Slow Travel

An Albanian Road Trip: Lin, Lake Ohrid & the Monastery of Saint Naum

| 2suitcasesfor2years

Our planned route for a 3-week trip around Albania looked like a large numeral 6. After starting in Tirana, we’d head south to Berat, and Sarande, before cutting across the southeastern part of the country to Gjirokaster, Leskovik, Korçë, and Lin, on Lake Ohrid. Of course, there were numerous other stops and detours along the way, which we wrote about in our earlier blogs. But the road from Korce to Lin passed through the small city of Pogradec on the southern shore of Lake Ohrid, only 9 miles from the border with North Macedonia. From there the 10th century Monastery of Saint Naum was only minutes away. “It’s so close, and we have the car. It’s an opportunity we’ll regret not taking.”  Let’s go, we both agreed. Many day trips to the monastery originate in Tirana, but if you have a rental car, it’s less expensive than taking an organized tour. Albania and North Macedonia are not part of the European Union Schengen program, which permits unrestricted passage through member nations’ borders without stopping at a border checkpoint for a passport stamp. Traveling between Albanian and North Macedonia is done the old fashion way. Not all car rental companies in Albania allow their cars to be driven into North Macedonia. Notify the car rental company when making the reservation that you want to drive to into North Macedonia, as there are some documents needed from the car rental company: a Green Card, which is proof of international car insurance; permission from the car rental country that they are allowing the car to be driven in North Macedonia; and an International Driver’s License in Latin characters in case it is requested. At the border be prepared to show all travelers’ passports and pay a Border Crossing Fee.

Grey skies hung low over Pogradec as we headed east along SH64. Occasionally we passed abandoned Cold War era concrete bunkers along the lakefront. These were remnants of Albania’s communist dictator Enver Hoxha’s paranoia, which convinced him that Albania was surrounded by enemies, and that Pogradec would be prepared to resist an amphibious attack.

The border crossing at Tushemisht – St. Naum went very quickly, with only a few questions about our intended destinations and length of stay in North Macedonia. Minutes later we entered the manicured grounds of Saint Naum’s Monastery. Our first impressions were that we had arrived at a resort or theme park the way the souvenir shops and restaurants lined the midway as we headed to the ancient monastery.

It was built by Saint Naum, in 905, during the later part of his life, after he had spent decades spreading Orthodox Christianity and literacy throughout the Balkans as a follower of Saints Cyril and Methodius. Past the souvenir shops, boat rentals were available for rowing on the amazingly clear waters of the Black Drin spring. Its waters emerge through an underground stream from Lake Prespa, located higher in the mountains, before they flow into Lake Ohrid.

Getting closer, we crossed a footbridge and encountered our first of several splendid peacocks, roaming freely about the complex. Then there were only directional signs pointing the way around the multistory, three-star Hotel Saint Naum, which encircles the monastery on three sides, and obscured any distant view of the monastery, which commands a small knoll on the lake edge. Saint Naum is recognized as a miracle worker and healer who cured the sick as soon as they looked him in the eye. This belief in his ability to heal has inspired Christian and Bektashis Muslim pilgrims to visit the site since his death in 910. The veneration of the saint’s relics is believed to help those suffering from psychological and fertility issues.

Eventually, we found a very ancient door into the courtyard where the monastery stands overlooking Lake Ohrid. Little remains left of the original monastery. After five centuries, the current church was built atop the old monastery’s original foundation.

The interior of that 16th century church survives, but the exterior design and brickwork has been renovated numerous times over the years, and hardly shows its age. Unlike the ancient churches nearby in Voskopojë, Albania, which still carry every wound inflicted upon them over the centuries.

Inside the chapel is quite small, but richly decorated with warmly polished, intricately carved woodwork, and a gilded iconostasis created by local Macedonian craftsmen in the early 18th century. The religious frescoes that adorn the walls of the chapel were painted in 1806 by Trpo Zograf of Korçë. Many of the lower parts of the murals have been worn away by the touches of the faithful seeking blessings.

Leaving the site, we descended the knoll in a different direction and happened upon the Church of Saint Petka at the base of the hill. It’s a charming petite chapel that serves as the monastery’s baptistry. Brilliantly colored Orthodox iconography covers every inch of the walls from floor to ceiling in a celebration of faith. A comparison between the two churches was inevitable, and led us to reflect upon what the interior of the older church might have looked like ages ago.

The restaurants at the monastery complex were too overpriced for what they served, so we headed back to Pogradec for lunch. During the high season, mostly Albanian vacationers are drawn to the city’s long sandy beach along Lake Ohrid, the largest on the lake, and support a thriving hotel, and restaurant scene.

But in late April many were still closed, and some of the ones which were open didn’t have any customers. So, we opted for lunch at Pizza Restorant Artist, on Rruga Reshit Çollaku, across from the waterfront. The place was fairly busy, and to our great joy they offered an amazing variety of Italian dishes and pizza. It was some of the best Italian food we’ve had outside of Italy, and very budget friendly. Parking on the street was a little unusual as there was an authorized parking attendant that watched several blocks and ran up to us to secure payment when we pulled into a space. He gave us in return a receipt for display on the dashboard. After lunch a window display in a shop next to the restaurant caught our attention. It was the workshop of Pirro Icka, a fourth-generation woodcarver, according to the plaque in the window. Unfortunately, the shop was closed, but the window display featured some wonderfully intricate carved pieces, which would have been the perfect Albanian souvenir.

Late in the afternoon we arrived at Lin. It’s a small, isolated village on a headland that protrudes into Lake Ohrid, like a thumb up on a closed fist. We took a few minutes to scout along the narrow lane that runs the length of the village and passes a mosque and church, before it dead ends between homes near the tip of the headland. We had passed the arrow pointing to House 1960, our lodging for the night, but did not know where to park. The village seemed empty, and we had not encountered any other cars along the lane. So, I waited while Donna followed a walkway between homes and returned a few minutes later with one of our hosts, Emory. His wife, Merita, was waiting for us when we arrived at their home, an older village house, that the couple had renovated with help of their adult sons. The inn was very nice and our room stunning with a high cathedral ceiling.  Accented with gorgeous blond wood trim, it was bright and airy. In late April all the small restaurants were still closed, but Merita offered to cook meat or lake fish, caught that morning, for our dinner. The Lake Ohrid brown trout accompanied with homemade pickled vegetables was delicous.

Fishermen from Lin and other villages in Albania and North Macedonia, which surround the lake, set out early every morning in small boats to catch trout, which has been considered a delicacy, and a staple in the local communities since ancient times. Recently discovered submerged archeological evidence of a community that lived in stilt houses above the lake dates to 6500 BC, and confirms Lin as one of the oldest communities in Europe. The weather still hadn’t cleared as we went to bed, but we kept our fingers crossed for better conditions in the morning.

A brilliant blue sky greeted us and prompted a quick decision to trek to the far side of the headland before breakfast. The trail started where the lane dead ended and wove between several homes before we were out of the village. Walking along the lakeshore, the blues of the lake blended seamlessly into the sky. On the landward side the headland towered over us as we rounded the shoreline. The path was only as wide as our feet and somewhat treacherous at certain points, when a section required a rock scramble across it. The shoreline between the lake and the headland eventually widened to reveal farm plots, separated by rows of rough stone walls. Our host had mentioned the evening before that the folks of Lin pride themselves on being nearly self-sufficient. That it was an ethic and skill passed down over the generations, because of the village’s remote location. It’s a beautiful but not a particularly easy trek to the farm plots on the lakeshore, and yet we saw several older villagers carrying their tools on their daily trek to their garden plots.

Continuing back to the village we worked our way to the apex of the headland, where the ruins of a 6th century Byzantine church are cordoned off to protect a very large and well preserved intricate floor mosaic from an earlier Roman temple. Signage on the fence details the site and mentioned that the mosaics, which are unprotected from the elements, are currently covered with sand to protect them from further deterioration. The information plaque also mentioned that the mosaics are uncovered twice a year for public viewing and included the phone number of the local caretaker.

The panoramic views out over the lake from the top of the peninsula were amazing. The lake’s clear water sparkled, and dozens of small fishing boats rocked gently on small waves that rolled across its surface. No wonder Lin and its surroundings are part of the Natural and Cultural Heritage of the Ohrid Region, an UNESCO site, which recognizes the importance of the unique aquatic ecosystems surrounding the clearest and deepest lake, reaching depths of 945 ft, in the Balkans. Lake Ohrid is thought to be one of the oldest bodies of fresh water in the world, and supports a diverse variety of 1200 different plant and animal species, 200 of which are endemic to the lake.

Walking downhill back through the village we stopped to photograph a scene. It was only when we started walking again that I caught some motion in my peripheral vision and saw the freshly slaughtered cow hanging from a sturdy tripod stand, with three villagers attending to it, in front of a store that had a coffee shop sign above its door. They waved. A little farther down the lane, we passed an older woman walking up the hill carry small buckets of milk.  She must have been 15 years older than us, but she was a hearty soul and ended up lapping us three times.  When we returned to the inn Merita had some freshly baked bread and muffins waiting for us, along with a fig jam, made with the fruit from the tree in the front yard, feta cheese, butter, yogurt, and eggs sourced from various neighbors. We enjoyed our short time in Lin and wished that we had made plans to stay longer.

Back on the highway, the road rose into the mountains and we pulled over for one last look. In the fields outside the village a row of Hoxha’s bunkers sporadically emerged from the soil like mushroom caps, near where the marine archeologists discovered the submerged village on pilings.  Perhaps Hoxha’s paranoia was justified, but he was several millennia late.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

An Albanian Road Trip: Voskopoja and Korce – Snowy Mountains, Ancient Churches & a Skyscraper 

| 2suitcasesfor2years

“The old timers say on a stormy day like this you can hear their cries on the wind when you pass through Borove,” our host commented mysteriously as he learned of our plans to drive along the SH75 towards Voskopoja and then Korce. Evidence of Albania’s new investments in its road infrastructure to support tourism in southeastern part of the country were visibly apparent, with bridges being repaired, as well as sections of the road being widened, and repaved along our serpentine route through beautiful, forested mountains. The mountains finally receded behind us as we coasted downhill into a wide valley with gently rolling hills.

As we rounded a bend, a tall brooding silhouette loomed over the road. The statue of two resistance fighters captured in a decisive moment of attack commemorates the July, 1943 partisan ambush of a German troop convoy through the valley, near the hamlet of Barmash. The battle raged for hours and left 60 enemy soldiers dead, and numerous vehicles destroyed.  Sadly, the second part of this event revealed itself several miles away in the larger village of Borove. Here stairs on the outskirts of the village quietly led to the top of a knoll and the Memorial i Viktimave të Masakrës së Borovës. This heart-rending site contains the graves of 107 men, women and children massacred the next day when Nazi troops returned to the area and set their village ablaze in retaliation. It’s a moving memorial, and we stayed until a pounding rain forced us back to our car.

Farther along we passed through Ersekë. It’s one of Albania’s highest towns, sitting at an elevation of 3,445 ft on a high plain, in the shadow of the Greece’s Pindus mountain range. This southeastern part of Albania is very remote, and the village so close to the Greek border, that during the communist era villagers were prevented from leaving the town, on the fear that an abandoned village on the border would invite Greek expansionism. The town is most noticeable for its well-maintained communist era minimalistic architecture.

Reaching Korce we turned west onto SH63 and headed back into the mountains, our destination, the ancient Orthodox churches of Voskopoja. Light rain turned into 3 inches of wet snow as we drove higher into the mountains. This didn’t particularly faze us as we both have decades of experience driving on wintry roads in northeastern United States. But the drastic change of weather did, considering 10 days earlier, when we arrived in Tirana we rejoiced in 80F weather for several days earlier in the month. The saving grace – there were literally no other cars on the road.

On a snowy Sunday afternoon in late April we practically had the whole town to ourselves. It was quite serene and beautiful with the fresh snow clinging to the trees, and tufts of spring greenery poking through the snow on the ground. We found Saint Nicholas Church and gingerly made our way down the puddled walkway to shelter under the exonarthex and shake the snow off our jackets before entering the sanctuary.

The walls of this covered porch area were painted with illustrative religious stories designed to visually educate the illiterate, warn the sinners, and inspire the devout, before entering the church. Sadly, the frescoes show the scars from being vandalized during the Ottoman era, but their beauty is still evident.

