Stalking Sunsets

                                              The Acropolis, Athens, from the roof of the Grande Bretagne Hotel

Whenever I travel, especially in the company of my two daughters, by late afternoon we usually find ourselves sitting by the water somewhere with a glass of wine, waiting for the sunset.  That’s when I really know I’m on vacation.

Many years ago I learned that Key West has a sunset party on the beach every night, with fire-

eaters and dancers and all sorts of celebration of the beauty of the evening sky. On Santorini, in Greece, every sunset is a party as well.  The white-sugar-cube buildings turn gold and orange and the roofs and balconies become crowded with onlookers who applaud as the sun disappears into the Aegean.

                                                                            Cats at Hydroneta on Hydra

Some sophisticated bars, like Franco’s on Santorini, and Hydroneta on Hydra, cue their music so that it reaches its climax at the moment the sun drops out of sight. (At Franco’s in the town of Thera on Santorini, you’d better reserve a lounge chair in advance—although every spot on Santorini has a drop-dead view.)

                                                                                   Windmills on Mykonos

On Mykonos, the bar called Veranda, overlooking little Venice, is our favorite spot to drink and savor the show.  That’s where my profile photo with windmills in the background was taken by Eleni some years ago.  (She keeps telling me it’s time to replace it with something more up-to-date.) And that’s where this photo  of a sailing ship was taken.

Corfu also has sunset views that could make you weep.  Here’s a spot I always stop to photograph—showing the fortress overlooking the harbor.

As soon as we arrive in Corfu every year, we head for a drink on the roof garden of the Cavalieri Hotel, perhaps the most romantic spot ever for sunset watching as the swallows wheel, shrieking, overhead in a frenzy of bug-chasing, and the retro sounds of Frank Sinatra provide background music.

The most dramatic sunsets I’ve ever seen, night after night, were in Nicaragua, on Playa del Coco, the beach where sea turtles flock to lay their eggs in August to December and the babies emerge to head for the sea in January and February.  Every night on Playa del Coco we’d go down to the beach, sit on the rustic chairs and watch the light show in the sky.  And say, as we lifted our glasses toward the horizon, “Now we’re really on vacation.”

Ode to a Chair (And Some Windows)

(Please click on the photos to make them bigger.)

When I travel, I seem to be drawn to photographing windows and doors.  And chairs.

The windows and doors intrigue me, I guess, because they hint at the mysteries that lie within.  I always want to open the door or peer in the window, but I never do.  I just take a photograph.

I even made a series of notecards featuring Greek windows.  Here (above and below) are eight of the shots.

Chairs, especially the caned taverna chairs that you see all over Greece, often painted blue, seem poignant to me, as if they’ve been abandoned or are waiting in vain for the old Greek men who used to sit in them, drinking ouzo or coffee and playing tavli, all the while clicking their worry beads in one hand.

Just now, when I traveled to Nicaragua, I was fascinated by the beautiful chairs I saw everywhere there—which were mostly rocking chairs—wicker or bentwood, Thonet style.  They were so graceful and elegant, with their S curves and lacey designs. (The wicker ones piled together  below are in a colonial mansion in Granada which is being restored.)

La Gran Francia, our hotel in Granada, even had some chairs attached to the wall as decoration.

In Granada, every small shop seemed to have a rocking chair inside or outside the front door, where the proprietor could sit and watch the world go by.  Many small homes had the same thing.

In wealthier homes, the rocking chairs were on the inside—usually near the central courtyard, positioned to take advantage of the garden views and the cool breezes that would flow through the house because the huge doors were left open, protected by wrought iron gates.

When we traveled to the island of Ometepe, created by two linked volcanoes in Lake Nicaragua, every little casita had its rocking chairs on the veranda, so you could sit and admire the view of the lake below, seen through the tropical trees, with background music from the monkeys and exotic birds.

Life in Nicaragua seemed so much slower and more contemplative, and everything was designed to make the most of the view. 

And when we traveled to Playa del Coco, staying in one of several villas looking out at the waves of the Pacific Ocean, there were plenty of rocking chairs or Adirondack chairs placed for the enjoyment of the surf and the sunset, which was different every night but never failed to provide lights and colors better than any Fourth of July fireworks display.

One of the lessons learned in Nicaragua was to just sit and rock and really take the time to appreciate the view/ sunset/ breeze or passing street scene.  I think that’s part of what Dominique Browning was talking about when she entitled her blog Slow Love Life. 

Turtle (and Bird and Monkey) Watching in Nicaragua

We’re on Day Five in magical Nicaragua and we’ve encountered a lot of exotic tropical animals and flowers so far.

Yesterday we left the Island of Ometepe, made up of two connected volcanoes in gigantic Lake Nicaragua.  We sailed to the mainland and drove to San Juan Del Sur where, after driving about half an hour on an unpaved dirt road, we reached our friends’ villa on the beach called Playa del Coco.

Last night we watched a magnificent sunset as tiny hermit crabs scurried on the beach, leaving tracks like a zipper’s teeth.  

This morning the big excitement was when a sea turtle—I believe her species is called Olive Ridley-- landed on the beach and began plodding in to lay her eggs in the sand.

The men who are security guards for this complex of villas are also the turtle police, I discovered. 

They make sure no one gets close enough to the turtle to scare her, and once she digs a nest and lays her eggs and leaves, they will take the eggs to an incubator and keep them safe for forty days until they are ready to hatch. Then they’ll put them back in the nest to hatch and crawl back into the water. 

(I learned in Greece that the walk from the nest to the water is the most dangerous part of baby turtles’ life—they are often eaten by birds—but if you lift the turtles and carry them to the water, they will drown, because they need to develop their muscles on the trek to the water.)

Anyway, this lady turtle,( let’s call her Olive),  was watched from afar by us and the turtle police, (talking to each other by walkie talkies).  They pointed out that she had a chunk out of her shell because she had been bitten by a shark, but was fine anyway.

Unfortunately,  after finding a place for her nest, she was approached by a bird which evidently changed her mind,  and she  staggered slowly back to the water to perhaps  come up on another beach farther down  Olive was a bit off in her timing.  In August and September these turtles  storm ashore in flotillas of 3,000 or more at a time, completely covering the beach—according to  Lonely Planet, Nicaragua.  I just hope that Olive found a safe place to lay her eggs off season.

Yesterday, on the dirt road to Playa del Coco, we encountered some Mono Coco, which our hosts translated as Howler Monkeys. I didn’t hear them howl but was delighted to get a photo.

While still on La Isla de Ometepe we followed a path into the jungle looking for monkeys, but only encountered this baby pig.

 We also had fun eating in the excellent restaurant at Villa Paraiso--our resort of charming thatched-roof casitas--watching the large crested blue birds called Urraca perched near by, waiting to steal our food.  

One of them hopped on a nearby table, expertly removed the Saran wrap cover to the sugar bowl and dove in, evidently working up to a sugar high judging by the loud caws and various begging noises uttered as they begged for more food.  (My computer translates the Urracha as Magpies but I don’t believe it, since Magpies are black and white.  Can anyone tell me the English language name of these birds?)

Here is a photo of a dead fish I found on the beach this morning.  I thought it made a nice design.

Now I’m going out to explore the tide pool.