at ball games, rehearsals, PTA meetings and back-to-school nights; and the casual and frequent meetings can readily grow into closer bonds as you get to know more about each other. With our girls all grown up and out of the house, that avenue no longer exists. And, as newcomers, we enter in to a social web where virtually everyone we meet already has well-established, long-lasting friendships, and their lives may not readily accomodate a whole new tangle of “dates” and getting-to-know-you events.

To that end, we take advantage of volunteering opportunities in our area, neighborhood gatherings and church events to make connections. On Friday night we attended a fundraising auction and winetasting event at our new parish, both to support a good cause and to feel less like strangers. Things didn’t seem too promising at first as I observed the easy laughter and banter between folks who obviously had known each other a long time. There were pleasant smiles directed my way, but I felt that uncomfortable twinge of not quite belonging.

Once the silent auction items had been bid upon, the crowd settled at assigned tables, and the seven at our table introduced ourselves to each other. In between the auctioneers’ jests and the live bidding, we exchanged tidbits of information (how long have you been a member here, what do you do for a living, how many kids do you have, etc.). Pat Barry, sitting next to my husband, glanced several times at Harry’s name tag and finally asked if he might be related to a John Vanikiotis. (One of the blessings of having such a unique last name is that it is just that — unique — and therefore easy for others to identify/remember and make connections. It can also be a curse if one wishes to be a bit more anonymous!) It turned out that Pat was a fraternity brother of Harry’s brother at Oregon State University back in the ’70s. Pat is a few years younger than John and so didn’t know him very well, but we found he was familiar with several people we still see on a regular basis. We continued to share information and stories with Pat and his wife, Ann, throughout the evening (largely ignoring the auction going on) and really enjoyed their company.

We did pause to bid on a few items, one of which was a package which included two tickets to the Oregon State-Stanford game in October. Harry, a Beaver alum, hasn’t been to a game since he left school (we lived out of state most of that time), and we decided it would be fun to go. It didn’t hurt that the OSU package was being offered at the same time as a University of Oregon game package, and the auctioneer was playing up the rivalry to boost the bids. Harry’s competitive spirit ensured that we came away with the tickets in the end, but it wasn’t until the bidding was over that we learned that the Barrys had contributed their season tickets for that game to the auction. They were excited that we had purchased the package and filled us in on where our parking pass would put us and where our seats were located.

We ended the evening with an exchange of phone numbers and comments on what a small world it is. I know we all have those moments when a brief chat with a seatmate on a flight or a quick introduction at a meeting leads to the discovery of something or someone which connects us to each other. There is a glow of warmth as we find a touchpoint which makes us feel a little less anonymous or alone in the wide world we navigate. It is part of what I find writers expressing in their Mail Call letters to Global Traveler when they describe what they have learned in their travels: We are all connected, and in spite of differences in backgrounds and culture, we share that basic humanity which leads us to reach out to each other and find we are not so very different, after all.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Knowing how limited our time in Barcelona was, we decided we’d need to focus in on one aspect of the city for the day. We all agreed that we were shopped out, so we didn’t feel compelled to spend time in any more stores or shopping districts. Fairly quickly we agreed that we ought to zero in on something that was unique to this lovely city, and from there it was easy to choose to visit some of the Modernista architecture which is so emblematic of Barcelona. Barb had been doing some reading, so we followed her lead as we struck out, deciding to visit Sagrada Familia first, and then proceed from there to other, primarily Antoni Gaudi-designed sites.

I was determined to venture into the Metro, and Julie gamely joined me while Barb and Ann shared a cab. Having used subway systems in Chicago, London, New York and Germany, I found that Barcelona’s was fairly easy to negotiate. Signs and route maps, when not in English (and most were), were simple to decipher, and the system seems to provide routes to every corner of the greater metropolitan area. We bought a one-day pass for two zones from a vending machine, confirmed the line we wanted and the stop for Sagrada Familia, and arrived at the station across the street from the church not long after Barb and Ann had departed their taxi on the same corner.

I had seen plenty of pictures of this amazing church before, but none of them had adequately communicated the size and mass of this yet-unfinished structure. Its multiple towers stretch high into the sky, accompanied now by immense construction cranes being used to continue Gaudi’s great final project. We never ventured inside the gates, crowded as they were on this Sunday afternoon with visitors, but limited ourselves to circling the massive building and trying to take in just a fraction of the details of its unique facades. I added it to my mental list of places I will need to re-visit on my someday return trip here: I think one would need at least half a day to even begin to delve into this treasure.

Leaving the church behind, we crossed the street into a lovely, quiet park block shaded by purple-flowered jacaranda trees under which families with babies in strollers enjoyed their day off and couples walked hand in hand. The immediate sense of peacefulness which decended on us was a welcome contrast to the noise and crowds surrounding the landmark across the way. From there we decided to stroll onwards; it appeared from our maps that it wouldn’t be too great a distance for us to reach other iconic Gaudi projects: Casa Battlo and Casa Mila (also known as La Pedrera — “the quarry”). Bad news (for our feet): it was a longer walk than we initially thought. Good news: there were plenty of unexpected architectural treasures along the way which we enjoyed at least as much as those we had purposely sought out.

