Raoul’s 2 Cents. July 31, 2026

What’s in a Name?

I had to fill out a waiver form at the Red Cross before I was allowed to donate my blood. There was a question about my gender. Was I male, female or would I rather not say? If I had the option not to say, then why ask it in the first place? When will we get over this silly interpersonal questioning? I was also asked about my choice of pronouns. I wonder if this inspired Hamlet’s “To be or not to be?” retrospective. These questions opened the rabbit hole to the fascinating world of names.

Do you like your name? Don’t be too hard on your parents if you don’t. Naming a person can be very confusing and challenging. I think first time parents over-think naming their child. They buy books about the history of names and consult hundreds of people who really don’t care what these parents name their kid. If they had a choice, parents don’t usually want a common name. Hate to break it to you, but if you do have a common name, you’re probably not the first kid. You’re just an “after-thought.” (Suck it up, butter cup!) Imagine a crowd of people and you shout a common name and half of the people respond to your call — all of them probably NOT the first born either.

Of course, most kids are named after their parent’s most favorite person in the world. Like Abraham (Lincoln) or (Queen) Elizabeth … good Christian names. But if you’re named after your father or mother, your parents didn’t lack creativity — you were just an “after-thought” as well.

Speaking of creativity, I know of two Chinese parents (last name is Pe) who were a little too creative. They named their son Edgar Allen. Poor kid. In the Philippines, many family members share the same first letters. I know of a family with 10 kids — all their names start with “R.” The parents constantly rattle off several names before they remember the right name.

One of my earliest battles for recognition had to do with my baby name. They called me Peewee. Whoever started it should be tarred and feathered! I heard one reason was because I was too darn cute — tiny eyes, big puffy veined cheeks and a disarming smile. I guess I looked like a pot bellied baby Buddha. But when I grew taller than my parents and they still called me Peewee; well that was pretty humiliating. I remember demanding I be called by my proper name and I refused to be called Junior. Yeah, you guessed it — I wasn’t the first born. I too am an “after thought.”

During the old days, a family’s trade was passed on to the children. The local blacksmith was named Mister Blacksmith. The baker was Mister Baker and all of his kids were destined to be bakers. Even Jesus was known as the carpenter’s son. But I doubt his last name was Carpenter – Jesus H. Carpenter – nah! That doesn’t sound right. And I doubt his brother was named Richard who played the piano and a sister named Karen who sang. In poor countries I think this line of name choice is still being practiced but they may be transitioning due to exogamy (marriages outside the family/lineage). For instance, I have a friend whose father ran a candy factory. No, he wasn’t Willie Wonka and neither was my friend’s name Candy. His name is Shoemaker and he’s a musician. Hard to put his face with his name.

Isn’t it strange that there isn’t a Miss Real Estate? Aren’t you glad there isn’t a Doctor Epidemiologist nor a Professor Microscopist … Oh, but isn’t there a Mister Hannibal the cannibal? And how many McDonalds are out there to remind you of hamburgers?

What if we get rid of pronouns altogether and just address people by their full names … would that simplify this branding problem? The South Koreans do it all the time (at least that’s what I read in the closed captions of their movies) — they always address each other by their full names. It could be worse. How would you like to be a Smith? … a Mister John Smith? If that’s your name, you must feel pretty anonymous: “Hey look it’s John Smith!” And everybody would look around and you’re right in the middle and nobody even sees you.

Random Thoughts
Or how about having one of those incomplete names like Lee. When you meet a potential wife named Norma, she’d have to think twice about how her new name would sound if she marries you. Did you know Bruce Lee’s Dad’s name? I don’t know about you but It’s always been a Mister Lee to me. Did you know that Stephen King named his son Joe? How many lawyer daughters are named Sue? How about Ben Dover or Constance Noring? My friend Bernie was named after a saint … a dog saint … Saint Bernard!

I noticed there aren’t any more Hitlers or Judases. Does Santa Claus have a real first name? And I know of only one Engelbert Humperdink — thank god!

Of course, with the influx of people migrating from different parts of the world, complex names have multiplied tenfold. In Africa there is a tribe that prides itself with the most complex sounding names — full of guttural sounds and clicks. But I bet if you call them “Hey you!” they will still respond to that.

Conclusion
Joking aside, we live with identifiers we call names. The minute we are born, our names separate us from the rest of the world. Each name has the potential for greatness. Each of us is special in God’s eyes. Names celebrate who we are supposed to be, whose family lineage we come from but it’s up to us to make our names inspire the next generation.

TGIF people!

QUOTES OF THE WEEK

“Always end the name of your child with a vowel, so that when you yell the name will carry.” — Bill Cosby

“Tigers die and leave their skins; people die and leave their names.” — Japanese Proverb

“I don’t remember anybody’s name. How do you think the “dahling” thing got started?” — Zsa Zsa Gabor

“I’d be stupid not to take into consideration that there are certain things people will not consider me for because my name is Lopez. And I know I can do any kind of role. I don’t want anybody to say, Oh, she can’t pull this off. So those are barriers that you have to overcome.” — Jennifer Lopez

“Nicknames stick to people, and the most ridiculous are the most adhesive.” — Thomas Haliburton

“A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, and favor is better than silver or gold.” — Proverbs 22:1

“And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.” — Acts 4:12

“Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals.” –Genesis 2: 19-20

Memes of the Week

Thanks to Norm, Jennifer, Dan and Art.

I found these:

I collaborated with my friend and jokester,Terry Cassel for these below.

SUBSCRIBE

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It was not an ordinary rocking chair. This one was upholstered like a sofa, only narrower in width – more like it might be called an overstuffed rocking chair.

It was my dad’s favorite chair. He placed it near the radio that he loved even more than the chair. He adored Fibber McGee and Molly, George Burns and Gracie Allen, the Jack Benny Show, One Man’s Family, and many others. He loved to laugh at the comedies and liked it even more if we laughed with him – we could always put off our homework. He was glued to that chair during USC’s football games. He followed them with a chart of the playing field that he marked. He had made a special board that exactly fit the arms of the chair and his girth so that he could place his chart there.

The radio was a small Philco, done in the gothic style, like a small, rounded church without a steeple. We had had it for about six years, and I had listened to my first radio programs on it: Whoa Bill and Orphan Annie.

After my dad came home each night, carrying his black lunchbox and giving a heartfelt greeting to the family, he gradually settled into his rocking chair to read the Herald Examiner. Being mildly conservative, he liked that newspaper, and it was delivered every afternoon to our doorstep by a reliable paperboy.

Sometimes, when my mother was out in the kitchen washing or drying the dishes, my dad would call to her and ask her to listen to it with him and enjoy the program. She came in reluctantly, carrying a drying towel. He opened his arms wide, grinning, beckoning her to sit with him. She sat on his lap, his arms around her, and they enjoyed the program, laughing together. I thought it was funny that my mother nestled on my dad’s lap. At the same time, I was happy about it because it was a rather comical expression of love.

When my sister and I were very young, we playfully attacked my father in his chair. While we tried to climb into his lap, he pushed us back. It was all very friendly and lighthearted. I would almost make it past his knees then he’d shove me down and turn me upside down. I was heading for the floor and my sister was making headway toward his lap. The struggle went on. We were all laughing, including my mother who was watching. I was surprised at the indomitable strength of my father’s arms and hands. We were a giggling mixture of arms and legs, chaotic motion and a little sweat. Finally, he said “I think we better stop now; I want to read my paper.” Exhausted ourselves, we stopped.

I was fond of that old chair too. When I was by myself, I often rocked in it, enjoying its rhythmic motion. At other times, I wanted to test the chair’s capabilities. I wondered how fast I could get it to rock. I was on a horse galloping over imaginary plains. Then it happened. It was one vigorous rock too many. Over I went, backward. The back if the chair hit the floor and so did I! The heavy cushion came loose and fell across my face. I inhaled the musty smell of it. I was alone, and there was no one to help me. As I recall, I struggled out of the situation, crawled over the floor and was safely out of the predicament. With some effort, I righted the heavy chair and replaced the cushion. As all kids eventually do, I had gone too far.

In my imagination, I still see that old rocking chair, its bulk and its dull indescribable pattern. I think about its comfort, and picture my dad sitting there.

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ANSWER: Home to Washington State University, residents and visitors alike enjoy a ‘room to breathe’ lifestyle with plenty of athletics, arts and culture that a university provides. Top name concert, theater, and PAC 12 athletics set a sophisticated atmosphere in an otherwise small town. Brilliant blue skies and rolling Palouse hills beckon you to experience the outdoors with golf, hiking and biking over 35 miles of paved trails, rock climbing basalt formations, and photographing the unique topography. Fabulous eateries, farm grown products and a love for good local beer and wine make dining out a pleasure and provide the basis for The National Lentil Festival and other events.

QUESTION 2: What’s one thing the public probably does NOT know about Pullman?

ANSWER: Why is this town laid out so funny? Downtown Pullman has the unique distinction of being surrounded by four hills, three rivers and two railroads. The present Grand Avenue was originally a wagon road north to Palouse. The common grid pattern was not an option due to the topography of Pullman. A rock bluff prevented east-west streets from continuing eastward, the river prohibited north-south streets from continuing northward and a steep hill discouraged streets from continuing westward. This organic layout resembles a four-leaf clover and confuses many who try to navigate Pullman.

QUESTION 3: What has Pullman contributed to the world?

ANSWER: A community blessed with an abundance of intellectual capital from the researchers at WSU and access to a highly educated workforce, Pullman has created a high tech industry in the center of the wheat fields. There are nearly 40 businesses making names for themselves in the global marketplace. One of these is Decagon Devices, recruited to design the soil probe and environmental sensors that were on NASA’s Phoenix spacecraft, which landed on Mars on May 25, 2008.

For further information about Pullman, click-on: http://www.pullmanchamber.com/

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About Brom Wikstrom: During the summer of 1975, at the age of 21, a diving accident left Brom a quadriplegic. He spent seven weeks in intensive care in a public health hospital, and the following year in Seattle at the University of Washington hospital. MORE.

The invitation came by post. I thought it was junk at first and stacked it with the rest of the mail until my wife Anne came home for lunch from her dental office. A handsome brochure touting the attractions of Peru is included along with a letter describing the dedication of a group sponsoring a conference on art and disability. I cannot determine how my name came to their attention but recognize this invitation as the chance of a lifetime and speculate for a couple days on how we might manage to afford the trip.

It will strain us financially but an adventure of this nature is too good to pass up and we are excited about the prospects of meeting artists and experiencing a completely different culture. A couple weeks of arrangements by phone, fax, e-mails and letters go by and we are booked and registered. Anne’s employer has given us the name of a colleague in Lima where the conference is taking place in case of an emergency.

Anxious weeks go by as we await our departure and research Inca history that we are certain to experience. We won’t require inoculations but are uneasy about encountering Shining Path guerillas or bandits of any sort. As we approach our departure time we feel as prepared as we can be but do have apprehensions about the unknown.

It’s a long flight to Lima and we’re unsure what day it is when we finally touch down but know that it’s late at night and with little effort we get through customs and locate our transportation. It’s apparent as we try to communicate with the cab driver that the language barrier is going to cause difficulty but fortunately we connect with delegates from Tucson who speak the lingo. Frank is blind and an accomplished singer and musician and his companion Marcia operates a theater company and is associated with VSA Arts.

After a few hours sleep, we rise for a quick bite in the hotel café and link with Frank and Marcia and volunteers from the sponsors for a tour of the city. We arrive at Plaza de Mayo, the main city square where the changing of the guard is in progress. It’s a ritual that doesn’t interest us much and we’re satisfied to tour a few shops and listen to the street performers. Frank tries out a flute and joins one group briefly for an impromptu concert.

We load into cabs and drive to the district of Miraflores and a large outdoor market. We are stunned by the vast assortment of items for sale and the high quality of the material. Some serious shopping ensues and I pick up a couple of items to add to my collections including a marvelously etched gourd.

We walk back to the hotel along Arequipa Avenue that is a wide boulevard that shows the flavor of the city well.

The congress is taking place at another hotel that is close enough for us to walk to and we enjoy exploring the neighborhood and getting our bearings while making our way there. The main thrust of the conference is theater arts and I’m thankful to be able to represent a visual component along with a talented artist from Cuba. Delegates gather and we meet many of the participants including Sharon and Laurel who are disabled travel agents from the U.S.

They introduce us to a local guide named Pepe who assures us that it will be possible to take a side trip to Cuzco and Machu Picchu! It will further tax our resources but we’re game for the adventure and put our faith in Pepe’s company, Apumayo Tours.

The conference consists of a series of panel discussions that are informative and compelling and describe programs offered locally and internationally for people with disabilities to become involved in the arts. We are pleased to contribute to the proceedings and share our experiences. Our evening is capped by a series of wildly confusing but very dramatic performances by conference artists at a theater in another district. The language barrier is formidable but we enjoy the show nevertheless and continue to meet other delegates including Jose, an artist’s agent who has a special treat for us tomorrow.

First we will again attend conference sessions but soon rendezvous with Jose, Sharon and Laurel at a local restaurant for lunch. There we taste the national drink, Pisco Sours that resembles a margarita with a froth of egg white and sprinkled bitters. Jose is post-polio and gets around on crutches and upon concluding our trip we will ship him a sports wheelchair that I was no longer using.

Our cab follows his car to the Callou District that overlooks the Pacific Ocean and enters a fairgrounds park that is between events. In a secluded area we get out to tour a large studio with an amazing collection of life casts of North and South American Indians. Dozens of the sculptures line a long gallery and a workshop demonstrates their production. Our private tour is also highlighted by a visit to the personal menagerie also maintained by the absent owner who is a friend of Jose’s, a certain Mr. Filipe Lettersten.

After the next day’s congress we make our way to the Lima Museum of Art. It is located in a lush park and I only need a little help up five steps to access the galleries. The permanent collection of paintings and sculpture is nice enough but the abundant archeological treasures blow us away. The age and condition of the ceramics and textiles of the pre-Incan cultures demonstrate a high degree of proficiency and we’re hard-pressed to think of these artisans as primitive in any way.

The Chancay society is featured in a special exhibition that is dominated by a huge unwrapped funeral bundle that must contain many priceless personal effects of the owner. Our afternoon is capped by a return to the market in Miraflores and gift purchases for loved ones at home.

The evening’s performance features a deaf mime from Germany and an incredible piece by a group from Spain whose energy and colorful costumes delight and inspire us all. On our late-night drive back to the hotel young beggars at a red light descend upon our car and thrust their arms into the car for a handout.

The last day’s sessions are short and sweet and we take our time saying farewells and exchanging gifts. The many volunteers have been extremely helpful in making our trip easy and I give out many lapel pins that I have had made with an original design. Our next stop is the National Museum. It is a rather ugly, totalitarian looking building but within are delicate glories that span time and space. The exquisite gold and turquoise carvings are incredible and the variety and richness of the ancient material is truly astounding.

We are obliged to get assistance up several flights of steps to the main galleries since it’s a Sunday and the elevators are inoperative. The trouble is well worth it as the special exhibit on the Lords of Sipan is incomparable and even features real skeletons. The collection now has its own museum near the site of the discovery.

Early the next morning, we rise and load into a cab that takes us to the airport. Our short, first class flight to Cuzco crosses magnificent scenery of deep, jungle ravines and high, mountain plateaus. It is a fabulous scene and we are amazed at our good fortune.

We touchdown in the Inca capital and immediately are ushered to a nurse’s station in order to check my blood pressure for signs of altitude sickness. No problems are detected and we meet with Pepe who introduces us to our porters and tour guide. Edgar is a full-blooded Quechua Indian and relates many facts about his proud heritage.

I am loaded into a van and begin with a tour of the city. Flute music issues from shops on the Plaza de Armas where we stop and have our first taste of coca tea. This beverage will aid in our adjustment to the altitude and the required ritual lends a spiritual aspect to its consumption. Blowing the vapors to the winds and sprinkling a few drops will appease the ancestors and we begin to realize the depth of faith exercised by the Christianized Incas.

Anne explores some markets and I chew on coca leaves and admire the Inca stonework that serves as the foundation for Spanish style architecture. The number three figures prominently in the ancient culture and is evident in the steps and recessed doors of the buildings. It is also reflected in the tenets of proper living as described by Edgar; Don’t be a liar, Don’t be lazy, Don’t be a thief.

We drive out of town and stop briefly at the enormous, stone fortress of Sacsahuman and Tambo Machay with its cascading waters that only the nobility could use. Edgar points out the terraced mountain fields that the Inca had constructed into the shape of a condor on our way to the small but historic town of Pisac. We purchase some modest souvenirs and continue our drive into the Sacred Valley to our hotel, the Posada del Inca.

The altitude is getting to me a bit and I am pleased to lie down for a nap before a light chicken and rice meal. We are pleased to visit a small chapel on the grounds and later are treated to a fireworks display ignited in celebration of tomorrow’s Feast of the Immaculate Conception.

Later that evening, we visit a ceramic studio and meet the English-speaking owner. The work is wonderful but a little pricey and we really don’t have room in our bags so only purchase a small plaque. We are too excited about tomorrow’s adventure to get much sleep and will have to rely on adrenalin to get us by.

I enjoy a hearty breakfast and feel prepared for the day. It is a glorious, sunny day and we load and begin our drive towards the train station that will transport us to the Machu Picchu station. Along the way, Edgar points out the way Inca women rouged their lips with crushed cactus mites that generated a red substance. He also shows us a whole mountain that had been converted into the form of a frog with more stone terraces.

Folk artists offer us their products while waiting for the train that will carry us along the banks of the Urabamba River. Farmland gives way to ever-increasing jungle growth the further we go and the gentle river becomes a torrent as we descend deeper into the gorge. Edgar points out evidence of Inca civilization along the way and describes the rail line as a previous Inca trail. Several passengers get off at the halfway point to walk the rest of the way to the citadel.

The first of several obstacles greet us as we exit the train at Machu Picchu station. Steep steps lead to the buses that will take us to the park so we are obliged to traverse a long rocky trail instead. My porters take turns and team up for the hard parts and manage to get me aboard the bus that takes us up a harrowing twelve-kilometer drive to the site. Edgar is clear in his correction that these are not “Ruins”, and that Hiram Bingham was the Re-discoverer of the city.

He also makes a dramatic declaration about the mountain that overlooks the city after we have entered the sacred confines. The shape of the Puma Mountain becomes apparent and certain mysteries are revealed as we delve deeper into the extinct civilization. The manicured stonework is extremely impressive and our eyes take in the wonders with majesty.

A long flight of steps leads to the most sacred place, the Temple of the Sun. While my helpers take a well deserved break, we listen to Edgar’s description of the edifice. I decide to place one of my pins beneath a stone and Edgar makes the gift worthy by raising his arms and begging acceptance of the Inca. We ascend another long flight of stone steps to the Sacred Plaza and take in the awesome view through the Temple of the Three Windows.

This courtyard is the site of many ceremonial rituals that I cannot begin to imagine and I express my sincere gratitude to Pepe and the others who have made this remarkable experience possible. The weather is hot and I begin appreciate why the sun and the shadows it casts were of such significance to the Inca.

Anne is able to access other parts of the site while I find a shady spot and let my imagination carry me aloft, above these massive, unspoiled stones and into the cloud jungle. The large, ceremonial plaza below is easier to traverse and Anne and I get a few moments alone to reflect on the meaning for both of us. Too soon though, we rendezvous and after some group photos, we begin our descent.

A mild shower cools our sunburned brows and gives a shine to the rocks and cliffs as we move along the terraces that lead towards the exit. We pass under an enormous stone outcropping that serves as an effective barrier to this Shangri La. The bus-ride back gives me a lingering view of the palaces and we feel as if waking from a dream. We have a 3/4 of a mile trek along the rail line to the helicopter port and eventually get hoisted aboard the twelve-seat helicopter for the half-hour flight back to Cuzco.

The other fellows will take the train back and meet with us over a congratulatory dinner at a restaurant off the Plaza de Armas. We check into the Hotel Libertador, a luxurious place but not very accessible and relax over a late lunch with Pepe and some Coca tea. That evening on the plaza, we treat to a well-earned meal and express our thanks for the crew’s hard work on our behalf. We stay up late and review the experience over champagne in our room and say our farewells. It has been an extraordinary day that we will never forget and we’re sorry to see it come to an end.

Anne has a raging headache upon rising and even inhales oxygen once we’re aboard our flight back to Lima. Our familiar cab driver is happy to see us and takes us back to the Invertur Hotel where I am pleased to rest in bed while Anne visits the shopping market one last time and acquires several musical instruments.

That evening, Dr. Haro, a colleague of Anne’s boss, treats us to a fantastic meal. He is interested in the work I’ve recently had done on my teeth and gives me a cursory exam in the middle of the dining room to the amusement of the waiter.

The long flight back to reality is mercifully uneventful and we are delighted to return safely. We share our memories with our loved ones and present them with gifts that have much more meaning for us and begin to re-assimilate back into the twentieth century.

• Original article written in December ’98.

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Story and Photo by Corinna Lothar

January is heavenly in Greece. According to Greek mythology, Alcyone, the daughter of the king of the winds, married Ceyx, the son of the Morning Star. When Ceyx drowned in a storm at sea, Alcyone was so distraught that she threw herself into the sea in grief. Out of compassion for the loving couple, the gods changed them into kingfishers. In order for Alcyone to be able to make her nest and lay her eggs on the beach in peace, her father restrained the winds and calmed the waves for a short period each January . A lovely story; a lovely time of the year; a lovely place.

The place is Athens during the Halcyon days (named for Alcyone) in mid-January, the warm, sunny weather seems more like spring than winter. A perfect time to visit the land of the ancient gods: tourists are scarce and restaurants and museums are not crowded. The cool weather can be delightful, never too hot and occasionally refreshed by rain showers. The mountains are dusted with snow – — Greece has ski resorts — but Athens and the surrounding area profit from the kindness of the god of the winds.

Athens

Athens, the capital only since 1834, is lively, interesting and modern, ringed by pleasant suburbs with lovely villas along streets lined with orange trees. The narrow streets and houses in the old Plaka and Monastiraki districts in central Athens recall what the city once was like. Shops stocked with stylish clothing and jewelry, and flea markets crowd the narrow streets. A visitor comes unexpectedly on a Greek or Roman ruin, a tiny Byzantine church or an Ottoman mosque, remnants of Greece’s multiple rulers.

There’s no shortage of restaurants. Some specialize in Greek cuisine with Turkish influences, the heritage of the exchange of population which took place between Greece and Turkey just after World War I. Informal cafes are everywhere. Fish restaurants abound in Piraeus, Athens’ port, which can be reached by bus, tram or the underground. Athenian women wear the latest elegant European fashions and are friendly and helpful to a stranger unfamiliar with the language and the alphabet.

Syntagma Square lies at the center of the city, with the Parliament on the square. Every hour there’s a changing of the costumed guards. It’s like a stylized dance, wonderful to watch.

The elegant old Grande Bretagne Hotel, recently renovated, stands on the square, too, with a fine bar for a drink. The Syntagma metro station is worth a visit, even if you aren’t going anywhere. It’s decorated with stunning antiquities unearthed when the station was built.

From the square it’s only a short walk to the oldest parts of the city, to the shops, both elegant and trendy, to the municipal buildings and to the Benaki and Cycladic Museums. The Benaki is a private museum with a superb collection of everything Greek, from antiquties to modern paintings, to ikons and folk art and costumes. A delightful café — popular with Athenians — atop the building is a particularly pleasant aerie in good weather.

The glory of the city, and its symbol, remains the sacred rock, the Acropolis, connecting the ancient with the present. It rises magnificently above the city from a nest of scaffolding and cranes. Repair of the Parthenon has been going on since the mid-1980s. Since its creation in the 5th century B.C., during the golden age of Pericles, it has served not only as the temple to Athena, but as a Greek Orthodox Church dedicated to the Virgin Mary; a Roman Catholic Church during Frankish rule in the 13th century, and a mosque under the Turkish occupation in the 15th century. It remained intact for two thousand years until it was left in ruins by a Venetian bombardment during the siege of 1687.

The Erechtheion — named for one of the mythical kings of Athens — was built in the 5th century on the northern side of the Acropolis. On the Erechtheion’s south side, the figures of the Caryatids support the roof of a balcony.

The Caryatids.

The statues on view today are copies; the original five sculptures of the beautiful maidens are in the Acropolis Museum located below the Acropolis where the original sculptures, reliefs and other art works from the Acropolis buildings are on view. A sixth, along with the Elgin marbles, is in the British Museum in London.

Inside the temple was the 40 foot high statue of Athena made of wood, ivory and gold, the work of the sculptor Pheidias. The statue was lost during the Byzantine era, but a smaller Roman copy survives in the ever-fascinating National Archaeological Museum, which offers visitors not only a wealth of art from Greece’s classical period, but a magnificent collection of cycladic art.
From the Acropolis, there’s a splendid view of Athens below and of the hills surrounding the city. St. Paul stood on the rock just to the west to preach to the Athenians.

On the southern slope below the Acropolis lie the ruins of the Odeon of Herodes, built in 161 A.D., and the Theatre of Dionysius, where Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Euripides and Sophocles saw premiere performances of their plays in the 5th century B.C. In the summer, the theatre is used for plays, and concerts are performed in the Odeon.

Farther down the hill to the southeast stands Hadrian’s Arch, the entrance to the huge Olympian Temple of Zeus. Only 15 of the original 104 Corinthian columns of the temple remain. It was dedicated by the Roman emperor Hadrian in 132 A.D. He erected a gold and ivory inlaid statue of Zeus in the temple, and next to it he placed a huge statue of himself. Neither survives. The Arch marks the boundary between the ancient city and the new. On the side facing the Acropolis is inscribed “This is Athens, the city of Theseus.” On the side facing the Temple of Zeus, it states, “This is Athens, the city of Hadrian.”

At the foot of the Acropolis to the north lie the ancient Greek agora, the well preserved Temple of Hephaestos, the curious Tower of the Winds (a first century B.C. octagonal hydraulic clock with a bas relief of one of the eight winds sculpted on each face of the clock) in the Roman agora, and the oldest sections of Athens – the Plaka and the Monastiraki.

Every Sunday all of Athens seems to wander through the flea market of Monastiraki. The small shops lining the narrow streets are open every day, and on Sunday, the sidewalks are crowded with vendors of all sorts of goods old and new. Restaurants seat Sunday crowds at tables on the narrow sidewalks.

Nearby, on Aghias Theklas Street, is the shop of Athens’ famous poet and sandalmaker, Stavros Melissinos. Stavros retired in 2004, and his son, Pantelis, a poet and playwright, now makes the sandals and runs the shop. Lord Byron lived in a house on this street when he visited Athens in the 19th century.

Athens’ large, busy Central Market bustles in the Psyrri quarter adjacent to Monastiraki. Fruit, vegetables, meat and fish are colorfully displayed and vendors shout their wares from booths. Dozens of different fish are often displayed with miniature boats and shells, with whole lamb carcasses hanging above the butchers’ wares.

Day trips from the city offer a visitor the opportunity to admire beautiful countryside and to visit the ancient sights or some of the islands. Regularly scheduled bus and boat tours with knowledgeable guides, fluent in English, make the visits easily accessible. Rental cars are available but finding a way in and out of Athens can be difficult.

Several of the trips are available only during the summer season between April and October; others run all year. One such year-round trip goes from Athens into the Peloponnese, reached by crossing the narrow Isthmus of Corinth via the bridge high across the Corinth canal. The canal was begun by the emperor Nero but not completed until 1893.