We had expected a caretaker to be present, though no one was around, but the door to the church was unlocked and we entered. The ancient cavernous space was barley lit with only two bare bulbs and the light from several small windows, but it was enough to see that every surface of the whole interior was beautifully illuminated in ancient orthodox iconography.

Liturgical music was faintly audible in the background as we admired the artisitic vision and faith that inspired this moving creation. Constructed in 1721, the frescoes are attributed to the painter David Selenica, and his assistants, the religious brothers Constantine and Christos.

This team also famously painted religious iconography in the monasteries on Mount Athos. It’s amazing the church survived several centuries of turbulent history, only to be atrociously used as a storage depot during the communist era. The church, as beautiful as it is, was also a little spooky with centuries of candle soot covering the walls and gilded wood-carved iconostasis. Afterwards we headed to Kisha e Shën Mëhillit, the Church of Saint Michael, 1722, just on outskirts of the village and found it surrounded with scaffolding. Though disappointed, this was an encouraging sign that restoration was under way. Unfortunately, the road leading to the Church of St. Elija, the last church built in Voskopoja in 1751, was under repair and a muddy mess that deterred us from reaching it. But we did get to view the Shënepremte Church perched on a hill above an old Ottoman era bridge. By mid-afternoon our stomachs were growling and we feared there wouldn’t be a place open to eat in the village. (This is an issue during off-season travel when many establishments close. It’s wise to bring snacks along.) Luckily, we found the Taverna Voskopojë open, and full of activity that Sunday afternoon. Their lakror, a pastry-style traditional Albanian pie, filled with ground meat or vegetables, is common to the Korçë region, and was delicious. The house wine was also very good.

First mentioned in 14th century historical records, Voskopoja was once one of the largest cities outside Istanbul, and the most important trading, cultural and religious center in the Balkans from the 1600’s to the 1800’s. It was during this height of prosperity that the city had an estimated population of between 30,000 – 60,000 and supported 26 Orthodox churches richly decorated with Byzantine frescoes; the only printing house in the Balkans; and a New Academy or Greek school. Its influence and wealth stemmed from metal smithing, wool processing and tanneries. Merchandise from these industries supplied the traders that traveled along the Tsarigrad Road. The road was an old caravan route that connected Rome to its colonies in Sofia and Plovdiv, Bulgaria, before reaching Tsarigrad, the Slavic name for Constantinople. In later centuries the route passing through Voskopoja connected it to the Venetian ports on the Adriatic Sea and Belgrade.

The armies of Rome, the Huns, and the Ottoman Empire also followed this route through Albania and in the process brought new ideas and religions with them. During the Middle Ages the Christian Byzantine Empire encouraged the spread of the Eastern Orthodox religion into the Balkans along the ancient trade route, which was most famously followed by the early evangelists Cyril and Methodius. They made tremendous inroads with the pagan Balkan tribes by leading Mass, not in Latin, but in the Slavic language, an act many church leaders in Rome considered blasphemous at the time.

Voskopoja flourished peacefully under the Ottoman Empire’s millet system, where “Christians and Jews were considered dhimmi, protected, under Ottoman law in exchange for sworn loyalty to the state and payment of the jizya, a religious tax on non-Muslims,” until the 1768. Then the Russian-Ottoman war fueled an anti-orthodox sentiment and the government in Istanbul allowed Voskopoja in 1769 to be sacked and burned by Muslim tribes from the Dangëllia region around Përmet. The city was rebuilt, but twenty years later it was attacked, and razed to the ground again by the notorious Albanian warlord, Ali Pashë of Tepelena in 1789. After this the town never recovered its former glory and folks moved away to Korce and Berat, or farther afield into Bulgaria and Romania. It received additional damage during World Wars I & II. The final blow came in 1960 when a massive earthquake leveled many of the centuries-old churches, leaving only 5 standing in various states of disrepair. Today, the surviving churches are listed on the World Monuments Fund’s Watch List of 100 Most Endangered Sites. Only 600 year-round residents live in Voskopoja now, but this hidden gem is slowly being rediscovered and recognized as an interesting tourist destination for its many cultural and outdoor activities.

We drove back towards Korce under clearing storm clouds which dramatically revealed freshly snowcapped mountains dappled in sunlight. Situated in a wide fertile valley surrounded by the Morava mountains, Korce and the lands surrounding it were once the property of a feudal family in medieval times. Like Voskopoja, it benefited from trading with the caravans that trekked across routes to Thessaloniki in Greece, Istanbul and Southern Russia.

Traces of this industrious past can still be found along the cobbled lanes in the town’s colorful, old bazaar section, where deep-rooted merchants and craftsmen now share the lanes with cafes and chic shops.

A short walk away is Albania’s second oldest mosque, the Iljaz Mirahori. It’s named after the founder of Korce, and dates from 1496. Its original minaret was taken down during the communist era and not rebuilt until 2014.

The wide pedestrian mall, Bulevardi Shen Gjergji, which runs through the center of the city, along with the town’s many parks, helped Korce earn the moniker as “the Paris of Albania,” after the city was occupied by French troops during World War I.

With French support the local region existed briefly as the Republic of Korçë, from 1916-1920. In 1887, Mësonjëtorja, or the Albanian School, opened its doors to students on Bulevardi Shen Gjergji and taught students the Albanian language. This was a milestone in the Albanian National Awakening movement of the late 1800’s because until then giving lessons in the Albanian language was done in secret since Turkish was the official language under Ottoman rule.

Across from the pedestrian mall the Katedralja Ortodokse “Ringjallja e Krishtit,” aka, the Orthodox Cathedral “Resurrection of Christ,” grandly commands a plaza. Constructed in 1995, in Byzantine Revival-style, it is the largest orthodox church in Albania and replaces the St. John Church, which Albania’s former communist regime destroyed in 1968. It has a splendid interior covered with vibrantly new, orthodox religious imagery.

Anchoring the far end of the plaza, like a lighthouse on the ocean, is a modern seven-story skyscraper, the Sky View Hotel. It is the tallest building in Korce, and its architecture is very incongruous with the rest of the city, but that difference makes it very refreshing, and symbolizes Korce’s progressive future. It also had the best vantage points from its top floor restaurant, and our room, for taking pictures of the church and the surrounding snowcapped mountains. During our stay there we were surprised to learn that we were the hotel’s only guests on a Sunday and Monday in late April. Our room was very comfortable, and we enjoyed our stay. Additionally, it was very budget friendly, free parking was available on the street, and the staff was very nice.

The next morning, we drove into the foothills above Korce to the small village of Mborja. It took only 8 minutes to get there, but when we entered the Church of St. Mary it seemed like every minute of travel time transported us back a century. There is not a definitive record of when the Church of St. Mary was built, but it’s believed the small church was first constructed in 896 to honor Pope Clement I, and is the oldest Orthodox church in Albania. Later renovations were added in the 14th century.

We had entered the small, fenced yard that surrounds the church only to find its door locked tight. Luckily, two local women were walking by and acknowledged our dilemma with that global twist of the wrist, as if opening a door with a key. They motioned for us to wait and then headed downhill to the small produce shop we had just driven by. A few minutes later the guardian appeared. An elderly gentleman, he silently unlocked the door for us and invited us in. It was a small space, made even smaller by a solid stone wall with a half door in it which led to the altar.

It was difficult to bend so low, but I crouched down and entered. Donna followed. Whack! Ouch! “What happened?” “I cracked my skull on the door jamb!”  Sympathetic to her injury, I tried to comfort her and divert her attention. “Babes, that was the kiss of God.” “Really!” “Yes, it’s in recognition for those twenty-four years of devoted service as a Methodist minister.” “Go away.” “Remember the Lord does work in mysterious ways.” A gentle elbow to my gut silenced me. Low doors were a common design feature of ancient churches built in areas prone to conflict.

The feature was used to prevent an invader from entering the sanctuary on horseback and defiling it. The compact interior was dark, but there was just enough light to see iconography on all the walls and the dome. The frescoes in the church are believed to be from the late 1300’s, and are in remarkably good condition, but the painter is unknown. The church is also an Orthodox pilgrimage site on Christ’s Ascension Day.

It was still well before noon when we reached to Kryqi Moravë, the Morovian Cross, which dramatically commands a mountain ridge above Korce. We had spotted it from miles away the other day as a ray of light caught it just right through clearing clouds. The parking area for it was only a 15 minute drive from Mborja. But the steep climb to the large cross and small chapel of Saint Elias on the ridge top took another 20 minutes.

The panoramic views over Korce, its valley, and the freshly snowcapped mountains were fantastic. You could literally see for miles all around. Back at the parking area we warmed ourselves with delicious cappuccinos at the Restaurant La Montagna. It’s a popular spot for folks to eat after spending a day hiking in the mountains.

On the way back downhill, we stopped at the Martyrs’ Cemetery on the hillside above Korce. It’s a beautiful location high above the city. The slope is lined with the simple graves of Albanian partisans who fought around Korce in WWII for the liberation of the country from German occupation. All the graves face west toward the setting sun. Many of the gravestones only contain a first or last name, and the year of death, the fighter’s year of birth unknown.

At the foot of the cemetery a monumental communist-era statue of a resistance fighter, with arm raised and fist clenched, stands victoriously over the city. It’s a powerful reminder of the ultimate price the partisans paid for what they thought would be a better future. These propagandistic communist statues can be found all around Albania and portrayed the communists as liberators, not the oppressors they truly were, who sent any political opposition to forced labor camps on trumped up charges of treason, and shot citizens who tried to escape the hardships of the regime for a better life elsewhere. It’s possible to walk from the city to the cemetery up a long stairway that starts at the top of Rruga Sotir Mero. Though the better way is to take a taxi up and walk down the stairway.

On the way back into the city for lunch in the old bazaar, we passed the Birra Korca. It’s Albania’s oldest brewery, capping its first bottles in 1928, and miraculously survived the communist decades as a state-owned business, though they ignored the old adage, “We know God loves us because he gave us beer.” The brewery and the city also host an annual Korca Beer Festival every August. It’s a week-long, city-wide event that draws thousands of folks to Korce.

In the old bazaar we sat outside at Taverna *Pazari i Vjeter* in a warm afternoon sun, and ordered, of course, two Korca beers, and some traditional dishes. Afterwards the waiter brought us Shahine plums. They are small sour green plums served as a digestive, and they were very tasty, much like a green apple. It was the first and only time they were offered to us in Albania, but if you have a chance to try them, go for it.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Albania Road Trip:   Apollonia & Upper Qeparo – A Journey Back Through Centuries

| 2suitcasesfor2years

We slowed to let a shepherd guide his flock across the road to Apollonia. An hour earlier the sky was brighter as we left Berat. Our intention for the day was to visit the Archaeological Museum of Apollonia before heading to Vlora, on the coast, and then continuing south to the Llogara Pass, for epic views of the Adriatic Coast before reaching our accommodation in Upper Qeparo, a semi-abandoned, old Albanian village, for the night. But the deepening grey sky was concerning. The sheep were now grazing on tufts of grass, growing in between parked cars, in the dirt parking lot at the foot of the hill below the archaeological park. A short uphill walk got our circulation going and brightened our mood.  A large group from a bus tour followed their pennant waving guide uphill, towards ruins still hidden from view.

We turned in the opposite direction to investigate the Sleeping Saint Mary Church and its Ardenica Monastery, and entered its courtyard through an arched gateway with a heavy wooden door.  Outside the refectory museum, staff had propped up large sections of a mosaic floor and were cleaning them with soapy water and a scrub brush.

The church and monastery date to 1282 when the Byzantine Emperor, Andronikos II Palaiologos, ordered their construction to celebrate his army’s victory over the Angevins during the defense of Berat a year earlier. Stones for the church, monastery and the other buildings that form a large defensive courtyard were quarried from the ruins of ancient Apollina.

As we walked around, it was interesting to see parts of old pillars, capitals and decorative elements randomly used amongst stone blocks to build the exterior walls. The Albanian national hero Skanderbeg and his bride Andronika Arianiti celebrated their marriage vows here in 1451.

It was this historical fact, and a fast-thinking priest, in 1967, that saved the church from the communist wrecking ball of Enver Hoxha’s atheist campaign to destroy churches across the country. The monastery building now houses a fascinating collection of antiquities from Illyrian, Greek, and Roman occupants of the city.