Towards mid-afternoon, Julie, Ann and I grabbed a cab to deliver us to Park Guell while Barb struck off on her own. The park, another Gaudi-designed project, was created on the site of a barren, rocky hillside and completed in 1914. We spent much of the rest of the afternoon exploring the paths and stairways which offered wonderful views south over the city. All sorts of trees, shrubs and flower beds make this a wonderful oasis, and Gaudi’s fanciful colonnades, benches and other structures provide one with delightful surprises throughout.

Late in the day our party regrouped at our hotel and decided to quickly tour the Museu Picasso in the Gothic Quarter before searching out a tapas bar for a late supper. The museum is located in adjoining medieval stone palaces and contains a permanent collection of a number of works primarily from Picasso’s early career, plus some wonderful pottery he did much later (colorful and delightful pieces!). We arrived only about an hour before closing and found that the entrance fee was waived–great! (By this point in our nearly two-week sojourn, we were doling out our euros carefully and trying to figure out if we could avoid visiting an ATM one more time.) From there we meandered down narrow streets and alleys of this very old part of Barcelona and rather randomly chose a tapas restaurant based partly on the menu board and partly on the looks of the place. At 8 p.m., we had our choice of nearly every table in the place, but before our first dishes arrived, nearly every one was full. We really enjoyed everything we ordered and shared; I only wish I could tell you what we had, but the evening is a bit of a blur. With our wake-up calls set for 3:30 a.m., we did not make too late a night of it, though I know we all wished we could have extended our stay in this lovely, vibrant city much longer.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader  

My second visit to Rome came towards the end of my 12-day Mediterranean cruise, and it convinced me that should I be lucky enough to visit it a third time, I will do so without the “benefit” of an organized tour. Two visits and two full-day excursions (the first one far more enjoyable than the last) have convinced me that I will need to strike out on my own next time and see more of different parts of the city — and at my own pace.

Our ship arrived in Civitavecchia, Rome’s major port, very early in the morning, and we were on board our motor coach for the 90-minute drive into Rome shortly after 7 a.m. Unfortunately, we got a good dose of Roman rush hour traffic, snarled by accidents, and finally stepped off the bus close to the Trevi Fountain a good three hours later. That little glitch no doubt forced our tour guide to condense, edit and speed up portions of our morning itinerary. We spent a few minutes at the fountain, where I dutifully tossed a coin into the water in the hopes of returning with more time to visit in the future, and took a quick narrated walk over to the Colosseum. One welcome change from my tour nine years ago: every member of the tour was given a small radio receiver with headphones which transmitted the guide’s voice, so we didn’t have to be standing right next to her in order to hear what she had to say.  We were allotted just enough time at the Colosseum to take a few pictures and be accosted by a number of souvenir vendors (postcards and rosaries could be had for quite a bargain) before we had to reboard the bus and go to lunch.

I believe our midday interlude, including a lengthy bus ride to the restaurant and back (but not past any sites of note) and an unremarkable repast, ate up a good two hours of the day. I would have loved to have the option of meeting the group at the Vatican Museums (our next stop) at a predetermined time and gone off with my sisters on our own for those two precious hours. Nine years ago our tour provided just such flexibility, and we were able to enjoy a stroll across the city and some leisurely shopping while still getting the benefit of the tour’s immediate access to more crowded sites.

After lunch we quick-marched through some of the galleries at the Vatican Museums before entering the Sistine Chapel (without having to wait in long lines outside in the heat–the one big benefit of the tour). I’m sure I could visit it dozens of times and never fail to be impressed not only by Michaelangelo’s work by also by the history those walls have enclosed. I also enjoyed again stepping into St. Peter’s Basilica; its scale is mind-boggling, the beauty of the building and its ornamentation is superb, and I’m sure I could spend a week there and not absorb everything. (I could probably spend an entire day in front of the Pieta, alone.)

All too soon we were ushered back outside, herded towards the “approved” shops for religious items and souvenirs and then back to our bus for the trip back to the ship. One of my favorite memories of the day was provided by a handsome young policeman who rather blatantly preened and strutted about in his uniform like a proud rooster on the sidewalk near where we were enjoying a gelato before boarding the coach. He was more than happy to pose with us for some photos; in fact, I’m quite sure his day would have been spoiled if we had not made the request.

Happy to have seen again some of Rome’s and Vatican City’s remarkable sites and vistas, I also came away with the determination to strike out in the future on my own — not only there, should I return, but in other new and wonderful destinations I may visit in travels to come.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

After our brief sojourn outside of the EU to Dubrovnik, Croatia, our itinerary returned us to a string of Greek ports. First stop: Corfu, or Kerkira (the Greek name for both the island and the capital city). As is true with so many outposts among the Ionian Islands, Kerkira was dominated by Venetian rule for decades, and I would observe that influence in the architecture throughout town later in the day.