Corinth

Ancient Corinth was the first city in Greece to mint coins. Because of its location near the trade route across the Isthmus, it was rich and powerful. Destroyed by the Romans in 146 B.C. (in the same year as the destruction of Carthage), it was rebuilt by Julius Caesar a century later.

Ancient Corinth was dedicated to Aphrodite, the goddess of fertility. A thousand women served the goddess as sacred prostitutes for rich visitors, earning money for the temple. Corinth earned a licentious reputation, and St. Paul preached in the city against its wickedness; his letters to the first Christian congregation became the books of the Bible called I and II Corinthians.

Corinth’s acropolis, Agrocorinth, lies 1500 feet above sea level and 1000 feet above the ancient city. The ruins are reached through three gates, each dating from a different century. It has served as a fortress for each conqueror of Corinth.

Mycenae & Epidaurus

The road to the ruins of Mycenae passes through the modern village of Mycenae, where the names of the cafes and restaurants along the road suggest the popularity of the ancient ruins: Elektra Bar, Orestes Café, Iphegenia Restaurant, Belle Helene Hotel.

The important Mycenaean civilization existed from about 1600 to 1100 B.C., when Mycenae was abandoned. The ruins of the fortified palace are grandiose. This was the home of the house of Atreus, from whence Agamemnon set forth in 1250 to Troy to avenge the theft of his brother’s wife. It’s a climb from the parking lot up the hill and through the fabled Lion Gate, the first example of European monumental sculpture.

Grave circles within the walls hold the tomb of Clytemnestra. At the top, all that is left are the outlines of the chambers of what was a mighty palace. The view, like the ruins, is unique. The hilltop palace was inhabited by the ruling class, while the merchants and artisans lived and were buried below, outside the walls.

Nearby is the treasury, or beehive tomb, of Atreus, an extraordinary circular burial chamber with a high dome and a single straight entry passage lined with stones. The entrance itself is surmounted with a 120 ton lintel stone; the dome is entirely covered by earth. Unlike their contemporaries, the Mycenaeans did not cremate their dead, but buried their kings with weapons and food for the journey to the other world. The tomb is also called Agamemnon’s, whose golden death mask is on exhibit in the Archaeological Museum in Athens.

Nafplio

To the south, lies the lovely Venetian seaside city of Nafplio. The first capital of Greece from 1829 to 1834 after the country’s independence, this charming town scrambles up a hillside to an imposing Venetian citadel. Just outside the harbor lies the fortified island of Bourtzi, another Venetian fortress, once the home of the local executioner.

Palm trees, water gently lapping against the harbor promenade, small shops and restaurants, a large central piazza with outdoor cafes, and flowers blooming in the winter sunshine give the town a Mediterranean air. The town’s Catholic churches were built originally as mosques by the Turks. A genuine Italian gelateria adds the perfect conclusion to a delicious lunch of mezze, washed down with a glass of good Greek wine and later a tiny cup of strong, sweet Greek coffee.

Athenians come to Nafplio for a weekend of sun and relaxation. The town’s proximity to Epidaurus and its summer drama festival makes it particularly attractive as a place to overnight.

Epidaurus

The great amphitheatre at Epidaurus in a remote grove of trees retains all its magic, including perfect accoustics. On warm summer evenings, with the hills outlined in the fading light behind the proscenium, ancient dramas come swiftly to life. The plays are performed in the only circular orchestra to have survived from 2,500 years ago.

Epidaurus was famed not only for its theatre, but as a healing center. The ruins of the sanctuary, which included a spring, a dormitory for the patients, a pit for the sacred (and harmless) snakes used in certain cures, are being restored and aren’t currently open to the public.

Delphi

The road to Delphi on the Greek mainland runs through an area once covered with cotton fields. Today, with the textile industry having moved to the Balkans, it’s a lovely drive through farmland at the foot of snow-capped mountains. A short coffee break in the pretty mountain village of Arachova, famous for the brightly colored carpets, is a jump into something like a Swiss mountain village. Shops selling carpets, embroideries and clothing line the main street. Houses tumble down the hill and the hotels and restaurants cater to skiers.

Delphi, the navel or center of the world in Greek mythology, is magnificent. There, the sibyl in her laurel smoke enduced trance would mumble prophecies from her tripod atop the sacred rock. A crack in the rock emitted the fumes surrounding the Pythia, as she was called. The priests would ask a question and interpret her answers in writing, but written without punctuation so that the prophecy, believed to have come from Apollo, could be read in several ways. The oracle was never wrong.

The site — when devoid of school groups and tourists — is both spiritual and sensual in its peace and beauty, the ruins ringed by mountains that come together like an upside down triangle. Apollo’s temple amidst fragrant trees and bushes, overlooks a valley planted with four million olive trees, which even in ancient times produced olives for cooking and oil for lighting. Beyond sparkles the sea.

The Sacred Way, climbing from the entrance of the sanctuary to Apollo’s Temple, was once lined with 300 statues and treasuries. On the way is the navel stone, representing the center of the earth where two eagles met, released by Zeus one from each end of the world.

On the hill above the temple of Apollo is the theatre which could seat 5,000 people. Beyond, is the well preserved stadium where the Pythian Games were held every four years. 7,000 spectators could watch the track and field events and listen to poetry and musical performances. On the hill below the sanctuary is the tholos, a 4th century circular construction, purpose unknown, which was once surrounded by 20 columns. Three columns have been erected to give visitors a sense of what the tholos looked like in ancient times.

Outside the sanctuary, on the side of the modern road, is the icy cold Castalian Spring, where anyone visiting Delphi was required to purify himself. The sybil would wash here before making her pronouncements, as did Lord Byron in the hope of divine inspiration for his poetry. Delphi’s museum is a treasure trove of sculptures, friezes and architectural remnants from the sanctuary, including the famous bronze sculpture, the Charioteer.

There are many other places that can be visited in a day trip from Athens, such as the temple of Poseidon on a rock at Cape Sounian overlooking the Aegean Sea, or a boat trip to one of the islands. The trip to Meteora and the monasteries built on rocky formations requires a second day.
Athens and the “the glory that was Greece” entices, excites and seduces still.

WHEN YOU GO

Accomodations:
The Athens Intercontinental is convenient and very comfortable with two excellent restaurants. The hotel has large, attractively furnished rooms. Both the public spaces and the rooms are decorated with unusual, interesting, and sometimes whimsical works of art. The rooms on the upper floors of the north side of the hotel face the Acropolis, offering spectacular views of the Parthenon shining in the sunlight and glowing in the nighttime illumination.

Athenaeum Intercontinenal Hotel
89-93 Syngrou Ave.
117 45 Athens
Tel. 30 210 920 6000
Fax. 30 210 920 5500

Sightseeing:
Chat Tours
www.chatours.gr

General Information:
Greek National Tourism Organization
www.gnto.gr

* Originally published April 2017

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1. What are some of the “things” or activities that people do for fun in Wales?

ANSWER: Try ‘coasteering’– it’s great – dressed in wet suites you jump of a cliff (around 30 ft.) into the sea, swim a little, then climb up the cliff to do it all again.

Walking is also great in Wales – with the 870 mile Wales Coast Park, making Wales the only country in the world you can walk around its entire coast.

2. What’s one thing the public probably does NOT know about Wales?

ANSWER: Did you know that Wales has 641 castles – some of which you can stay in!

© Crown copyright (2013) Visit Wales

3. What has Wales contributed to the world?

ANSWER: Slate – at the end of the 19th century almost all of the slate used for housing came from Wales. The history of slate mining is kept alive by the National Slate Museum in Llanberis. Also, famous poets, entertainers and actors like Dylan Thomas, Dame Shirley Bassey, Tom Jones, Sir. Anthony Hopkins, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Richard Burton and more!

For further information about Wales, click-on: www.visitwales.com

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QUESTION:
Is there a secret tunnel in Washington DC?

ANSWER:
Yes—but not in the “giant hidden conspiracy city under Washington, D.C.” sense that internet rumors sometimes suggest.

There are real underground tunnels and subterranean spaces in Washington, D.C., including:

1. White House tunnels (real, but limited)

The White House has secure underground infrastructure, including:

• The Presidential Emergency Operations Center (PEOC), a hardened underground command bunker used for emergencies.
• At least a couple of short secure tunnels/escape routes, including one connecting toward the nearby Treasury area and others used for protected movement or evacuation.

These are security/evacuation tunnels, not a sprawling hidden network.

2. Capitol Hill tunnel system (very real and widely used)

Beneath the U.S. Capitol complex is a large, well-documented network of tunnels, including:

• The United States Capitol Subway System, a small private rail system connecting the Capitol with House and Senate office buildings.
• Pedestrian tunnels used daily by staff, lawmakers, and security personnel.
• Utility tunnels for power, steam, and services.

This system is real, active, and heavily used—but not secret.

3. “Secret tunnel network” myths vs reality

There are persistent claims about tunnels connecting places like:

• the White House to the Pentagon and to Camp David

But:

• No credible public evidence supports a continuous, massive underground network across D.C.
• What does exist are separate, purpose-built tunnels (security passages, utility corridors, subway systems, and old infrastructure).

As reporting consistently shows, the truth is closer to “lots of disconnected tunnels for practical reasons” rather than one hidden mega-network.

Bottom line

Yes, there are tunnels in Washington, D.C.—even important ones under the White House and Capitol.
But they’re functional infrastructure and security routes, not a secret underground maze stretching across the city.

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Piranha I Caught in Peru’s Amazon. Eat ‘Em Before they Eat You, My Motto.

By Skip Kaltenheuser

Catching piranha is the ultimate fisherman’s no-brainer, though it does give one pause when taking a quick cooling-off swim in the same spot. The hardest part is hook removal. In the Amazon they use a hand-carved wooden phallus to pry open the mouth and hold the jaws open so one keeps one’s fingers.  It’s not the easiest image to get out of one’s mind. Here’s the occasion that took me there. The primary spice on my fish was a local pepper called Aji Pinguita, loosely translated to little monkey-dick, nine on the hotness schedule. The piranha were an interesting prelude to the quest that came after. We also ate varieties of catfish, of which there are a zillion species (at least over 1,300) in the Amazon, from armored ones that can waddle from one stream to another to ones big enough to swallow a small pig to the dreaded 5 mm candiru.

101 Things To Do with Cockroaches

By Ed Landry

I am thinking of a filthy, disgusting creature that wasn’t invited into your home and just won’t go away.  No, this is not a lawyer joke nor am I thinking about your uncle.  Because of the types of places I have gone, particularly third world destinations, war torn countries and disaster sites, I have come to expect cockroaches to be one of my traveling companions or at least my welcoming party. But at least let me begin with some good news. There are no cockroaches in Antarctica. If I come up with anything else I will let you know.MORE

Rattlesnake

By Richard Carroll

I was on assignment in Northern Arizona and booked at a hotel where a Native American Executive Chef was working. A confused Rattlesnake slipped into the kitchen and met his demise. A small piece of grilled rattler tasted like chewy chicken. I felt sorry for the snake and for sure that was my first and last snake tasting experience.

Fried Grasshoppers – Cooked to Perfection

By Ed Boitano

For me, traveling to a destination is to immerse myself in the local culture. This includes, of course, sampling regional cuisine. On a recent press trip to Mexico City, I stumbled upon a restaurant that specialized in pre-Columbian food items. When I saw the Aztec dish of Fried Grasshoppers on the menu, I knew it was to be a match made in happen. Yes, they were crunchy, but also a strong source of protein. Slipping them into a tortilla, slathered with guacamole (the avocado also from Mexico) and a little salsa, made my dining experience a delightful pleasure. And, of course, everyone at my table wanted a taste of the critters before their transition into the tortilla. It proved to be nice moment of bonding with my fellow travelers.

Okra Soup

By Richard Frisbie

Its base is the typical combination of pork and beef broth served to locals in Curacao, with shrimp and some fish added, then thickened to an almost mucous consistency with lots of okra. My table companions turned their noses up at the delightfully fragrant bowl of soup because it was a thick as honey and stickier. It looked most unappetizing. I learned that to eat it, the trick was to rotate my spoon in circles on the viscous surface, slowly raising it to break the bonds of the slimy, clingy liquid. Still, strings like melted mozzarella on a pizza slice stretched with the spoon to my mouth in a sticky web bursting with flavor. If the okra soup wasn’t so good I wouldn’t have worked so messily hard to finish it.

Fried Bees

By Fyllis Hockman

Fried bees are a delicacy in China but I was still surprised to find a plate of them on our banquet table. Having already tasted duck feet webbing and grimaced at some jellyfish, I figured how bad can a fried bee be. But when I picked one up with my chopsticks, I demurred. I just couldn’t bring myself to eat something with whom I had just made eye contact. I blinked first….

Bowl of Chinese Soup

By James Boitano

This is not the strangest food I’ve ever encountered on a trip. I’ve had snake in China, whale in the Faroe Islands and kangaroo and crocodile in Australia. But none of those were actually that exotic tasting. But one of the most surprising things I ate earlier this year was a simple bowl of soup noodles in Beijing. I was on a 10 hour layover there and decided to take a city tour of the Forbidden City. Arriving at 5:00 am from an overnight flight from Kazakstan, I spent the next five hours on a tour of the city. By late morning I was exhausted and most of all famished. The tour included a ‘traditional Chinese breakfast.’ I was ecstatic when I found out it was one of my favorite things: soup noodles.  I was led into a modest traditional restaurant where I was the only foreigner and the guide helped me order a traditional bowl of noodles.  Ready to savor the meaty broth and thick satisfying noodles, I tucked in… and it was tasteless. It tasted exactly as if you added boiling water to top ramen without the flavoring packet: limp noodles in hot water. I tried to add some spice to get some flavoring out of it but was admonished by the guide. No, we do not eat spicy for breakfast. I gave up after that, and thought I’d settle for tea. Oh, no, my guide told me. We do not drink tea for breakfast. So what did they have? A sprite. I know, I know: I was just another barbarian visiting the Imperial City. The city’s tastes were obviously much too refined for me.

Pickled Grasshoppers & Beetles Snack

By Raoul Pascual

When I was still in the Philippines, we had a friend who came from the Ilocus region (which is the northern most part of the Philippines). The Ilocanos (as they are called) are known for their industrious spirit and frugality. They survive even the worst drought. It is no surprise that they have this delicacy. I had never heard of it. One day our Ilocano friend received a gift from home – a jar of black juice with insects swimming inside. When I asked what it was, she readily handed me a soft, fermented grasshopper. The soup had the consistency of dirty water on its early evolutionary stage to becoming oil so it had the darkness of used motor engine oil. It smelled awful like soaked forgotten socks but my friend was excited to see me taste her favorite snack so how could I refuse? I took a bite and ripped its crunchy head off. It tasted like mowed grass dipped in a sewer. It wasn’t spicy – so there was nothing to deaden the taste. It was simply repugnant. I chewed it a couple of times hoping there would be a redeeming flavor in the mix. None came. I imagined its tiny antlers and little legs scurrying excitedly at their new home. I retched it out. My friend laughed. I had to gargle. Worst food in the planet.

Pizza Napoletana: Naples’ Gift to the World

By Ringo Boitano

My dream was about to become a reality. Based in Los Angeles, I was used to taunts from my otherwise wonderful East Coast friends, who were never shy about battering me with people in Southern California don’t know what REAL pizza is. Though I had eaten my way through New York, Boston and Philly in the past and had sampled their delicious pies – I would ask my friends countless times why it was a REAL pizza and others were not. The standard reply was It’s just better.

Now, as I stood on the shores of Naples, I was about to experience the real REAL THING. I had prepared myself with plenty of research for this sacred occasion. The word pizza was first documented in AD 997. Baker Raffaele Esposito from Naples is often given credit for creating the first such pizza pie. Unlike the wealthy minority, Neapolitans required inexpensive food that could be consumed quickly. Pizza, sold by street vendors or informal restaurants, met this need. The early pizzas (known to the world as Pizza Napoletana) consumed by Naples’ poor were prepared with simple and fresh ingredients: a basic dough, San Marzano tomatoes, grown in the volcanic soil of Mount Vesuvius, a splash of olive oil and some salt with no cheese, basil and fancy toppings. The pie was then baked in a wood-burning oven made of volcanic stones from Mount Vesuvius. MORE

Hot Goat Meat of Andhra Pradesh, India

By Ed Landry

My friend and I really love hot food. It was 1987 and we were on assignment in Southern India with a group called The Bible League. We had visited remote villages in the interior and had returned to Andhra Pradesh and needed a rest. This particular region of India has the reputation of having the spiciest and most deadly cuisine on the continent. Dog and I (yes, his nickname is “Dog”) were looking forward to a good meal. We needed a break from the village food, especially the rancid Ghee we ate sitting on dirt floors with cats crawling on our food. By the way, Ghee, when it is fresh, is clarified butter but Indian Ghee that has aged in the heat for years sitting open on a shelf has the flavor and texture of dog vomit so we were ready for a change of diet. It was good to get back into a city.

Recipe … if you dare!

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My friend and I really love hot food. It was 1987 and we were on assignment in Southern India with a group called The Bible League. We had visited remote villages in the interior and had returned to Andhra Pradesh and needed a rest. This particular region of India has the reputation of having the spiciest and most deadly cuisine on the continent. Dog and I (yes, his nickname is “Dog”) were looking forward to a good meal. We needed a break from the village food, especially the rancid Ghee we ate sitting on dirt floors with cats crawling on our food. By the way, Ghee, when it is fresh, is clarified butter but Indian Ghee that has aged in the heat for years sitting open on a shelf has the flavor and texture of dog vomit so we were ready for a change of diet. It was good to get back into a city.

Dog said he wanted to eat some of the famous hot goat meat of Andhra Pradesh. I told him I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. But, he asked our guide where the hottest food in the region was to be found and we were led to this dilapidated, hole-in-the-wall eatery. As we were walking in one of the customers was being dragged out either drunk or unconscious with what looked like severe facial burns. It was really disgusting. His friends were all laughing. I reminded Dog that I REALLY didn’t think this was a good idea at all.

When we sat down Dog made it quick and simple. He ordered the hottest thing on the menu. Our guide was impressed. I was scared. I was sweating before we even started to eat. There was something acidic in the air. As a former firefighter, I remember thinking as we walked in that there must have been a fire next door in a battery acid plant. My eyes were burning just sitting there and it was getting hard to breathe. The waiter smiled as he carried out the food and gave a high five to our guide. Half the restaurant stopped eating and watched us since we were Americanos and no hotter food existed. Dog said, “Wow, let’s do it.” Oh, what the heck. How bad can it be? We dove in.

I want to try to describe the experience without scaring off potential travelers. But first, something needs some explanation. There is a pepper grown in India which is called Bhut Jolokia. In 1987 it was the hottest known pepper in the world. We call that pepper the Ghost Pepper in America. OK, back to our story. He ordered the hottest Ghost pepper, goat meat dish that they made. If you ever travel with a man named “Dog” don’t let him order lunch!

We began. By the time the first bite of the hot goat meat reached my stomach, I felt like I had just gargled Drano. You could actually feel the skin peeling off the throat and falling in sheets into the stomach. My bowels started cramping just for practice knowing they would be called on big time shortly. It soon developed into a rebellion of the entire body. I kept eating. Macho Ed was not going to wimp out. It wasn’t long before salty sweat stains covered my shirt and pants.

Limca soft drinkLet me introduce a very important word at this time – Limca. Limca is an Italian soft drink similar to a lemon-lime soda. Since they don’t often have refrigeration in the interior of India the bottles are kept covered in cow dung to keep them cooler. I gulped down the entire bottle in one breath. Chunks of dried cow dung flaked off onto my sweaty shirt. I restrained myself from drinking another Limca and decided to try some of the rice to calm my gurgling stomach. I like rice. This wasn’t rice. This was chunky style paint remover. There were pock marks on the ceramic plate. I went back to the goat meat. But before I started again I ordered another Limca.

I looked over at Dog and he was looking pale and his smile was gone. “You OK, Dog?” He looked kind of scared and then in a quick, manly recovery said, “Sure no problem.” But his voice broke and he sort of squeaked the words out.

I took another bite of the goat stew. At the table next to us a man had fallen to the ground unconscious and his friends were pouring beer all over him. I made a mental note. I don’t drink alcohol but somehow, I could see this happening to me. I kept eating…

I think it was the next bite that melted my lips off. If you have eaten extremely hot food you learn it is wise to observe how the locals do it. They never let the food touch their lips. Anyway, it didn’t matter now, I had no lips. My biggest concern began to be brain damage. I finished my next Limca without taking a breath. Our guide said he had never seen a Limca consumed that quickly. It was also the first time he had seen someone shake the carbonated beverage and hold his thumb over the bottle while spraying it all over his face. I was able to buy an ice cube and just wiped it over and over on my throbbing, missing lips while moaning. The pain and insanity increased for the rest of the meal.

It was then I noticed that Dog was not looking very good. He was bent over in pain with a horrible gas attack. His intestinal track resembled Mount St. Helens and when it erupted three minutes later he literally cleared the table. Two people eating nearby moved to another table.

Then my intestines started to send an equally urgent message. I excused myself to pay a visit to the local comfort room. As I stumbled past the table where the two had moved I grabbed an unfinished Limca from their table and poured it on top of my head. I barely had time to reach the bathroom and sit down when steaming lava erupted from the heart of the earth. We are talking about a Richter 10 caustic explosion. I needed another Limca to wash off but I had none. I wanted to sit on an ice cream cone. My eyesight was almost gone. I barely recognized Dog when I went out. He was leaning over the table waiting for something else bad to happen. His chin looked like he had been drooling paint remover. I think his mouth was totally paralyzed. The entire front of his shirt and pants looked like he had fallen into a restaurant grease trap. He asked where the Limca was and I just told him I was going outside to die in the alley. He said, “OK.” Both our brains were now gone. We had no lips, brains, bowels, or shirts left. We looked like we had been beaten senseless by a herd of rabid monkeys and dumped into a pig trough.

I went to see Dog the next morning in his hotel room. He was half conscious sitting on the floor in the fetal position. I noticed three empty cases of Limca scattered around the room. We both had trouble talking. We ate yogurt the rest of the week. Our lips did grow back and our bowels returned to normal pre-volcanic activity. I have never been normal since. I twitch a lot when I talk. Sometimes I just slobber when I think about it.

Recipe: Hot Goat Meat of Andhra Pradesh, India

To marinate:

• 1½ pounds Goat, cleaned, washed & cut to 1 inch size pieces
• 1½ teaspoons of Red Chili Powder
• ½ teaspoon Turmeric Powder
• 1 teaspoon Lemon Juice (or 2 tablespoons thick yogurt)
• 1 teaspoon Salt

To grind:

• 1½ inch Ginger, peeled & cut into small pieces
• 8 to 10 Garlic Pods, peeled
• 2 cm Cinnamon Stick
• 6 Cloves
• 2 teaspoons Poppy Seeds
• 1 to 2 tablespoons desiccated Coconut
• ¼ cup Hot Water for grinding

To season:

• 2 tablespoons Vegetable Oil
• 2 Star anise
• 2 Kapok Buds (Marathi moggu)
• 2 cm Cinnamon Stick
• 4 Cloves
• 2 Cardamoms
• 2 Bay Leaves

Other Ingredients:

• 1 large Onion, finely chopped
• 3 to 4 Ghost Chili Peppers (Bhut Jolokia), finely chopped (wear plastic gloves)
• A sprig of Curry Leaves
• 1 to 2 teaspoons of Red Chili Powder
• ¼ teaspoon Turmeric Powder
• Required salt
• ½ cup finely chopped Coriander, divided

Directions

• Marinate Goat with red chili powder, turmeric, a teaspoon of lemon juice and salt for about a minimum of 30 minutes. Longer the better.
• Grind ginger, garlic, cinnamon, cloves, poppy seeds and desiccated coconut in a blender to a fine paste, without adding water.
• Then add slightly hot water, soak for a minute and grind to a fine paste. Soaking in hot water aids easy grinding of the poppy seeds.
• Heat oil in a pressure cooker over medium heat. Once oil is hot, season with dry spices.
• To this add chopped onions, Ghost Chili Peppers and sauté.
• Add curry leaves and stir for a minute. Be generous in using curry leaves!!
• Once onions become translucent, add in the marinated goat.
• Sauté for 3 to 4 minutes..
• Add remaining red chili powder and turmeric powder.
• Now add required water till the goat immerses. You can adjust the consistency of the gravy to suit your requirement. Adjust salt and add in some fresh coriander.
• Close the lid of the pressure cooker and cook over medium high heat for 5 to 7 whistles, then simmer and cook for 5 minutes till the goat is fully cooked, soft and tender.
• Open the lid of the pressure cooker once the pressure subsides.
• Transfer to a serving bowl and garnish with finely chopped coriander

The Hot Goat Meat of Andhra Pradesh, India Recipe is done and ready to be served with rice.

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Eight hours sounds like a lot of time, until you factor in the walk from the pier and the queue at the taxi rank, that is. There may even be an unexpected detour when someone in your group spots a nearby market stall.

Whether you’re stopping at a single Caribbean island or you’re working your way through a few Mediterranean ports on a 3-day cruise, planning before you step off the gangway is super important if you want to make the most of your time (and budget) in paradise.

Start Planning Early

To get the most out of a port day, start thinking about it a few days (or weeks) in advance. Research your port stop before you set sail, and find out where the pier is relative to the main attractions. You’ll also want to check how long it takes to reach the town center and what the port layout looks like.

While some ports have nearby attractions, others are a little further from the action and require a shuttle or water taxi to get there.

Once you know the lay of the land, you need to decide what really matters to you. A day that’s set aside for a beach trip is going to look very different from an itinerary that’s built around a local food market stop.

Committing to one or two activities will give you a more realistic schedule where you don’t need to rush.

Choose Valuable Shore Excursions

Not all excursions are created equal.

Sometimes, the cruise line’s version isn’t always the best fit for your interests, and that’s okay! Generally, the main advantage of booking through the ship is the return guarantee. If a cruise line excursion runs late, the ship waits.

On the other hand, independent tours can cost less, although they carry risks like transportation issues and unexpected fees. You always need to weigh that tradeoff for yourself before you book an activity.

Whatever route you go, read recent reviews. Look specifically for comments about times and how the operator handles unexpected problems. A low price isn’t worth the savings when it’s attached to complaints about late returns.

Stretch Your Budget Without Missing the Highlights

The easiest way to pay less for shore excursions is to book early. Booking before you board the ship can almost always guarantee lower prices and better availability for popular tours. In fact, some cruise lines even offer online discounts that disappear once you’re onboard.

Remember, popular excursions with limited capacity sell out well in advance. There are even experiences that sometimes require bookings at least 4 to 6 months ahead.

Shared tours tend to cost less than private ones while still offering a more personal experience than a large coach tour. They’re worth keeping an eye out for, particularly in busier tourist ports where excursion prices are higher because of demand.

Build an 8-Hour Port Day That Works

Transport burns time in both directions. A port-to-town transfer that looks like 10 minutes on a map can be at least 30 when traffic or queuing is involved.

The rule of thumb here is to leave at least 45 to 60 minutes before the ship departs. Getting left behind means covering your own travel to the next port, which will cost much more than any other excursion.

Pre-booking tickets saves you a ton of time at busy sites. Skipping the entry queue at a popular attraction can even reclaim an hour of your day. Just remember to pack smart so you don’t waste time trying to find your sweater once you dock, as you want to be one of the first people off the boat.

Enjoying More of Paradise for Less

A well-planned port day doesn’t mean you have to spend more. You just need to be more deliberate with where you go and how you plan.

One experience that you enjoy properly is worth more than four rushed experiences done badly. And just be sure to plan for hidden costs so you don’t get caught off guard.

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