Founded in the 6th century BC, Apollonia was a prosperous seaport on the Adriatic Sea at the mouth of Vjosa River, and a strategic link on the Via Egnatia, a Roman road constructed in the 2nd century BC that connected the seaport to Constantinople, through what are now the modern countries of Albania, North Macedonia, Greece, and Turkey. The ancient city also grew wealthy from a trade route that followed the Vjosa River valley south and ended in Thessaloniki, Greece, on the Aegean Sea. At its height Apollonia was surrounded by two miles of defensive walls that protected a population of 60,000. The importance of the city slowly faded after a 243 AD earthquake altered the course of the Vjosa River and Apollina’s large harbor, which could hold 100 ships at a time, began to fill with silt. The city was eventually abandoned in the 4th century.

The archeological park is a vast site spread across rolling hills, but today the Temple of Apollo, with only its front façade intact, is the most complete ruin. Walking up the slope behind the temple, a panoramic view revealed fertile farmland separated from the Adriatic Sea by low hills, some of which had a series of doors carved into their hillside.

These are some of Hoxha’s estimated 750,000 military bunkers that the paranoid dictator built across Albania. At the top of the hill there was a very tranquil looking outdoor café/restaurant, that we pegged as the perfect spot for a break, but unfortunately it was still closed in mid-April when we visited. Fortunately, there was a second restaurant closer to the church that served excellent coffee, and was much appreciated on this chilly, damp day.

The weather refused to cooperate with our plans to explore the waterfront in Vlora, Albania’s third largest city, and we opted instead to have a quick lunch before driving on. Parking in this beach town can be particularly challenging, even in the shoulder season, and we opted for a cash-only, pay as you enter, parking lot. Surprisingly, the attendant was unable to break the bill we gave him, and he told us to wait as he disappeared around the corner at the end of the block in search of change. There were many expensive lunch options on the elegant, palm lined Rruga Aleksandër Moisiu, which hugged the beachfront in front of towering apartments. But this was lunch and it was just too dreary to sit outside. Fortunately, we stumbled across Taverna Dangëllia, a delightful place with an open grill, that was reassuringly busy on a weekday afternoon. We ordered a variety of traditional Albanian dishes, all delicious and inexpensive. Charmingly though, the one quirky thing about the place was the DJ, who fell asleep in his chair, as his music selections played on. Maybe Raki is the new melatonin.

While we were looking forward to some great views of the Adriatic from the route through the Llogara Pass, the grey day was challenging for landscape photography, and we decided to take a faster, more inland drive to Upper Qeparo along SH76. It was a more interesting drive than we had anticipated through the Shushices River Valley before crossing over the mountains to the Adriatic coast near Himarë.

We were zipping along when we suddenly passed a colossal arched memorial set back from the road. A quick U-turn brought us back to the Drashovica Monument. Erected in 1980, the monument was designed in the soviet art style that celebrates the collective effort and commemorates the Albanian resistance fighters who in 1920 liberated Vlora from the WW1 Italian occupiers who refused to leave, thereby defeating Italy’s plans to annex the country. The monument also commemorated the Battle of Drashovica in 1943, where communists and nationalist guerilla fighters united to defeat a larger German force, during a battle that lasted 20 days. Albania has a long history of fighting for its freedom, starting with Skanderbeg’s resistance to the Ottoman invasions in the 15th century and culminated with Albania liberating itself, without the help of the Allied armies, from Nazi occupation during WWII. Behind us an elderly man led a donkey down the embankment of the river toward the water.

Farther along we stopped at a narrow, suspended footbridge that hung over the river. It was a rickety lifeline to small hamlets tucked into the mountains across the river, the footbridge being their only route to the outside world. Though by the sheer number of sheep droppings at the beginning of the walkway it’s a fair assumption that shepherds move their flocks of sheep across it when they switch grazing pastures. That would have been quite a sight to see.

Just down from the bridge, set against a mountainous background, was a small cemetery with interesting headstones. Carved or etched into the granite blocks were photographic quality portraits of the deceased. Some were just tight headshots, while others were full length pictures that captured the individual in their traditional wardrobe. We found these stone tributes very moving.

We passed several other footbridges in various stages of collapse, as if they had been caught in destructive floodwaters. There was also an ancient stone bridge in the village of Brataj that I wish we had investigated, but the footpath down to it looked a little too rough for us to navigate. Shepherds ushering their livestock across the road were frequent occurrences. Though the most memorable herder was the gal in pink slippers urging her sheep into a different pasture.

An Albanian standoff happened in the middle of a bridge as a herd of cattle stopped traffic in both directions and refused to budge from the double yellow line, their owner nowhere in sight to encourage them to mosey along.

On the coastal road a small directional sign warned of the approaching turn to Upper Qeparo. We hesitated to commit as the lane looked more like a driveway between two buildings than a road suitable to follow up into the mountains. We cautiously followed the narrow sinuous road, dotted with homes built into the steep hillside covered with ancient olive trees, uphill around blind curves. We began tooting our horn occasionally now to warn any oncoming cars of our presence, after barely avoiding a fender-bender moments earlier. It was difficult enough on this roughly paved track to reach the village and we speculated about the villagers’ hardships when they only had donkeys or horses to traverse the mountain.

Somehow the host of the small guest house we had made a reservation with overbooked, and by the time we arrived all the rooms were taken. Luckily for us, her neighbor Veronika, the owner of Te Rrapi I Veronikes restaurant across the street, also rents rooms above the tavern, and had one available for the night. The room, although basic, was immaculate, and the gleaming floors were so clean we couldn’t bear to walk on them in our dusty shoes. We left our dirty footwear at the front door, and our hostess seemed to appreciate our nod to her high standards of cleanliness.

There was still plenty of time before dinner to explore, and we set off. The ancient village is set atop a 1500’ high haystack-shaped hill surrounded by steep mountains covered in scree, like an isolated volcanic island surrounded by ocean. Across the ravine on the outskirts of the village, the stone ruins of a small outpost called the Ali Pasha’s Tower, and the town’s cemetery above it, almost dissolved into the landscape in the late afternoon light. Mention of the ancient village first appears in Ottoman records of 1431, and then 1583 when it’s noted the village had 50 homes. Though archeological evidence unearthed at Karos Castle, just a short distance beyond the tower, suggests that the area has been inhabited since the Iron Age.

Sadly, the village has endured an exodus since the late 1950’s when the Albanian government built the road along the coast, thereby providing services and infrastructure to a new village, lower Qeparo, which boosted its residents’ economic prospects. The aftermath of Albania’s economic collapse in 1997 forced most of the remaining townspeople of Upper Qeparo to emigrate to countries in Europe or overseas for better economic opportunities. The old folks who stayed relied mostly on remittances from abroad to survive. The future prospects for Upper Qeparo are improving, with more tourists now frequently visiting this charming village, and former residents returning after years working abroad and reinvesting in it.

A large Billy goat commanded a boulder above us when we turned to wander the labyrinth of alleys that comprise the old town. Like a sentry, he eyed us but let us pass unchallenged. Occasionally we cut a path through abandoned homes with their roofless rooms opened to the elements, carefully placing our steps to avoid falling through any deteriorated floor beams. Sometimes we passed a freshly painted door boasting new brass hardware. A look up revealed new windows and a renovation proudly underway.

Farther along a cow, chased by her owner, entered the alleyway through the door of a long vacant home. The interior opened to the sky, and grass as thick as pasture grew where the floor used to be. Every now and then, between the buildings, we glimpsed distant views of the Adriatic Sea far below. Fig trees opportunistically grew through open windows, and untended olive trees arched over our heads. A few teenagers lazily kicked a soccer ball against the belltower base of St Mary’s Church, constructed in 1796.

Veronika didn’t offer a menu, but she enthusiastically invited us back into her kitchen where she explained the traditional dishes that she had created that day for dinner, and we were not dissappointed. Later, on the restaurant’s veranda, we capped a great day with a splendid dinner and glasses of Veronika’s husband’s homemade raki. We slept well.

Till next time,  Craig & Donna

Sailing to Bora Bora: Magic Mountains, Sacred Eels & the Turquoise Waters of Tahiti

| 2suitcasesfor2years

I teeter-tottered to the bow and gently landed on my back into a lounge chair, like a turtle out of water, my hands and feet waving in the air. My unbalanced ballet was appreciated with oohs, aahs and the friendly chuckles of our congenial shipmates from Poland, Germany, France, Spain, England, Australia, New Zealand, and the United States. We’d just left Papeete’s Nanuu Bay and had entered the gentle swells of the Pacific Ocean, and my sea legs were not accustomed to the ocean’s rhythms yet. The captain had just unfurled the sails of Variety Cruises’ MS Panorama II, a beautiful, 24 cabin, 160ft motorsailer, for a sailing adventure through the Society Islands of French Polynesia to Bora Bora. Our first stop was Moorea.

The shoreline of ‘Ōpūnohu Bay hasn’t changed much since the cry “land ho!” came down from the crow’s nest of the HMS Resolution during Captain Cook’s third and final voyage around the Pacific, in 1777. Remarkably, there are not any multi-story massive hotels disrupting the serene beauty of the bay, only the verdant flora rising steeply into the jagged mountains which surround the bay. The only hint of modernization, a few small cottages, barely visible through the palm trees, were sporadically placed along the shore, and an inflatable Zodiac which raced by.

Cook wasn’t the first European to arrive in the Islands. In 1521, Ferdinand Magellan sailed through, and was probably advised by the Inquisition Officer aboard not to land, fearing that witnessing a hip-shaking Ote’a dance would condemn the sailors to years of purgatory, and so they sailed on. Two hundred forty-seven years later the French Captain, Louis Antoine de Bougainville arrived and viewed the islands as “a paradise found on earth.” Wanting to name the islands after the legendary birthplace of the mythical Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite, he called it ‘La Nouvelle Cythere.’ So began the myth of paradise found on earth.

Anchored in the calm waters of the bay, the swimming ladder was lowered for a short while before dinner, and we enjoyed the warm water. So blue and clear, the polar opposite of the murky grey waters of the North Atlantic off New England, which we were used to. Before dinner the captain introduced us to the crew, assembled from Greece, Bali, the Philippines, and Tahiti. After a week together we appreciated their cohesive professionalism and amiable nature. Dinner was always a sumptuous affair, under the canvas canopy of the upper stern deck, that was usually timed to coincide with the sunset. We especially enjoyed the locally caught Mahi Mahi and various tropical fruits that were delicious. Ubiquitous on Tahiti, French baguettes were even served daily and in a nod to the Greek crew, an excellent feta cheese, imported from Athens, was available for the salads.

The next morning, we packed our dry sacks in preparation for a wet landing, using the ship’s small Zodiac to beach us at Ta’ahiamanu Beach. The clarity of the water was amazing, and the white sandy beach sparkled, as gentle ripples washed ashore. The bay is a natural harbor, with a passage through the island’s encircling reef wide enough for large cruise ships to sail through. Yet the reef is substantial enough to absorb the energy of the Pacific Ocean’s relentless pounding against it, leaving the small waves that reached the beach barely noticeable. We had time to amble along the beach until the groups separated into various tours.

Six of us climbed into the bed of a Toyota 4×4 pickup truck, outfitted with bench seats and a canvas awning, in case of rain, for a tour of the island. The cool rush of air felt good in the day’s already building humidity, as we drove along the coast. It was a little unusual considering it was well before noon, but our first stop was at Manutea TahitiRotui Juice Factory & Manutea Distillery for a tasting. We are not big fruit juice fans, but the Rotui juices – Papaya Passion, Mango, Banana Vanilla, Pineapple, and their various blends, all organic, were delicious. The aged rums are created from distilled O’Tahiti sugar cane, a flavor heirloom variety that thrives in the volcanic soil of the Polynesia islands. Captains Cook and Bligh brought this variety to the sugar plantations of the English colonies in the Caribbean. For nearly a century afterwards the O’Tahiti sugar cane variety was the most widely cultivated in the world. Saluting the old adage, “the sun is over the yardarm somewhere,” we enjoyed our daily ration of rum, and  even purchased a bottle of Coconut flavored rum to take home. Cheers!

Our tour continued into the center of the island where the fertile ‘Ōpūnohu Valley is surrounded by a crown of four rugged peaks, created from the collapsed cone of an ancient volcanic eruption. Mount Tohiea, at 3959 ft, is the highest peak on Moorea. It’s followed by Mt Rotui, at 2,949 ft, and Mounts Mouaputa & Maturaorao, at 2724 and 2700 feet. Of the four, only Mount Rotui is hikeable.