As we approached the pier, it was obvious that our luck with warm and sunny weather would continue. The four of us had booked a morning bus tour out to some of the surrounding countryside, our first formal shore excursion of the cruise. Overall, I think we made good choices about which excursions we would take. When a port offered good local transportation, was fairly self-contained and did not offer any outlying attractions that piqued our interest, we found our own way about. When we wanted a quick overview of a larger city, access to special exhibits or sites or outlying regions, we chose a shore excursion that provided those features. Today’s trip allowed us to travel outside the urban center and into a lush, green countryside and along a lovely scenic shoreline up into the mountains.

A few lessons learned quickly and early on:  1) If the route will involve lots of twists and turns, try to secure a seat towards the front, ask the driver to crank up the A.C., and take some Dramamine before heading out. 2) A good guide will provide interesting (but not constant!!) narration on both the past and the present, colored with his or her own experiences and observations. Perfect English is not required (although some of the crankier folks on our bus seemed to think so)–I appreciate some of the charming and unusual turns of phrase that crop up–but the ability to speak with volume is important. 3) One quickly tires of seeing the same kitschy souvenirs and “handcrafts” sold everywhere (imported from Asia, mostly), with only the name and perhaps a local view of the current place varying on the piece from place to place.  

Some of my favorite images from our drive: olive groves everywhere (Corfu brags of having some 4 million olive trees spread over the island), many with black netting rolled up around the trunks after the last harvest and all covered in creamy yellow blooms foretelling of the harvest to come; tiny, ancient villages with lanes so narrow that the side mirrors of our bus nicked the walls on either side; views of Angelokastro, a 13th-century fort on a steep bubble of land thrusting into the sea; elderly yayas and papous walking along the steep roadways, pausing to wave as we curious tourists smiled and waved back.

Later, back in town, I strolled about the Palea Poli (Old Town) and the Venetian Quarter, easily charmed by the narrow, vehicle-free cobbled lanes and wrought-iron balconies bright with tangled bougainvillea and lush pots of geraniums. Whenever I got too hot, I’d duck into a quiet church, where the thick walls blocked the hustle and noise of tourist crowds and enclosed a space instantly 15 degrees cooler than the outside air. (Major travel peeve: those who rudely ignore the signs and notices prohibiting flash photography and talk loudly as if they’re at a cocktail party instead of a place of worship.) Of course, indulging in a scoop of gelato when one grows warm and weary is also helpful! 

As I made my way back to the ship at the end of the day, I came away with a few genuine souvenirs of Corfu: some beautifully turned olivewood cooking utensils, and mental postcards of my travels across pretty Kerkira.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader 

The first port we visited upon leaving Venice was Dubrovnik, Croatia. Located on the eastern shore of the Adriatic Sea, Dubrovnik enjoys a wonderful Mediterranean climate. As we approached the pier, we could see stately palm trees and exuberant bougainvillea sharing the hillsides with eucalyptus, pine and olive trees. At 9 a.m. the air was already warm, so we dressed in lightweight clothing, anticipating the coming heat within the ancient walls of the old town.

Our shuttle buses delivered us to the main gate on the north side of the city. Above us stretched the immense medieval stone walls which enclose the town. Knowing the temperatures would only get more uncomfortable as the day went on, we chose to do the wall walk as soon as we passed through the gate. Steep stairs of rock worn smooth (and slippery) by the thousands of feet which have passed over them led to the wide surface at the top, some four to six or more stories above the streets below. From up there the views over the terra-cotta tile roofs (studded, somewhat jarringly to our eyes, with satellite dishes near and far) and shimmering blue of the sea led to a flurry of picture taking and long pauses to drink in the scene. For the first time on this journey we were able to gaze down at the Mediterranean’s rich range of colors, and I was struck by the fact that the same incredible midnight blue we had observed two nights before in the sky behind the domes of St. Mark’s in Venice reappeared in the sea below my feet.

We made our way slowly around the one-mile circumference, ducking into a shadowed niche when the sun and our exertions could not be overcome by the gentle breeze which accompanied us. At one point as I hung over the parapet, peeking into someone’s garden far below, the most heavenly scent I can only describe as spiced honey wafted through the air. I don’t know whether it came from one plant or was a mixture of all the wild and cultivated blooming flowers there (honeysuckle, jasmine, oleander, herbs), but it was one of the most memorable gifts of that day.

Visits to the Franciscan monastery and chats with local residents provided evidence that the scars of the 1991 war may still be seen and will not soon be forgotten. Later, after a little requisite shopping, we found our way to a small bar perched on the rocks and wedged between the sea and the city wall. We ended our day with cold and tasty Croatian beers, shaded by umbrellas and cooled by the wind off the water (well, and sister Julie actually joined the college-aged crowd for a fully clothed dip IN the water!). We could not have asked for a better start to our journey.

-Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader