10 March 2010 (Wednesday #6) – Delphi day, Arachova

 
From Delphi to lunch to Arachova (or Arahova or Αράχωβα) to Athens

Sorry, but Greeks can’t spell worth a hoot. A name might have any number of spellings. Very confusing.

Greeks also have no concept of lunchtime. While we were in Greece, I don’t think we ate a single lunch at what I would call lunchtime. I’m all about eating meals on time, not missing a meal, cleaning my plate, and things like that. Nevertheless, even if a meal is not served at the proper time, I’ll eat it anyway. And I'll probably eat it all.

After our Delphi adventure, we boarded the bus and went to a nearby hotel for our lunch. Here’s our view out the restaurant window:

The rain was still falling steadily.

I said I hope we weren’t having another Greek salad for lunch. We had already done Greek salads. My wish was granted! We were served these really yummy cheese pastry things (of which I didn’t get a good photo):

I asked our server what they're called, and she said, "Cheese pastries." Smart aleck.

Here’s the main course:

Pork, rice (sort of like risotto), and salad greens swimming in oil (Be still my heart!).

Before dessert was served, I said I hope we won’t get oranges again. Who wants to peel and eat an orange when you’re in Greece surrounded by baklava and loukoumathes and kourabiethes and kataifi and melomakarona and galaktoboureko and more baklava? Besides, what if they accidentally served us those insanely bitter oranges from the trees lining the streets of Athens? (Where there is no trouble, imagine some.)

Well, they served us oranges, but we also had other fresh fruits from which to choose, like pears and apples. But no baklava. I ate this healthy pear:

(The bottom of the pear looked like it was smiling at me.)

Back on the bus again . . . While waiting for the other passengers to board, I took a photo of our Vancouver friends, Marilyn and Ronnie:

This was our second day to travel with them accidentally. We ate lunch with them again, and they made some more dire predictions about things that will probably happen tomorrow during the national strikes/riots. Marilyn also told us her motto: “NEVER pass up the opportunity to go to the bathroom!” (We'd kind of already figured that out about her.) They were a fun and funny couple. (And I now own that same shade of MAC lipstick Marilyn is wearing.)

When everyone was back on the bus, we left for Arachova. Good-bye, hotel (where we just had lunch):

Lovely.

Views from the bus as it zoomed higher up the mountain in the pouring rain from Delphi to Arachova:

We have arrived in Arachova:

Stupid rain.

[Pause to search the Internet to show photos of what we should have seen of Arachova if it hadn't been raining. . .. I’ll give info about the town while I’m looking. I can multi-task like that.]

Only a few miles from Delphi, but waaaay up higher on Mount Parnassus is Arachova, a lovely little town with about 4000 residents. It’s over 3000 feet above sea level (compared to Delphi being about 1800 feet above sea level and Memphis being barely 300 feet above sea level).

The following are borrowed photos of Arachova.

(Well, in this photo it looks like it’s about to rain here, too.)

Arachova is tourist attraction because of its proximity to Delphi. In the winter it’s popular because of the upscale ski resort that was just developed in the late 20th century, about 15 miles away from Arachova. In the summer people come here to hike the mountain trails. Many Athenians have second homes here for escaping the summer heat of the city and for skiing in the winter.

Look how the houses are packed in and go right up the side of the mountain:

The Athenians must feel right at home.

This shot of Arachova really does look like Athens:

Here’s the main street at the top of Arachova:

This street is part of the main Delphi – Athens highway. I think it’s called Delphon. (It probably has several spellings.) Whatever its name, it was ridiculously narrow. I wonder how many people are killed each year while trying to walk on the bitsy sidewalks.

Look how tight it is for the buses:

Since 1400, Arachova has been famous for its traditional textiles (like wool carpets), olives, vineyards and wine, and unique cheeses.

Our bus stopped for us to visit a carpet/pottery store. I said, “No way am I getting off this bus in that rain!” Then I remembered how much each minute of the trip was costing, and hotfooted it into the store. (“Hotfooted” might be a Southern expression.)

I was so glad I went inside! Conrad and I had already decided to get everyone in the family a Grecian urn as a memento of when we went to Greece (and they didn't). The store where we were taken in Arachova was loaded with pottery. We held up the bus while we carefully made our selections.

I’ll take photos of some of the urns and post them later. We got a good deal on them, too! How do I know? Because Nick (the owner of the store) told us so. (That was really his name.) And he liked us so much, he gave us this cute picture so we’d remember what the town looked like:

A more accurate representation would have been something doused in water.

Finally, we were back on the bus for the last time. While we made the 112-mile trip from Arachova to Athens, Conrad . . ., well, you not believe this, but he took a nap:

I listened to tunes on my iPhone, too (but I was awake). Listening to Abba and The Bee Gees while tooling around the mountains of Greece . . . I am so cool! (For the record, I also have songs from more modern artists, like Taylor Swift and Adam Lambert. Graham helps me with my music selections.)

Back in Athens night was just falling:

And the rain had stopped falling! Actually, Athens got no rain at all.

I’ve only been here a few days, but I LOVE this crowded, steep city!

One nice thing about Conrad conking out (Is that a Southern expression, too?) every single time his rear hits a bus seat is that he awakens with a burst of energy.

While I organized our hotel room (something I did EVERY night of our trip, because I’m obsessive-compulsive) to incorporate the gifts we’d just purchased in Arachova, Conrad shot off to get our nightly snack. He returned with bottles of Coke Zero from the little store across the street from our hotel:

And he jetted over to Plaka to get us this very yummy gyro with lamb, tomato, and French fries, all stuffed inside a pita wrap:

Granted, Greeks have spelling issues. I’m wondering about their pronunciations, too. I’ve never understood why "gyro" is pronounced “yee-ro.” And what is with all the French fries all over all the food??