Driving along a dirt track through rolling acres of pineapples and sugar cane, our guide stopped and with a small machete cut a fresh pineapple from the field and deftly sliced it, without getting any juice on himself. He explained that Queen Tahiti pineapples thrive in the volcanic soil here, though smaller than the famous Dole pineapples grown on Hawaii, which are good for canning. Queen Tahiti pineapples are sweeter, have a smaller tender core, and are better eaten fresh.

Tahitian myths and gods are associated with mountains throughout Polynesia. Though Mouaputa is not the island’s tallest mountain, its shear pinnacle shape with a hole through its summit, like the eye of a needle, spectacularly sets it apart from the others. Passed down through generations for more than a millennium, Tahitian’s oral lore tells a story about Hiro, the god of thieves, and his cohorts, who rowed a large war canoe across the ocean from Raiatea one night and tried to steal sacred Mount Rotui, where it was believed the souls of the dead begin their journey to heaven. Seeing this thievery from Tataa hill on Tahiti, the famous warrior, Pai, a demi-god, threw a magic spear crafted from hibiscus wood across the 11 miles of ocean separating the islands, in order to stop them. Missing its target, the spear punched a hole straight through Mount Mouaputa with such an enormous bang it woke all the roosters on the island. Fearing the whole island would awaken from the rooster’s cacophony of crowing, and discover their treachery, the thieves fled emptyhanded.

Later we pulled down a shady lane and stopped at a narrow, fresh-water stream, where we followed our guide into the shallow, barely ankle deep water. We had stopped to see the sacred blue-eyed eels of Moorea. The surface of the water was very still, with barely a ripple, until our guide ceremoniously reached into his rucksack and withdrew a magic can of mackerel to chum the water. Suddenly the water around our group erupted with a dozen or more 4-6 feet long eels racing toward us from all directions!  They squirmed and splashed in a frenzy around us, fighting for pieces of mackerel. Tahitian legend believes the eels are the reincarnation of the God Hiro, who after his death assumed the shape of an eel and took on the responsibility of keeping the island’s freshwater streams and springs clean. The eels are a protected species across Tahiti, and are also believed to possess healing powers that can cure disease and bring good fortune to anyone who touches them.

Reaching the Belvedere Lookout, we were rewarded with a pristine panoramic view, without any hint of mankind in the landscape, centered by Mount Rotui, and flanked by ‘Ōpūnohu Bay on the left and Cook’s Bay on the right. Afterwards we stopped a short distance away at Marae Ti’i-rua and Marae-o-Mahine, where tiered open-air platforms had been constructed with rounded lava stones, and used for religious ceremonies and sacrifices. During Captain Cook’s third and final visit to Tahiti in 1777, he along with several other officers from the HMS Resolution witnessed a human sacrifice held on Moorea to ensure the success of a war party against a neighboring island.

Tahitians are practical and for centuries the lava outcropping behind the village of Papetō’ai, near the reef on the edge of ‘Ōpūnohu Bay, was simply called the “hill behind Papetō’ai.” Its name change probably happened in the 1960s after the opening of the Tahiti International Airport and a marketing executive was tasked with drawing tourists to islands. I can just imagine the conversation, “Listen folks, who wants to fly across the Pacific, or sail around the islands to visit a hill? Now Magic Mountain, that creates an impact!” Signed, sealed, and delivered. The rutted road up was very steep and the six of us bounced and swayed quite a bit in the back of the 4×4 and when we stopped, we still had to walk up a rough zig-zag trail to the summit. But it was well worth the effort for tremendous views of the mountains, reef, and bay, with the Panorama II tranquilly anchored below us. Our guide pointed out an octagonally shaped red roof at the water’s edge in Papetō’ai. “That’s a church, the Église protestante de Saint Michel, the first western structure built in the South Pacific. It was built by Protestant missionaries from the London Mission Society in 1827 atop the ancient Marae Taputapuatea, which was dedicated to Oro, the Tahitian god of war.”

After dinner, we pulled anchor and sailed through the night to Huahine, and tied to the quay in Tahateao just as the sun was breaking the horizon, We shared the dock with an inter-island ferry readying to get underway. The quiet unpretentious street harkened back to a different bygone era. Huahhine is actually two islands, Huahine Nui and Huahine Iti, connected by a short bridge. Legend believes that the Tahitian troublemaker Hiro sliced the island in half when he paddled his canoe through it.

Women are revered on the island, and islanders attribute the land’s fertility to the mountain silhouette that looks like a pregnant woman lying on her back. Huahine meaning, “woman’s womb.” There is a long history of Queens ruling Huahine, and they are credited with a sacred power and wisdom, often counseling their warrior chiefs to make love not war, especially as the British Navy began to explore the islands of Tahiti.

We joined a tour heading to see the marae that line the shore of Lake Fa’una Nui, a shallow saltwater bay. Our guide explained to us that there are over 200 ancient stone ceremonial sites, of various sizes, around the lake, which were central to the community’s religious life. There are more hidden on the forested and jungled hillsides of the island’s mountains, some dating to the arrival of the first Polynesians around 700 AD. After the marae are discovered and if the sites are not maintained, the jungle grows quickly over them again. This is the reason the island is commonly called, ‘the Garden or Secret Island.”

Farther along we stopped at the bridge over the saltwater estuary that feeds Lake Fa’una Nui to view the ancient V shaped stone fish traps that are still used communally. A sandy road led us to the Marae Manunu, a very substantial stone platform that stood taller than us. It was quite different from the earlier ones we viewed, which were low to the ground, like patios. It was along the road here that we noticed gravestones in front of houses; it is a Polynesian custom to bury your deceased family members close to home, often in the front yard. There is usually more than one grave. It’s a custom that stems from the ancient belief that the spirits of your dead relatives will protect the family home from evil spirits. The mountains of Huahine aren’t as dramatic as on Moorea, but the vista from the Maroe Bay Viewpoint out over a verdant jungle, and the azure waters of the bay with Mont Pohu Rahi, on Huahine Iti behind it, was sublime.

We’re all familiar with those epic aerial photographs of Bora Bora, a volcanic atoll, with Mount Otemanu rising from its center, like a spear thrust up through the crust of the earth, ringed with white surf, and  surrounded by an artist’s inviting palette of blues. It’s an expensive perspective you’ll only get if you fly into the island, but sailing through the reef is truer to the Polynesian way of life – smelling the air, tasting the salt spray blown up from the bow of ship lunging forward through the waves, feeling the wind on your face, and listening to the surf crash against the reef. For us it was a rewarding tactile journey. We had crossed the waves and arrived.

Bora Bora has been a romantic destination since the publication of James Michener’s Tales of the South Pacific, a collection of related anecdotes garnered from his time in the South Pacific during WWII, and which was awarded a Pulitzer Prize. Later the book was brought to the stage as a Broadway musical by the playwrights Rodgers and Hammerstein. South Pacific the movie premiered in 1958. Resorts with thatched roofed overwater bungalows, a new concept in the 1960s, followed. Tahiti was suddenly an exotic honeymoon destination with bragging rights, and the island still retains its allure.

With two days scheduled in Bora Bora, it was time to get our feet wet again and we signed up for a snorkeling excursion. The tour group boarded a motorized catamaran which made 4 stops as we circumnavigated the lagoon, known for its concentration of marine life. Our first stop was to see sting rays and black tip reef sharks.

The 80°F/27°C water was perfect for snorkeling without a wetsuit, and the clarity of the water was amazing, making it easy to attempt some underwater photography. I have a new respect for the photographers that document marine life – it’s not easy. Pulling anchor, we motored along the shoreline, the captain calling out the name of the resorts and any celebrities that might have vacationed there. The underwater coral garden just off the beautiful palmed lined shore of Pitiuu Uta, a small islet or motu, had us imagining a Robinson Crusoe adventure and Tom Hank’s character in Castaway, though we didn’t spot any wayward volleyballs floating along.

The water was deeper here and the naturalist who accompanied us warned us not to stand on the endangered coral. Even as our party tried hard to avoid contact with the reefs, the currents made it difficult, and Donna and another person discovered the hard way that coral is sharp! It was a great spot for a variety of fish, and we enjoyed finding giant clams embedded into the reef. The colorful lips of their shells were the only clue to their presence. It was easy to appreciate the beauty of Bora Bora as we motored along.

Off the Tā’ihi Point we stopped to snorkel with large manta rays which swam close to shore, and appreciated the joy and enthusiasm of four black dogs that frolicked through the surf to join us. They swam safely back to shore as we departed.

Beaching at a motu, we enjoyed refreshments and snacks. Some of us joined an impromptu game of volleyball, as others relaxed in the water or walked along the beach to savor the view of Mount Otemanu.

The next day we continued with an outrigger taxi ride along the lagoon’s waterfront before wandering around the small village of Vaitape. Remarkably, Bora Bora is not overrun with a intensely developed tourist infrastructure. The resorts with overwater bungalows are barely visible from the mainland. And a walk along the main road through Vaitape revealed a town that has kept its laid-back identity, hosting stores geared for the islanders. There are not any international fast-food joints or coffee shops, though there are several art galleries and a pearl shop. Fishermen still display their daily catch along the roadside along with farmers selling fruits and vegetables. There are several small grocery stores in town as well.

Walking back to our ship along the quay, we noticed a memorial to the U.S. Navy Seabees who arrived on the island in February 1942 after sailing from Charleston, South Carolina. The 150 men were tasked to build a fuel depot and airfield. It was the first of many naval air patrol bases built on various islands across the South Pacific to keep communication channels open with our allies during WWII. Later they built roads around the island to strategic points for the placement of naval artillery batteries to defend the island. And they brought electricty to the island for the first time. After the war the airfield they built was passed to civil authorities and it became Bora Bora’s Motu Mute Airport which accepted international flights from Los Angles through Hawaii, before Papeete’s airport was constructed. The Seabee memorial resonated with Donna, remembering her dad’s stories from WWII, when he was a young, 18 year old sailor on a fuel-tanker making frequent stops to this enchanting paradise.

By the end of the day the weather had turned and our overnight passage to Taha’a across a tempestuous sea was the roughest of our cruise. If you expect verdant jungle in paradise, you need to accept some rainy days. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t break, and we stayed onboard all-day watching movies, playing board games, and reading.

Overcast skies followed us to Raiatea, but we kept our plans with several other passengers and toured along the coast in an outrigger canoe to the Faaroa River, which flows from the mountainous interior of the island. Our hope for the day brightened as the sky cleared and brilliant colors returned to the landscape. It lasted only a brief time until we were deluged with rain. The Faaroa is referred to as the only navigable river in Polynesia, but during our visit the river narrowed as it travelled through the jungle and was blocked by a fallen tree. It would be perfect for exploring with a kayak.

Afterwards our guide explained as our outrigger headed towards the Marae Taputapuatea archeological site that Raiatea, meaning “faraway heaven,” is believed to be the homeland, Hawaiki, in Polynesian legend, and the island from which the colonization of the South Pacific began around 500AD. Polynesians wayfarers sailed across the great expanse of ocean, using their seafaring knowledge of the stars, wind and waves to reach Hawaii, 2500 miles away to the North, and eventually reaching New Zealand 2400 miles to the south, and Easter Island 2800 miles east – the area referred to as the Polynesian triangle. These were amazing weeks-long voyages in double-hulled, sailing canoes, with folks aboard exposed to the weather.

The Marae Taputapuatea was not only a religious ceremonial site, but also a place where the knowledge of the sea was passed down from generation to generation. The bravery of these wayfarers was immense, but they followed a belief that “under a chosen star there is a land that that will provide us with a new home.”

The last evening of the cruise, the sky cleared, and our cruise director, a vivacious Tahitian woman, arranged for a local ukulele trio to come aboard and entertain us on the top deck, as she and a crew member demonstrated the three different styles of ‘Ori Tahiti, the Polynesian dances, once banned by the first missionaries that arrived to the islands, from which Hawaiian hula evolved. Between songs she explained the characteristics of the types of dance: the slow, graceful motions of Aparima, which mixes hand and body movement to tell a story in a kind of elaborate pantomime; the lively Ote’a, similar to Hula, and danced to drumming; and Hivinau, a group dance performed as a  communal celebration in a group circle with singing and clapping.

It was a wonderful evening of shared camaraderie. Our adventure complete, and the night darkened; the stars we’d follow back to Papeete, and eventually home, sparkled above us.

Till next time,  Craig & Donna

The Rouen Lean: It’s not a Dance

| 2suitcasesfor2years

We had narrowly escaped Paris’s evening rush hour as we sped away from Orly through the French countryside. Our destination is Rouen, an ancient port town on the river Seine with a pivotal role in France’s history since the Romans first settled along the graceful bend of the river there. It would be a restart to a trip cut short by covid in 2020.

The last light of the darkening sky reflected off the Seine, like a brush stroke of silver paint across a dark canvas, as we turned away from the river and entered Rouen. We are not fans of night driving, especially in a new locale, and our maps app had difficulty with the narrow one-way streets in the historic center of the city. Frustrated, we decided to park at the first opportunity. Miraculously the planets were aligned in our favor as we entered the Q-Park Palais de Justice Musée des Beaux-Arts, a massive unground parking garage that encompasses several subterranean blocks beneath a park in Rouen’s historic district. Not sure exactly where to park, something urged us to continue through the cavernous space until we found a garage attendant moments before he locked his booth for the night. Friendly and extremely helpful, he explained how their multiday ticket would be the best value for us. Yes, we were so lucky he spoke English. Our good fortune continued at street level when we realized we were only two blocks from our hotel. But we had arrived later than planned and the gate to Le Vieux Carré was locked. Fortunately, another guest was returning to the hotel at that time and let us in. “I saw several keys on the reception desk when I went out, and figured you were one of the late arrivals.” Indeed, a room key with our name on it was there waiting for us.

Early the next morning the unusual, but pleasant aroma of caramelized onions drifted in through our open window. With our tastebuds awakened and appetites whetted we headed out. “Walk a little, then café,” is how we like to describe our wanderings. Our first stop – coffee and pastries. It is France, after all! But where to stop? There’s an abundance of eateries in Rouen, thanks to the city hosting two universities and thousands of students. There were so many places that looked inviting, but the criteria for us first thing of a morning was a café with a table in the sun, a must in mid-October to help alleviate the day’s early chill. Once sufficiently caffeinated, we set out.

Flat as a crepe, Rouen was a walker’s delight and savory with explorations that pulled us in every direction. During the 9th century, Vikings pillaged and then stayed to become the first Normans, and the prosperous town of became the capital of Normandy in the 10th century. During the Middle Ages, conflicts in the region were nearly continuous, but the city somehow evolved into one of France’s gems, with its distinctive medieval half-timbered buildings and three towering, majestic churches which still grace the city’s skyline. 

A who’s who of historical figures have crisscrossed Rouen’s cobbled lanes for centuries. The Anglo-French kings, William the Conqueror, a succession of King Henrys, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Richard the Lionheart viewed the city as their home away from home. In 1431, after inspiring her countrymen to rally against English expansionism, Joan of Arc was captured, tried, and burnt at the stake in Rouen’s Old Market Square. It wasn’t until the Siege of Rouen in 1449 when forces commanded by King Charles of France finally defeated the English. Later the French impressionist painter Claude Monet found inspiration in the city, featuring the Rouen Cathedral over thirty times as he put paint to canvas to catch its essence perfectly. With conflicts never seeming to end in Europe, somehow, this beautiful renaissance city, though deeply wounded, miraculously survived World War II. Most importantly perhaps, in March 1948, Julia Child had her first taste of French cuisine at Restaurant La Couronne, on Rouen’s central square, the Place du Vieux-Marché.  

Open since 1345, La Couronne is France’s oldest inn. Savoring her Sole Meuniere, a lightly breaded fish dish flavored with fresh butter, lemon, parsley and capers, it was an experience she described “as the most exciting meal of my life.” Local oysters and a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé were also enjoyed. She was hooked and a Francophile was born!

The Rouen Lean is not a dance, nor the result of drinking too much wine, but the very obvious tilt exhibited by many of the city’s ancient half-timbered buildings constructed during the Middle Ages. Our hotel was a prime example of this with scarcely a wall or floor that was square, plumb, and level. But that was the charming character and ambiance we were looking for. The half-timbered building’s superstructures were constructed with huge square oak timbers held together only with mortises, tenons, and wooden pegs, while the nonstructural area between the supporting timbers was filled with bricks or stones and covered with plaster. Over the centuries it has proven to be an aesthetically pleasing and durable construction method used to build five to six story houses. Many of the buildings still retain a centuries old, carved wooden sculpture on the front of the building that represented a service or craft that was once conducted there.

Approximately two thousand half-timbered structures from the Middle Ages still stand in Rouen. The abundance of wooden buildings surprised us as most of our travels have been through the countries of Southern Europe, Portugal, Spain, and Italy, where stone was historically used to construct everything. In Rouen, scarce stone was saved for the churches and castles.

Even stone erodes over time and occasionally old churches need a facelift every few centuries, as was evident by all the scaffolding surrounding the15th century, Gothic style, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, though with a selective camera angle I was able to eliminate most of the temporary platforms from our photo. But the difference between the areas covered by grime and the newly cleaned sections was phenomenal. The multiyear project is scheduled to be completed later in 2024. Though the interior of the church was closed the day we visited, we were able to watch a stone carver as she worked to create a new gargoyle to replace one beyond repair.

Rouen’s three main churches, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, Église Catholique Saint-Maclou, and the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Rouen are all located a short distance from each other on the eastern edge of the historic district, but the journey through the narrow lanes connecting them and exploring many other splendid points of interest along the way made for a wonderful day.

After the abbey we window-shopped down Rue Damiette, admiring the handcrafted violins created by master luthier Sarhan Jean-Marc. Farther on, interesting antique stores lined the narrow lane. Behind us the abbey’s belltower rose over the street. A view that hasn’t changed significantly in centuries. One of the best examples of the “Rouen Lean” is at the end of the street across from Saint-Maclou and caused us to stop for a double take. How, we wondered, can these buildings still be standing?

There was a shortage of cemetery space in Rouen during the Middle Ages when the plague revisited the city repeatedly and 75% of its citizens died. At the time it was the custom to bury the dead only until their bodies decomposed.

Then the bones were exhumed and reinterned above ground in the ossuary Aitre Saint Maclou and the grave reused for the newly departed. Hidden away down a discreet side alley, the ossuary complex was expanded several times and functioned as a secondary cemetery until the early 1700s when the remains were removed, and the buildings were repurposed as a school for poor boys. Today the space houses a fine arts academy and exhibition space. Though it’s still a macabre place with skull and crossbones carved into its exterior timbers.

We rested with coffees at a café on Place Barthélémy in front of Saint Maclou. While a lovely spot, the coffees were overpriced to the point that we could have purchased lunch for two if we’d chosen a less touristy spot. Just a reminder, a block or two off the usual tourist routes and prices drop dramatically.

Rouen’s Cathédrale Notre-Dame has been the center of focus since the first early Christian converts built a temple in 395 AD, on the spot where the current church now stands. And, like the city, the church has a turbulent history. Charlemagne visited in 769, but those pesky Vikings couldn’t decide if they hated or loved the place, sacking it repeatedly in the 9th century, only to later claim the Duchy of Normandy as theirs and embrace Christianity after the Viking leader Rollo was baptized in the church and later buried there as well. Nearby, Richard the Lionheart’s tomb only contains his heart.

Romanesque architecture was the rage during the 11th century and William the Conqueror attended the consecration for the first of many expansions and renovations that would follow over the centuries.

More chiseling and hammering continued during the 12th century when successive Archbishops embraced the new Gothic style. In 1204, Philip II of France celebrated Normandy’s merging with his kingdom amidst the new Gothic renovations.

During the 16th century, a second tower in the Renaissance style was built and ornate stonework and hundreds of statues were added to the front of the church, creating the visage that remains today.

Later lightning strikes, hurricanes and Calvinists would wreak havoc on the church. During the French Revolution any metal objects, not hidden away, were seized and melted down to create cannon balls. During WWII the cathedral was heavily damaged by Allied bombs. The damage was so extensive that final restoration wasn’t completed until 2016, when all the scaffolding was finally removed. Built and rebuilt, inside and out, for over eight hundred years, the cathedral is a fascinating place to explore.

The next morning we headed down Rue de Gros-Horloge, Rouen’s main pedestrian-only thorough fare that runs east to west from the cathedral to the Place du Vieux-Marche, a historic market square. This is the street where the city’s famous 14th century astronomical clock, Le Gros-Horloge, seems to transport you backwards through time to the Renaissance. Early in the morning is the best time to experience this landmark without crowds, as later in the day the narrow lane is as busy as Paris’ Champs-Élysées. During our short time in Rouen, we passed under its gilded façade many times and always, like Monet and his multiple paintings of the cathedral, tried to capture this beautiful clock just right in our photographs.

Indulging our wanderlust, we veered left and right off the lane to satisfy our curiosity. We found ancient gargoyles on the Tribunal Judiciaire de Rouen, and whimsical unicorns, a porcupine, and a reference to L’Ordre de l’Hermine, the Order of the Ermine, a medieval chivalric order on the exterior walls of the Hotel de Bourgtheroulde, a former 1500s mansion, built in what is kindly referred to as the Flamboyant Gothic style popular at the time.

Seriously – the Order of the Ermine is not from a Monty Python skit. A small but ferocious animal, during the Middle Ages the ermine was believed to to fight to its death if attacked rather than “sully the purity of its white fur,” and was used by many medieval chivalric orders to symbolize their uncompromising integrity and honor.

There was also the Ordre du Porc-Épic, porcupine, for prickly knights, and the Order of the Golden Fleece, for royal embezzlers. These were actual chivalric orders, though I am taking liberty with their membership.

Today the Place du Vieux-Marché is surrounded with restaurants and cafes with outside tables, which were very lively at Happy Hour when students and folks just off work congregated on the square. Quite a different scene now as opposed to the day in 1431 when Joan of Arc was burned alive at the stake, in the center of the square, though her heart remained untouched by the flames. A beautiful, modern wooden church built in 1979, the Église Sainte-Jeanne-d’Arc now memorializes the spot where her pyre stood. A plaque nearby reads “Oh Joan, you who knew that the tomb of heroes is in the hearts of the living.”

Inside the food market we savored our first fresh oysters from the Brittany coast and purchased some fruit, and of course cheese! A difficult process considering the tremendous variety we could choose from.

Intrigued by Joan of Arc’s story, the next day we headed to the Historial Jeanne d’Arc, which is housed in a wing of the ancient Archbishop’s Palace where part of her trial was held. We were skeptical at first while buying our tickets, thinking we’d just be watching a movie. But we both ended up being enthralled with the interactive digital technologies used to project Joan’s saga onto the old stone walls, floors, and domed arches.

Her history was exceptionally well portrayed and presented as chapters, with each chapter presented in a different room of the architecturally interesting space. We climbed one of the palace’s towers and were rewarded with a timeless view down Rue Saint Romain to the church of St. Maclou; a view that would look familiar to Joan of Arc were she to stand in this spot today, so little changed from her time.

A symbol of defiance, heroine for the French, and a successful military adversary against the English, she claimed God supported Frances’s freedom, but this was a position the Rouen church could not support as they were allied to England and claimed God was on their side. She was tried and convicted for her heresy. Her male jury also had difficulty with her dressing in men’s clothing for battle. As if because she was a woman, she should have worn a skirt and sat side saddle as she rallied the French to fight. But this practicality was viewed as cross dressing and as such was held to be against God’s law. (Though the robes of the clergy were not considered feminine.) The French finally defeated the English and succeeded in uniting Normandy and Rouen with France. Twenty-five years after her execution, Joan’s family petitioned for the trial records to be reviewed. The court determined she had been tried “under false articles of accusation,” and posthumously declared her innocent and annulled her sentence in 1456.

Our time in Rouen was a beautiful look back into Medieval France.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 4: Pico del Teide, La Orotava, Puerto de la Cruz & Beyond

| 2suitcasesfor2years

The silhouette of the ancient volcano mesmerized us. Even in the dark blues and blacks of the night the volcano’s majestic silhouette loomed large above Icod de Vinos. Later the moon rose and contributed a magical otherworldliness to our vista. During the winter when its 12,000 ft summit is snow covered and there is a full moon, it’s said to shine like the beacon of a lighthouse that can be seen from the coast of Morocco. The aboriginal Guanches believed Pico del Teide held up the sky and placed offerings on the volcano’s slopes to appease Guayota, an evil deity they believed responsible for its volcanic eruptions. We made our own photographic pilgrimage to Teide as we drove to the Hotel Alhambra in La Orotava, our base for the remainder of our vacation. Though not the most direct route from Icod de los Vino to La Orotava via Pico del Teide it was, I can assure you, the most interesting.

Teide is still considered an active volcano and while its cone hasn’t erupted in the last 850 years, side vents on its slopes have spewed destructive massive lava flows across its slopes in 1492, which Columbus noted in his logbook as he sailed on his maiden voyage of discovery, 1704,1705, 1706, 1798 and 1909. Our route on TF-5 cut across the lava field left from the 1909 El Chinyero vent eruption. Now over one-hundred years later new growth pines are just beginning to emerge from this carnage. Their verdant green needles, a refreshing sign of life in an otherwise barren landscape. Crossing the ridge of the mountains we descended into Santiago del Teide. The main road was lined with several inviting spots to stop for café! (We didn’t realize at the time, but this was also our last chance for lunch, as many places normally open in high season are closed or only open on the weekends in the shoulder seasons.)

After coffee we visited the town’s church, Parroquia de San Fernando Rey. It’s a small, whitewashed structure constructed in the late 1600s and has an interesting collection of religious art. Across the street stands a life-size statue called “the brave Guanche,” dedicated to Alonso Diaz, a goatherd, who in 1509 stood up for his rights and successfully petitioned Spain’s King Fernando the Catholic for justice, after 200 goats were stolen from him by a Spanish conquistador. By royal decree the goats were returned.

Venturing into the foothills, our drive continued along TF-38 and traversed an ever-changing, diverse bio-system as we left the arid shrub-covered lowlands behind and climbed into hillsides covered with pine forests. It was a well paved but narrow serpentine road, without any shoulder, that required constant vigilance. The mouths of ancient lava tunnels were visible from the road, but there was no room to pull over and stop for photos until we reached the Mirador de los Poleos. Here the raw beauty in these charcoal-colored landscapes flourished beneath the Chinyero Volcano, and we had a chance to walk across the lunar-like terrain, part of the immense lava field from its 1909 eruption. Dotted with huge boulders, it was difficult to comprehend the ferocious forces required to expel these massive rocks from their subterranean origin.

Continuing on, we had encountered what we thought was fog until, to our surprise, we emerged above the clouds at Mirador de Samara.

This area is also very popular for hiking, with many very obvious trails crisscrossing through a young forest emerging from the volcanic soil left from Pico Viejo’s last, 92 days long, eruption in 1798.

Approaching noon, we turned toward Vilaflor, the highest village, at 4600ft, on Pico del Teide’s southern slope and surrounded by vineyards. The surrounding wineries produce some of Tenerife’s best wines from Listán Negro, Malvasia, Negramoll, and Listán Blanco grapes. And are embodied with a distinctive terroir from the warm climate and fertile volcanic soil. The weather had suddenly turned gray and dreary. More frustrating though, the wineries we had planned to visit were closed mid-week during the shoulder season. Fortunately, we happened upon Mar de Nubes, a craft store and café run by a friendly young married couple from Tenerife and the States. The shop features only handicrafts made by Canarians and local wines and artisanal beers. Of course, we shopped.

Beautiful, inhospitable, Death Valley-esque, lunar or Martian, however you choose to describe the varied topography that surrounds Pico del Teide’s, it’s enthralling and fascinating. So much so that filmmakers have used the location for scenes in several block buster films: One Million Years B.C. – 1966, Planet of the Apes – 1968, Clash of the Titans – 2010 and its 2012 sequel Wrath of the Titans, and in 2023 the Last Triala, a Star Wars fan film.  TV episodes of Doctor Who, The Dark Along the Ways and season 2 of The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power have incorporated Tiede’s environs into their productions.

Driving back up the mountain we continued on to view the large sculptural outcroppings at the Mirador de La Ruleta and the desert-like dunes of the Siete Cañadas hiking area, before following the long downward grade of the road to La Orotava. We speculated that if you dropped a soccer ball at the top of the slope, it would bounce downhill continually until it splashed into the ocean at Puerto de la Cruz, roughly 23 miles away. Our route along TF-21 cut through forests ravaged by the wildfires of 2023. The blackened trees were the only scars in the otherwise pristine wilderness of the Tiede’s northern slope in Parque Natural Corona Forestal.

Late in the day we coasted into our parking space in front of Hotel Alhambra. Parking on the streets in La Orotava is free, but it’s a competitive sport. We chose to stay at this hotel for its distinctive architecture and location in the historic center. While the exterior of the 500-year-old dwelling is quietly classical, the interior walls of its Canarian-style courtyard were beautifully transformed in 1925 with intricate floral and geometric Nasrid art designs, created with gebs plasterwork and enclosed under a high glass roof. An eclectic decorating theme is highlighted with frescos by Maestro Antonio Otazzo, a local self-described painter, sculptor, musician, philosopher, and poet. As if being followed by a friendly giant, Pico del Teide was in our line of sight when we opened the shutters on our room’s window.

La Orotava was rather easy to walk around if we were walking across the slope, but after several days our hamstrings and calves were sore, though our butts were firmer. “Walk a little then café,” as we say was the perfect approach to exploring this wonderful town.

Along with San Cristóbal de La Laguna, it’s considered to be one of the prettiest towns on Tenerife.

Getting to the higher points in town we asked the hotel to call for a cab, for a quick ride to the Jardines del Marquesado de la Quinta Roja. Once part of an estate, it’s named after the noble interred in the park’s marble mausoleum; as a member of the Masonic Temple his family was not allowed to bury him in the town’s catholic cemetery. Constructed in 1883, the garden is a beautiful French-style, terraced, formal garden with a view over the town and the distant sea. A smaller but older (1788) sister park next to it, the Hijuela del Botánico, features a towering dragon tree and other plantings of specimen trees collected from Spain’s former colonies.  And if you are in awe of dragon trees, as we are, the Villa de La Orotava Dragon Tree Tour might be for you.

From the gardens we wandered downhill along cobbled lanes, past wonderful examples of colorful Canarian architecture, into the historic old town, which is centered around the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción. Started in 1516, it is the town’s oldest and largest church, with its colorful dome giving the town its iconic skyline.

But La Orotava’s history starts early in 1496 with the final defeat of Tenerife’s aboriginal Guanches at the battle of Aguere, after which their leader committed suicide by jumping off a cliff in nearby Tigaiga. “To the victor go the spoils,” and the fertile lands of the Guanche kingdom of Taoro were awarded to the nobles, conquistadors and financiers who participated in the Spanish victory.

The rich soil of the hillside was perfect for the cultivation of sugarcane and the steep streams from the mountain were soon harnessed to run sugar and lumber mills. Prosperity followed. Ice from Mt. Tiede chilled the drinks of the town’s wealthy.

Landowners and merchants built large family mansions in a style which would become known as Canarian, which feature interior courtyards and distinctive facades with decorative wooden balconies and the family’s Coat of Arms prominently facing the street. Convents housed the daughters from families that didn’t want to diminish their wealth by paying the dowry for the girls’ wedding, as was the custom of the time. 

Vines and wine replaced sugar cane and ruled the town’s economy in the 17th century. In the mid-1800s, the textile mills of Europe were searching for different dyes, and mealybugs or cochineal were bred in cactus around La Orotava and harvested to obtain a crimson dye, produced from an acid that the bug makes to fight off predators. Since the late 1800s, vast banana plantations thriving on Tenerife’s mineral-rich volcanic soil continue to bring prosperity to the island and La Orotava, enabling the community to restore its historic buildings.

Not wanting to miss anything on Tenerife, we planned day trips from La Orotava around visiting coastal miradors and following any whims along the way. The Mirador Punta Del Hidalgo was not our favorite photographic destination, but we did enjoy stopping at the crescent shaped, black sand beach at Playa del Arenal in Bajamar, and a farmer’s market, Mercadillo del Agricultor in Tacoronte. Here we purchased some pastries for a snack and some Tuno Indio juice made from the purple fruit of the Canarian Red Prickly Pear. The cactus was brought to the Canary Islands from the Americas centuries ago and has been used in Canarian folk medicine to lower blood sugar and treat other ailments. It also has antiviral, anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, and anti-ulcerogenic properties. It tastes pretty good.

Afterwards we headed to the Mirador La Garañona in El Sauzal. Set dramatically atop a 1000ft sheer cliff, there’s a tremendous view of the coast below. And the park’s shaded paths led to a delightful small café perched at the cliff edge. We lingered and soaked in the view.

On the way to the mirador, we whizzed passed a small neighborhood restaurant set by itself on a corner, and decided to try it on our return trip. But first we had one last stop to make on the way at the Iglesia de Santa Catalina. It’s a classic, white-washed church from the early 1500s and picture perfect with its magnificent dragon tree in front.

Lunch at Restaurante el Calvario was delightful, with excellent house wine and menu featuring traditional Canarian dishes. A young friendly staff, tolerant of our poor Spanish, contributed to a very enjoyable afternoon.

Puerto de la Cruz, just down the hill from La Orotava, was the destination for our last day trip. Originally a small fishing village, the town grew in importance after the main harbor on the north coast of Tenerife in Garachico was filled with lava from a 1706 volcanic eruption. Close to La Orotava, it also benefited from that town’s thriving economy, with the export of sugar, wine and bananas from its port. It has been a popular vacation spot since the Victorian era. Now it attracts visitors and expats from across Europe, drawn to its cosmopolitan vibe, wide beaches, quaint historic center, numerous parks, and vast array of restaurants.

Giant three-hundred-year-old fig trees, planted when the park first opened in the 18th century, are king here. Shaded pathways thread through a cornucopia of verdant jungle, flowers, and water garden. We enviously wished that we could grow everything in our garden at home.

In the historic center we had coffee across from the majestic Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Peña de Francia and afterwards were able to catch a glimpse of a bride and groom taking their vows. Their antique wedding car waiting under gently swaying palm trees on the plaza in front of the church.

The waterfront in Puerto de la Cruz is beautiful and there are numerous beaches and tidal pools along the coast where you can swim. We strolled along the promenade above the black sand beaches at Playa Maria Jiménez, and Playa Chica to El Castillo San Felipe, a small block fortress built in the 1600s to prevent pirates or the British from landing on the beach here. We lunched along the boardwalk under umbrellas just yards from the surf.

Stopping at the Mirador Roger Piedra Gorda and Mirador Roque Grande rounded out the afternoon. Though parking was a challenge at both spots, we think the effort was worth it for the dramatic seacapes we viewed.

That evening we drove up into the hills above La Orotava and enjoyed a great meal at Bodegón Casa Matías. It’s a rustic establishment, decorated with wine barrels and antique farming tools to acknowledge the history of the region. The chefs and owners, a vivacious husband and wife team, are part of Tenerife’s farm to table movement, sourcing only local meats, including rabbit and goat, fish, cheeses, and seasonal vegetables for their traditional Canarian recipes.

For our last full day on Tenerife, we headed to El Médano to be nearer the airport for a flight the following morning. Arriving late in the afternoon to Playa del Médano we entertained ourselves watching wind and kite surfers speed across the whitecaps. The more experienced kiters crested the waves and performed aerobatics before splashing back into the sea.

Closer to town, families favored the gentler waves, wider beach, and a view of Montaña Roja volcano on the horizon. Tables at eateries along the boardwalk were quickly filling as the golden hour approached.

A crescent beach, gentle waves, good wine and delicious seafood – is there a better way to end the day? We’ll miss Tenerife.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 3: Garachico & Buenavista del Norte – A Wonderful Coastal Drive

| 2suitcasesfor2years

Our drive along the coast started in the small harbor of Icod de los Vinos. From the start the sea vistas were beautiful, with crisp clarity and saturated blues and brilliant white breakers crashing against the rocky coast. The lighthouse on the remote headland Punta de Teno was our destination. Though only sixteen miles away, it took a good part of the morning with all the frequent photo stops we were making as we proceeded. The spectacular scenery along this short drive rivals the Pacific Coast Highway in California and Chapman’s Peak Drive outside Cape Town, South Africa or the Amalfi Coast of Italy. Just epic!

A few minutes from Icod de los Vinos along TF-42, we stopped at Mirador El Guincho which overlooks the coastal homes, banana plantations, and the new Port of Garachico. Constructed in 2012 behind a large breakwater, it is the only harbor on the north side of Tenerife. Beyond the harbor the extinct volcano Montaña de Taco highlights the horizon, its crater now used as a reservoir.

Enthused by what we glimpsed as we passed through Garachico, we decided to keep with our original plan to go to our farthest destination first and then return later to linger in the quaint town.

“Drive a little, then café.” We were ready to stop by the time we reached Buenavista del Norte and easily found parking around the Plaza de los Remedios. Sitting in the shade, we ordered coffees from the café under the park’s gazebo. It’s a classic Canarian town with colorful two and three story homes. What’s unusual though is the town sits on flat land! Something that is in short supply on this mountainous island. It’s only access to the sea was from the small rocky landing at Playa de las Barqueras, where for centuries supplies were rowed ashore from passing merchant ships. Nearby set along the dramatic coastline is the Buenavista Golf Course, designed by the famous Spanish golfer, Seve Ballesteros.

The Church of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios stands across from the plaza and has played a significant role in the town’s history since its cornerstone was laid in 1516, most importantly when the townspeople filled the church in 1659 and prayed to the statue of La Virgen de los Remedios to stop a plague of locust which was ravaging their crops. According to history the plague stopped. Sadly in 1996, that historic statue and many other centuries-old religious treasures were lost in a fire that destroyed the church.

It’s very easy to speed by and miss, but on the outskirts of town on Cruz de Toledo at its intersection with TF-445 there is a statue of a locust atop a tall column with the anagram of the Virgen de los Remedios, and the dates 1659-2015 which commemorate that event. Every fifth year a procession from the church carries the virgin’s statue out to the locust monument. 

We continued towards Punta de Teno only to be stopped by a manned roadblock across the pavement, just shy of Mirador Punta del Fraile. Only buses and taxis were allowed to travel the road farther; we weren’t told why. Even Google map drivers have been prohibited from making the journey. There was a small dirt parking area next to the gatehouse and we could see a few folks walking the long incline to the mirador. We followed. It was about a thirty minute, moderately strenuous walk, and the views were awesome. It was well worth our effort. Gale force winds whipped through a cut in the rock which the road followed down to the lighthouse at Punta de Teno, three miles away. Behind us a large cliff face blocked most of the view of the Teno headland. It’s a barren peninsular without tourist amenities, just a lonely lighthouse and modern wind turbine farm, the blades of which must turn furiously 24hrs a day, if it’s as blustery there as it was at Mirador Punta del Fraile. Hold your hats!

The views returning to Garachico were equally as impressive as the morning sights, and we stopped several times before entering the old town.

As prosperous as the Canary Islands are today, we were reminded by the statue at the Mirador del Emigrante that life here was not always easy. This poetic description by Fernando García Ramos, the sculptor, explains for the viewer the meaning behind his statue of a walking man – with a hole in his chest, as if in his heart – holding a suitcase. “The figure is scanning the horizon, in a daring position, as if pretending to jump over the sea, with a suitcase in hand, and many more suitcases in a series as a chain behind him; these suitcases behind him surely mean the memories, the sadnesses, the nostalgia, the girlfriend, the mother, the sisters, the families that are left behind by an emigrant who takes a new life, who jumps over the infinite sea, in search of a new life in strange and distant lands.”

Occasionally we spotted colorful red rock crabs scurrying about as walked along the waterfront to the Castillo de San Miguel, a square block fortress built from quarried lava rock in 1575 to protect Garachico’s port from French, Dutch and Arab pirate attacks, along with the threat of British invasion.

For two hundred years Garachico’s harbor was the most important commercial port in the Canary Islands. Its citizenry accumulated wealth through prosperous imports and exports from Spain’s New World colonies and Europe. It was a prestigious town with many warehouses and shops, fine homes, convents, and churches.

This ended on May 5th, 1706, when Volcan Arenas Negras, a vent volcano on Mt. Tiede’s lower slope, erupted and spewed lava down a ravine that led directly into the town and harbor. Amazingly, no lives were lost, but a great number of the town’s historic buildings as well as four convents were destroyed, buried under lava that flowed into the town for nine days. Buildings close to the lava flow caught fire and burned to the ground. The fortress narrowly escaped, but it lost its relevance when the harbor was filled with lava and ships could no longer anchor there. With the loss of the harbor, merchant ships shifted to Puerto de la Cruz, folks left and Garachico evolved into a fishing village until the tourist economy on Tenerife took off in the 1960’s, embracing tourism so enthusiastically that the town recently constructed an ocean front municipal pool open to all along the promenade.

Walking into the center of town, we admired several noteworthy historic buildings:, Convento de San Francisco (1524,) and its church the Iglesia de Santa Cruz de Tenerife; Casa Palacio de Los Condes de La Gomera (1666.) They still stand around a beautiful, shaded gazebo in the Plaza de la Libertad.

Walk a little then café.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 2: Icod de los Vinos or Colonial Charm, Dragon Trees, and Miradors

| 2suitcasesfor2years

Departing Santa Crux de Tenerife, we drove along the TF-5 towards Icod de los Vinos, our base for the next several days as we explored the lower part of the north side of the island. A compass orientation doesn’t accurately describe how Tenerife is split into north and south regions, but Pico del Teide and its rugged highlands roughly divide the island into the dryer South, which faces Africa and catches the westerly blowing Sharqī, a hot wind from the Sahara, while the North of the island is shielded by Pico del Teide from the hot winds blowing west from Morocco, is wetter from Atlantic Ocean storms.

We are not really resort and beach people; there’s that getting sandy issue that deters us. We do enjoy a close proximity to the ocean and beautiful seascapes, both of which were easily attainable on the north side of Tenerife. We figured that the best way to do this was to chase miradors. And there wasn’t any shortage of them on the island. We figured enroute to them we’d pass other wonderful discoveries that would spur us to detour and investigate, rounding out what we saw of the island.

Set on a steep hill, the restaurant La Barada, just a short distance off the highway, was our first stop. Though technically it’s not a mirador, it is a popular place due to its glass pier that is cantilevered dramatically out over the countryside from the restaurant. It offers an amazing bird’s eye view of the coast with Pico del Teide in the distance. The food was also very good and the terrace was alive with boisterous activity the afternoon we stopped. 

We arrived late in the afternoon to our lodging at Hotel Emblemático San Marcos in iIcod de los Vinos. Located on a steep narrow street, it was a challenge to park close to the buildings on the driver’s side and still have enough room to get out of the car, but the parking was free and right in front of our hotel. Built in the early 1700s as a private mansion, it exemplified typical Canarian architecture of the period with its courtyard and meticulously crafted interior, rich with polished wood. The view from our room over the red tiled roofs of Icod extended to the sea.

Still early in the evening, we headed uphill to explore the historic center of the town and to our delight happened across an outdoor concert in the festively decorated plaza next to the Iglesia Mayor de San Marcos. The performances were part of the town’s September’s month-long Christ of Calvary celebrations. Legend says that when the conquistadors first landed on the beach here in the late 1400s they discovered a statue of San Marcos awaiting them. A fortuitous omen that promptly required a church be built. A century later the church was beautifully expanded to what it is today.

As the evening was darkening, we caught our first glimpse of El Drago Milenario. Believed to be 1000-years-old, it is the largest dragon tree on Tenerife. With over 300 branches, and a circumference of 66 feet, it’s a lofty 70 feet tall.

Beloved by the folks of Icod de los Vinos, the tree’s image is included on the town’s coat-of-arms along with Mount Tiede which also towers over municipality.

In centuries past trees harvested from the mountain’s slopes were sledded down the steep ancient roads of the old town, all the way to the harbor, where prosperous shipbuilders used them in the construction of naval vessels that participated in the ill-fated Spanish Armada of 1588. This unique sledding tradition is still kept alive every November with the La Fiesta de las Tablas, when younger folks speed down Plano Street on tablas, polished planks of wood, that often become airborne with their riders when they hit bumps in the road. Unfortunately, we did not witness this fiesta, but the video clips on YouTube are amazing. The cleared slopes around the town now host orchards, vineyards and banana plantations.

That evening we watched the climax of the festival – a spectacular fireworks display – from the balcony of our room. Throughout the night church bells continued to ring out loudly at odd times with seemingly random numbers of chimes. A curious oddity at the end of a wonderful day.

The weather was brilliant and the next morning we set out to visit the Mariposario del Drago, a large glassed enclosed tropical greenhouse that has a butterfly breeding program. Being gardens we find butterflies very entertaining. The experience here was delightful, and elicited smiles from everyone when a butterfly landed on them.

Across the street from the Mariposario, the El Drago Milenario stands behind a high walled and gated fence. The small admission fee to the park is well worth it to support the town’s effort in keeping this goliath of a tree alive. But, if you’d rather skip the expense and put it towards coffee or lunch, there’s an enticing café named Casa del Drago, with a good view, right next door. Farther uphill along Calle San Antonio there is Drago junior, a magnificent younger dragon tree that, according to legend, the town seized from its owner when he tried to cut it down in a fit of rage.

Fortunately, this part of the historic town center is relatively flat and the walking was easy as we headed back to admire the plaza around the Iglesia Mayor de San Marcos in the daylight and the church’s 16th, 17th, and 18th  century religious art.

Afterwards we strolled along the town’s old lanes until we reached city hall and the Iglesia de San Agustin, both of which are dramatically set on a small plaza at the top of a set of ancient stairs. The church dates from the late 1500s and was originally part of the first convent built in the town by the order of Los Augustinos.

The road to Playa de San Marcos in the harbor of Icod is spectacular with views of the coast. It was here, in this sheltered bay, one the few natural harbors on Tenerife’s north coast, that the Saint’s venerated statue was discovered in a cave along the cove.

We found it best to just find a place to park and then walk to the vantage point that interested us. During the September shoulder season when we visited, tourists were scarce and finding parking was relatively easy.

Early the next morning we headed towards Puerto de Santiago on a route that took us to the mountain ridge above Icod. The final destination of the day would be the isolated village of Masca. A serpentine drive from Icod led to a hairpin turn that fed us into Vieja a la Vega, a very narrow steep lane, but really more like an alley lined with homes. This was one of the steepest roads we’ve ever encountered, requiring us to downshift to second gear for the long and seemingly endless ascent to the main road at the top. Fortunately, we didn’t encounter any cars coming downhill, as there was literally no room to pass. At the top we intersected the TF-5 and followed it through an old growth forest covered with stately pine trees. Continuing on, the road traversed a Martian like landscape. A huge lava field that was the result of Volcano Chinyero‘s last eruption in 1909. The terrain became noticeable drier as we crossed the mountain and descended into Santiago del Teide.

The roads to Pico del Tiede, Masca, and Puerto de Santiago converge here, making it the perfect spot for a café break before continuing down to the Mirador Archipenque to view Los Gigantes, a stretch of tall cliff face that dramatically rises straight up from the sea.

From here you can also see two of the other Canary Islands, La Gomera, and La Palma on the horizon.  For centuries Santiago was a quaint fishing village, but it has embraced tourism and now draws folks enchanted by its natural beauty and striking location along the coast. Its harbor from November to February is also a popular hub for whale watching excursions to depart from.

Backtracking through Santiago del Teide we turned into the mountains and followed a long stretch of twisting and turning road to the Mirador de Cherfe. Sitting atop a mountain pass, it has expansive views to the sea. It was also one of the busiest miradors, with vendors selling lava trinkets, and many tourists stopping on the way to or from Masca, like us. Oh, the thrills of driving in the mountains of Tenerife were just beginning!

The isolated hamlet of Masca seems to be a mecca for folks wanting to get into the more remote parts of Tenerife. With limited parking options, we had to wait for a space to become available only to realize after we walked into the hamlet that all the restaurants were closed on Monday. Yikes!

With growling stomachs, we continued on. Starvation was thwarted in El Palmar at the Restaurante El Rincón La Abu, a wonderful establishment where we were the only customers late in the afternoon. The house wine and our meals, pork cheeks in sauce and chicken breast stuffed with serrano ham and spinach, were excellent. We appreciated that we never felt rushed to finish, but we did notice when we were getting into our car that they were locking up for the afternoon. When home our routine finds us having lunch late in the afternoon, but this wasn’t always possible on Tenerife where many of the restaurants close at 2 or 3pm and then reopen later.

It took us awhile to adjust to this earlier lunch schedule. Continuing on we stopped to observe the Montaña Zahorra, an ancient lava dome from which its fertile soil was quarried in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. The distinctive pie shapes of the excavations represented the individual owners’ mineral rights.  

Exuberant like rally drivers, we felt victorious from a day well spent and headed back to Icod de los Vinos to enjoy a glass of local wine on the balcony of our room and watch the moon rise over the foothills above the town.

Till next time, 

Craig & Donna

Madrid: An Ambience That Ages Well

| 2suitcasesfor2years

First Impression: Madrid is monumental! The minute we exited the Puerta de Atocha train station onto the sidewalk, we were struck by the beauty of the wide boulevards lined with stately trees and grand architecture, and the top of buildings graced with colossal sculptures of mythic gods.

If the Paseo del Prado, the route to our hotel, could speak, it would surely boast of its famous destinations along its length: Madrid’s Museum Triangle, which includes the Reina Sofia Museum where Picasso’s Guernica hangs; the Prado Museum, which highlights the works of Diego Velázquez and Goya; as well as the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, which displays 13th-20th-century European masterpieces. But its bragging rights continue with the Real Jardín Botánico, the Museo Naval with its fascinating exhibits devoted to Spanish maritime history, The Glory and Pegasus sculptures atop the Ministry of Agriculture, and the famous fountain depicting the goddess Cybele’s chariot being pulled by two lions. This relatively short distance is packed with so many highlights it should be called Madrid’s marvelous mile.

Our hotel the Apart-Hotel Serrano Recoletos was just a few blocks from the iconic Cibeles Fountain, which is centered in a traffic circle you usually have to observe from a distance, but overnight the Paseo del Prado was transformed into the festive final leg of the Movistar Half Marathon, with the finish line down the street from our hotel.

With the majestic boulevard closed to traffic, folks were free to wander up to the fountain for a close view, an accessibility that rarely happens. Yesterday we hadn’t realized the median strip that runs the length of Paseo del Prado was lavishly planted with gardens and as luck would have it, the tulips and flowering trees were in bloom. Heading towards the historic center of Madrid, we observed a large group of healthcare professionals marching peacefully down the Gran Via protesting government policies. It was a busy Spring Sunday in Madrid.

Plaza Mayor, ground zero for the historic center of Madrid, was our destination. Once the ancient city’s market area, the area was transformed by architect Juan Gómez de Mora during Philip III’s reign in 1617, and of course the King is dutifully recognized, gallantly astride an equestrian statue in the plaza’s center.

The vision of three successive architects contributed to the plaza as seen today, the result of three devasting fires in 1631, 1670 and 1790. Over the centuries it has hosted bullfights, executions during the Inquisition, Royal wedding celebrations, soccer games and Christmas markets. As an exclusive address in Madrid, many of the apartments are passed down within the same families from generation to generation.

Plaza Mayor gets hectic, but tucked away under the arcaded sidewalk, there are some hidden gems worth finding. Our favorite was La Torre del Oro. It’s an old atmospheric bar dedicated to celebrating Spain’s bullfighting traditions.

There are so many interesting destinations centered around this plaza that we often started our days here as a way to get oriented in old Madrid’s labyrinth of alleys. Treating the nine ancient gateways into the plaza as compass points, we would follow their direction into the surrounding barrios.

Our wanderings to soak up the ambience of this ancient quarter were frequently determined by a list of restaurants and cafes, along with historic sites and churches, we hoped to find. The choices were overwhelming. Since this was our first time in Madrid, we hit many of the tried-and-true spots, like Chocolatería San Ginés, famous for serving Madrileños the best hot chocolate with churros for over 125 years. There was a fast-moving queue when we arrived before 11, which suddenly evaporated and freed sidewalk tables, but it was much more interesting before the lull in activity. And El Riojano, a renowned 19th-century Pastelería with a tantalizing spinning tower of sweet temptations in its storefront window, is sure to break the will of any dieter. When you first enter, it looks like there are not any tables to sit at, but next to one of their display cases there is an opening into a large, popular back room for café. We are after all tourists.

One late afternoon by the El Oso y el Madroño sculpture, a band of buskers filled the Puerta del Sol with music. The Bear and the Strawberry Tree is a medieval heraldic emblem that has been associated with Madrid since 1222, when King Alfonso VIII used the image on a stamp to seal a royal decree.

We continued past the Plaza Mayor towards the Plaza de la Armería, where the Catedral de la Almudena, (1883), and the Royal Palace of Madrid (1738), face each other. Turning onto Calle del Factor, we walked a short distance uphill to the Jardín de Larra and joined a small group of folks waiting to enjoy the sunset.

Afterwards at the bottom of the street we entered the Iglesia Catedral de las Fuerzas Armadas. It’s a small 17th century church dedicated to the Spanish armed forces. The church’s simple façade conceals a lavish marble interior with several interesting altars depicting paternalistic colonial themes.

The streets of Madrid seem even busier at night with folks bustling about after work. On the way back to our hotel, we stopped at the Mercado de San Miguel, one of Madrid’s old, covered food markets, which dates from 1916. Today it’s a gentrified, popular gastronomic destination, with tapas, tapas, and more tapas to satisfy everyone’s tastes.

Madrid’s iconic Tio Pepe neon sign blazed brightly above the Puerta del Sol, and shops along the plaza brilliantly displayed their merchandise in dramatically lighted storefront windows. While Madrid exudes ambience during the day, the city becomes magical in the evenings.

Dinner was at La Casa del Abuelo CRUZ, a traditional tapas bar that has been run by the same family since 1906. Their specialty, gambas al ajillo (sizzling garlic prawns), while very delicous, was a terrible value for the portion size. Their vino de casa, an excellent strong red wine, was memorable and eased the pain of the excessive bill.

Spain’s empire building and wealth followed Columbus’ discovery of the Americas in 1492. A daring nautical leap of faith at the time, it set in motion an era of exploration by sea, that would expand the Spanish Empire around the globe. With that in mind, and an interest in boats, we headed to the Museo Naval on Paseo del Prado, near the Prado Museum. It’s a wonderful museum with exhibits in chronological order, which highlight exquisite ship models, nautical instruments, maps, weaponry, and paintings depicting important naval battles. The exhibits include models of the Niña, Pinta, and Santa Maria which composed Columbus’ small fleet on his epic first voyage.

Afterwards we headed into the centro historico for lunch at Casa Toni, an intimate, no-frills bar, that serves tasty seafood and offal tapas. A short line had formed for tables by the time we arrived, but it moved quickly, especially if you opted for a table upstairs, though downstairs is where all the action is with other folks, jammed into a small space, standing at the bar, and seated at some very tiny tables. It’s a friendly boisterous spot. Pig ears and fried lamb lungs might not be for everyone, but they were surprisingly very tasty. 

Gold and silver from the Americas fueled church building across Spain in the 16th – 18th centuries.While it’s possible to enjoy Madrid without visiting any churches, we’ve developed a policy of going inside if the door was open. It nicely slowed down our day and transported us back to a time when amazing buildings were constructed only using hand tools to carve stone and shape wood. And the religious paintings and iconography, while they might not be of interest to everyone, display a level of craftsmanship and imagination that’s worthy of appreciation. Unfortunately, the churches were also vast repositories of riches, donated by the wealthy and poor alike, to secure a place in heaven.

Near the San Miguel market, down from the Plaza de la Villa, on Calle de Puñonrostro, we happened upon the inconspicuous entrance to the small chapel at the Monastery of Corpus Christi las Carboneras, that dates from the early 1600s. It’s a tall, narrow, petite sanctuary. When we were turning to leave, I noticed on the second level the privacy screen across the prayer area for the sequestered nuns. It didn’t actually offer much privacy since a I spotted a seated nun watching the tourists in the chapel. I waved gently, she smiled and waved discreetly back.

A door further along the calle leading to the convent’s dulces turno was just being locked; I could hear the click, a few minutes shy of their posted hours. The dulce turnos are a centuries-old tradition that has remarkably survived in convents across modern Spain, as a means for nuns to support themselves. The turno is essentially a lazy-susan style cabinet with doors on both sides of the wall that lets the customers purchase cookies and other baked cooked from the sequestered nuns while still maintaining the nuns’ privacy. Cookie orders are spoken through the wall. If your Spanish is insufficient, it’s handy to write out what you’d like. There is usually a list of what’s available taped to the door of the cabinets. You place your money on the shelf, the wheel turns, and cookies appear as if by magic. It’s delightful! At the bottom of the street, in front of a public library, stands a bronze statue of a man. It’s named El Lector, the reader, a tribute to Carlos Cambronero, a writer devoted to Madrid’s history. Across the street the unusual convex, baroque facade of the Basílica Pontificia de San Miguel (1739) intrigued us, and we explored more inside.

The calles go every which way in La Latina, one of Madrid’s oldest areas, where the narrow streets and plazas follow the original 9th century footprint of the Arab citadel that originally stood there. Though its buildings might be old, the area now attracts a vibrant young crowd that enjoys an immense collection of tapas bars and restaurants along Cava Baja and Cava Alta. The two nearly parallel streets have been popular since medieval times, when traveling merchants stayed at inns and taverns along the calles, and used tunnels or access holes dug at the end of the streets to enter the walled city at night when the gates were closed.

At the end of Cava Baja and Cava Alta, the colorful Mercado de la Cebada, with its distinctive wavy roof, is a modern architectural dichotomy in its surroundings. The shopping in this mercado is an authentic Madrileño experience that is not touristy at all.

From the entrance to the market, we noticed the tall silhouette of the Royal Basilica of Saint Francis the Great’s large dome, several blocks away, dominating the neighborhood, and decided to check it out.

This is a mammoth, mid-18th century cathedral designed in the Neoclassic style, the size of which we did not fully realize until we were standing under its 108-foot-wide and 190-foot-high dome. Legend believes that St. Francis chose this site himself when he visited Madrid in 1214 during his pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. The dome is the largest in Spain and the fourth largest in Europe. It was breathtaking in scale and equally fascinating with celestial frescos by Casto Plasencia Mayor decorating the cupola, and paintings behind the altar by Manuel Dominquez and Alejandero Ferrant, illuminating biblical stories.

Six smaller but equally opulent chapels in several different architectural styles, from Baroque to Byzantine, and Renaissance to Rococo, ring the main altar, each mini museum displaying a wealth of religious art created by the Spanish masters Francisco José de Goya, Alonso Cano, Francisco Zurbarán, Antonio González Velazquez, José Moreno Carbonero, and others. This church is one of the most beautiful we’ve visited in Spain and should be on everyone’s “must do in Madrid,” lists.

Afterwards, on Carrera de San Francisco, 14, as we started our return leg to our hotel, we happened upon two very good gastronomic discoveries. The artisanal bakery, Obrador San Francisco, was full of the wonderful aroma from fresh baked bread that was just being put out for purchase. And of course, to go along with good bread, you need good cheese. This was accomplished easily enough, right next door, at Quesería Cultivo, a cheese shop, with an amazing array of Iberian cheeses. It’s worth stopping here just for the earthy aroma that greets you when you enter the store, an experience that will have you picturing idyllic Spanish mountain pastures, full of grass-grazing and milk-producing livestock.

Being the cheese aficionados that we are, we had one more stop in mind, at Casa González.  They have been selling cheese in Madrid since 1931 and have slowly expanded to become a petite gourmet shop and small bar with a handful of tables, where they are happy to advise you on which wines to pair with each cheese.  

On our last full day in Madrid, we wandered the exhibition galleries at the Prado, viewing the museum’s vast collection of classical European art, which spans from the sixth century BC until the late 19th century. We especially enjoyed the works of Goya, Velázquez, and El Greco. Goya created over 700 paintings during his lifetime and embraced many different themes from royal portraiture, to Romanticism, to religious art, and later his dark paintings, toward the end of his life.

Around the corner from the museum, we lunched at Plenti, which served delicious and inexpensive food. We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring Real Jardín Botánico, where many of its plantings were just beginning to flower.

In El Retiro Park we did the classic tourist stuff, visiting the Palacio de Cristal, originally built as an exposition greenhouse, but now hosting art exhibits, and the Monument to Alfonso XII on the El Retiro boating pond. Interestingly, the park was originally created in 1630 as an exclusive sanctuary for Spanish Kings and members of the royal court, and famous naval battles were re-enacted on the boating pond for the monarchy’s entertainment.

The large 350-acre treed park, with manicured gardens, fountains and monuments was perfect for royal courtships and discreet liaisons. It was gifted by the monarchy to Madrid and permanently opened to the public in 1868, a much-needed addition to the city’s greenspace at the time.

The sun was warm for late March and folks were out and about, enjoying life. It was a perfect day.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna