Mrs. Coffee

Max and I are still vacationing with my family in Kalithea, which is located in area called Chalkidki in northern Greece and along the Aegean Sea. Aside from the exotic location, this is a typical family vacation with some Norman Rockwell moments, but others more like scenes My Big Fat Greek National Lampoon Vacation.

Yesterday, we visited the family of family in another part of the peninsula. We feasted on a lunch that went on for hours and included a fair amount of ouzo and then topped our meal off with Greek coffee, a sludge-like espresso. Maybe it was because of the ouzo, but my aunt decided she would “read” the remnants of Max’s coffee.

I suppose the reading of coffee grinds is not unlike the reading of tealeaves. My aunt grabbed Max’s cup out of his hand and began swirling it around to see what the prophetic beans would reveal. Then, she waited 20 minutes for the impression to dry before passing the cup to her sister-in-law, who was more skilled in interpretation and spoke better English.

“Ah, this is a good and strong cup,” the sister-in-law began.

Both the believers’ and nonbelievers’ ears perked up. Like any good fortuneteller, the sister-in-law paced herself for dramatic effect, waiting for someone at the table to beg her to continue.

“You are successful in your work, but there is a tall, heavy man who is jealous of your successes and wishes to cast the evil eye.”

There went the evil eye again. The table looked to Max to provide the name of said man, but he couldn’t think of a single co-worker who fit the description.

“But it no matter,” she interrupted. “This man cannot interfere with your successes. I see lots of money in your future, and when you get back to work you will hear some very good news.”

Another five-minute discussion around the table ensued about all of Max’s money before the reading continued.

“You have a female friend with long hair. He name starts with M. She also will give you very good news.”

We actually do have a female friend who matches this description, but couldn’t imagine what sort of news she might give us.

“And a door is opening to you. You will be going on a journey in the future where opportunity awaits.”

All of this fortune telling was well and good, but the table grew restless. Because the audience was a bunch of old Greek people and Max and I are newlyweds, everyone wanted to know one thing.

“Do you see babies in the cup?” my father asked.

At this the cup was passed around to those who understood the workings of prophetic coffee beans. The giggling and smiling began.

“I see TWO babies—a boy and a girl. Not now, but down the road.”

Both the coffee bean believers and disbelievers roared with laughter at this pronouncement. Max smiled broadly at the thought, and I made a face at the thought of having not one, but two children over the age of 40. And even though I think the reading was a bunch of hooey, I’ve decided to steer clear of Greek coffee for the duration of our trip.

Woe is me!

I feel as though I’ve been at a neck-break pace the last couple weeks with no end in sight! My parents arrive at 5:30 am tomorrow and I’ve spent the last couple days preparing for the visit. Because real life is so busy, my blog life is suffering.

I’ll continue to post half-thought-through pieces . I’ll also read and comment on as many bloggers’ sites as I can. None of this will be done out of obligation, it will be done because I enjoy it. Still, I want to apologize in advance if I seem neglectful.

Next week might offer more chances to blog. Beginning Saturday, we leave for Greece to visit my relatives living in Thessalonica. Then, we’ll vacation in Kalithea on the Aegean Sea.

Somehow, I doubt you’re feeling too sorry for me at this moment.

Am I right?

Nael's Second (and Final) Podcast

Today is our last full day in Egypt. We board a plane back to Cairo tonight and will fly to Germany tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully, I am feeling much much better. I would have hated life if I had to fly while inflicted with King Tut's gut.

I'll return to you tomorrow with what I haven't blogged about this week, but in the meantime please take a peek Nael's final podcast of this trip. He was very pleased with your comments and asked that I post this as well.

Enjoy!

A 9-year old's first podcast

I'm still feeling a bit under the weather thanks to what I not-so-affectionately refer to as King Tut's gut, so my 9-year-old nephew Nael pitched in by making a little podcast about the first half of our trip to Egypt. He spent two hours working with me on it and enjoyed practicing his English very much. He hopes you like it.

The Evil Eye

“Max…is good husband?” My mother-in-law speaks only a few words of English, but she always manages to communicate her point very well.

“Yes, Miha,” I replied. “He is very good. We are happy.”

“Yes…good…good,” she said with a smile. Then, her look suddenly turned sour. In a hush tone and in inexplicable Arabic, she looked at me sternly and cautioned me about that which I didn’t understand. I turned to Max for translation.

“She says to tell no one else about your happiness because someone might cast an evil eye upon you,” Max explained.

I have heard of this concept of the evil eye because it also exists in the Greek culture, and is, in fact, a commonly held belief throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East. The idea speaks to the jealous heart of human nature and states that people can never be truly happy for your successes and, instead, will secretly cast an evil eye upon you bringing misfortunes and turmoil. My family has always considered it a superstition, but Max’s mother takes it very seriously.

Just the other day, she walked up to her son, laid her hands upon his head, and began chanting.

“Alah akbar. Alah akbar. Alah akbar.” (God is great. God is great. God is great.)

Later, Max told me this was done in an attempt to ward off any evil eyes that might be directed toward him. Of course, her chant didn’t prevent me from shooting Max a look of bemusement and amusement at his explanation.

But perhaps I should not have dismissed the power of the evil eye so quickly. Not even day later, something evil certainly befell me—a bacterial infection in my digestive track, which required medical attention.

Fortunately, the resort here in Sharm El Sheikh features a well-staffed clinic. In addition to the infection, the doctor discovered I suffered from low-blood pressure and dehydration. He put me on IV fluids immediately.

I’ve been very careful of what I’ve eaten since arriving in Egypt. Last year, I also became sick a few days after arriving in Sharm and thought I had learned my lesson. But last year, I didn’t diss the evil eye. Lessoned learned.

***

(In a few days, I’ll be fine. The good news is my sickness gives me a chance to catch up on my blog reading—something I have missed since coming to Egypt. It’s been hard to sneak away from Max's family, but now I have the perfect excuse to leave them for a bit to "rest.")

A change of plans

Friday, we were supposed to be spending our holiday here, but plans have changed.





Now, sadly, we are going here instead.

Amazing!

Max and I arrived home from a wonderfully romantic weekend in the Czech Republic. Prague is one of the most beautiful cities we have visited (and, by far, the cleanest). We took over 300 pictures, but if you'd like to see a handful, click here.

More later!

Got My Groove Back

I feel as though I’ve been away from a computer since forever.

Between Jules’ visit and trips to Rome and Athens, it’s been a hectic, but joyous, two weeks. Remember when I told you I had lost the “wow factor?” Forget I ever mentioned it. I’m still buzzing from the sights and sounds of the last couple weeks.

However, I don’t think it was the new geography that impressed me as much as it was the quality time with good friends and my Max, who was able to accompany me on both trips.

Rome and Athens were more than just a way to spend vacation time. In both cities, I met some of my husband’s lifelong friends. I got the opportunity to see his old elementary school yearbook, hear funny stories from his college days, and order a shake at his favorite high school hang out. Max also drove me by his childhood home in Voula, a coastal suburb of Athens.

In just a few short days, I was able to get a glimpse of my husband from days gone by. It was not surprising to hear from his friends that, even as a young person, Max displayed the same joy, warmth, and integrity, which I have also witnessed over the last three years. Finally, I got to see Athens, a city I have visited before, and Greece, a country where I have roots, through his eyes. And I could understand why he loved the time he spent there so much. I wish we could have stayed a little longer.

But all good things must come to an end. Max returns to work, where he faces a hard couple weeks and I am going on a hunger strike—for real this time. Needless to say, I ate my way through Rome and Athens. It was impossible to do otherwise because the food was delectable. I am also happy to stay I have probably staved off aging for a few years. After sampling ample quantities of the wine of Italy and ouzo of Greece, I am sufficiently pickled.

The future is so bright...

We've got to wear shades!

And we're back...

Good food, great company and the beautiful sights of Italy--it was hard to come back to the routine of life after experiencing Tuscany! But I guess, all good things must come to and end. It you'd like to see a sampling of what Max and I saw during our trip click here.

I need a day to decompress, but will be back in full swing tomorrow. I look forward to catching up on what has transpired with you during my absence. Ciao!

I'm not rubbing it in, really

The Internet can be a wonderful thing. Fabulously Me helped me locate a hund pension (doggie hotel) and Angela and Jen came through with recommendations. I can board Charlie feeling much more confidant as I make my way to Italy.

For those of you who missed it, I said ITALY! Max and I are off frolic under the Tuscan sun. I have traveled to many parts of the world, but never to this country outside the Milan airport. I’m so excited. I can hardly stand it.

Along with another couple, dear friends from the United States, we’ve rented a villa to use as home base during our sojourn. I know the lovely farmhouse has many amenities, but Internet access isn’t one of them. As a result, I may be out of touch with you for the next week unless I find a convenient place to upload photos and catch you up along the way. If not, I will keep a travel journal and share a few tidbits when I return.

I think this marks the time when living in Europe will become very exciting. The weather is improving; friends are making plans to visit. I’ve already heard from thirteen people asking to visit, and our social calendar is becoming quite full. In addition, Max and I have trips planned every month from May through the end of the year.


May - Rome, Italy
June - Prague,
Sharl El Sheik, Egypt
July - Kalithea, Greece
August – Paris, France
September – Oktoberfest, Munich
October – Raleigh, U.S.
November - Cairo, Egypt
December – somewhere warm in Florida, followed by a cruise to another warm location

But before I get too far ahead of myself, I have beautiful Italy to explore. Forgive me if you don’t hear from me between tomorrow and next Saturday. Know I’ll miss you terribly. ☺

Tired and Tattooed

Hello! I’m back from my travels and ready to catch up on what’s been going on with you. Unfortunately, my home computer died, so it might be a couple days before I am back and in the full swing of things.

In the meantime, here are a few photos from my Henna party in Egypt. What an experience! Wow!

Sights around Egypt

Hello all! I'm coming to you from an Internet cafe in Sharm El Sheik, Egypt. I have been mainly posting to my trip journal, and have not had a lot of time to post at the Martini Lounge. Those interested in keeping up with the trip, please check the Trip Journal link at the right side bar. For those of you only interest in pictures, please go here.

Hope everyone of you is doing well!

M-I-L

When Chico, Max and I arrived at Cairo International Airport, I spotted one of the most important, international; symbols—the sign for the women’s restroom.

“Hold on. I’ll be back in 30 seconds,” I said.

Max and Chico rolled their eyes, and I could almost see their collective thought: “Hadn’t she been to the bathroom enough during our 24-hour trip?”

Female traveling companions would have understood the necessity of this pit stop. A long voyage with little beauty sleep did little to enhance my appearance. And, in a post 9-11 era—one where you can’t carry vital toiletries on the airplane—the only hope to freshen up was a cool, wet paper towel and a couple breath mints.

As I looked in the bathroom mirror a thought hit me like a sucker punch to the gut: I was about to meet my new mother-in-law. A moment of panic ensued.

Two past marriages taught me that a woman not only weds her husband, she also marries a family. Circumstances had prevented me from meeting Max’s mother before the wedding, so I felt as though I had closed the deal sight unseen. And while I had every reason to believe my new M-I-L would be perfectly delightful, a tiny voice in my head reminded me there were no guarantees.

“Remember Cruella Devil,” it whispered.

Cruella was my nickname for M-I-L-1, a heinous and heartless woman who would have clubbed a puppy if it got in her way.

I shuddered at the thought of her. Surely Max’s mother would be nothing like her.

“There are no guarantees,” the little voice whispered.

This would be my third M-I-L meeting, but the first in which I couldn’t verbally communicate. “First impressions and body language would be critical,” I thought. “Smile a lot.”

I double and triple checked to make sure remnants of my airline dinner hadn’t gotten caught in my teeth. Then, I patted my face with a damp, paper towel. This was as good as it was going to get.

I stepped outside the restroom and saw Max jokingly tapping his toe and looking at his wrist watch.

“30 seconds, huh,” he laughed. And then as if he had known my fears all along, Max grabbed my hand.

“Come on,” he said softly. “It’s going to be fine.”

And with that the little voice in my head stopped. The time had finally come to meet my new mother-in-law.

Egypt or bust!

Raleigh to Atlanta
Atlanta to DC
DC to Paris
Paris to Cairo

Not exactly an ideal route to begin our trip, but Max, my brother Chico, and I can’t complain. We paid nothing for three round-trip tickets to Egypt thanks to Max’s seemingly endless supply of frequent flyer miles. If all goes well, we’ll arrive in the early afternoon on Thursday (around 6am Eastern Standard Time).

Excitement doesn’t begin to describe my feelings at the moment. Even as I type these words, I can hardly believe this is my last full day here.

Remarkably, I’m almost packed. Between getting my house showroom-ready and actually having two prospective buyers come yesterday, there has been little time to prepare for the trip. A pick-up at the $1.50 drycleaner, manicure and pedicure, and dropping the cat at my sister’s house is all that stands between me and my being ready to venture to Egypt. Woohoo!

Call me an optimist, but I think I may have shown my house to its future owner. He’s a recent graduate from the University, familiar with the neighborhood perks and drawbacks. He also brought his entire family to the showing and, when I finished the tour, asked me to “cut to the chase.”

“If my father were to write you a check today, what’s your bottom-line price for this unit,” he asked.

“I honestly couldn’t give you a number without consulting my husband,” I replied. Max had prepped me not to do any of the negotiating. He knows I’m a complete pushover when it comes to wheeling and dealing.

So instead of a check, I got a business card with the instructions to have Max e-mail with our best offer. Max plans to stay firm on the price, asking the potential buyer to come back with an offer instead.

“Who ever makes the first bid, typically loses in these situation,” Max explained. If we make our bottom-line offer, there is no way we’ll actually get it.”

I’m not sure about the strategy, but am willing to leave it to him to decide. We have three months, after all. It’s not like we’re desperate—yet. And besides, all I really care about right now is EGYPT!

Gosh, I hope it’s a good trip. I also hope I get to blog while I’m away. But if not, have a fabulous next two weeks. And I will see you (virtually, at least) on the other side of Sept 5th!

Things are looking up

For some reason, I didn't expect that my travel research would uncover a Latin dance club in Cairo. But, see for yourself. Somthing tells me that Max and I are going dancing next week!

It's Almost Here

In only nine days, I travel to Egypt to meet my husband's family for the very first time. As you can imagine I am curious, excited, and nervous. Fortunately, I am not traveling alone. Along with Max, my brother Chico makes the journey to this historic country. Even before I met my husband, traveling to Egypt has been a goal of mine and my brother since we were kids. It means so much to be sharing this trip with him.

Although I haven't physically met Max's family, I have spoken with them by phone. His father, two sisters, and nephew speak perfect English with an almost British accent. His mother only knows enough to tell me that she wishes to have a granddaughter in the family.

"Make baby. I want a girl," she says, giggling the entire time.

Since we've already been married two months, I'm sure she wonders what is taking so long.

I've left the planning of this trip completely to Max and his family. We arrive in Cairo, spend a couple days touring the pyramids, and then will head to a resort area somewhere along the Red Sea. We will spend a full week at the resort, in part to escape the 100 degree temperatures in Cairo. Then before returning to the United States, we will visit Max's extended family and take a dinner cruise down the Nile. I am also looking forward to a Henna painting ceremony for Max's female relatives and me. Apparently, this is a all the rage in Egypt, something special for brides just prior to their wedding.

Doesn't it all sound amazing?

Max understands my need to journal and blog about the experience, and he is prepared to take me to Internet cafes around the country if necessary. I do have the best intentions of posting to this site, as well as a trip journal I set up for my family and friends. I've included a link to my trip journal on the side bar if any of you want to get all the nitty gritty details of the trip--the sort that will only interest my family. Longtime readers are familiar with this routine because I have produced journals for trips to Greece and China. On the site, readers will find a place set e-mail notification of updates, as well as a messages center. This is how my family and friends will sends notes to me, Chico, and Max while we're away. I love getting messages because it makes me feel as though my friends and family are sharing in the adventure.

Of course, I hope to keep Martinis updated as well. There may be few topics I wouldn't feel comfortable discussing with my family-like how Chico has been e-mailing Max's youngest sister over the last few months and whether anything is developing. So my trip journal will be the place where I share the Pollyanna version of Egypt, while Martinis will offer a more complete picture on the off chance anything doesn't go well.

But let's hope that doesn't happen.

To hell and back

Do you remember when Hurricane Ivan hit the Cayman Islands in 2004? Probably not. After sustaining major damage during the category 5 storm, Grand Cayman imposed a media blackout, preventing pictures of the destruction (which would inevitably hurt its tourism industry) from being immediately shown to the world.

I think this was a smart move by the islands’ government.

Even though it's been a few years, Grand Cayman is still somewhat physically scarred by natural disaster. Max and I saw remaining damage as well as a tremendous rebuilding effort during our day-long, four-wheeling tour of the island.

Still, despite the storm and in contrast to Jamaica, Grand Cayman seems to sustain a higher standard of living for its residents. The government levies no taxes, and for this reason attracts many foreign investors looking for an off-shore tax haven. In fact, the US dollar is only valued at only 80 cents when compared to the Caymanian currency.

In Grand Cayman, we saw no abject poverty, only modest homes and small business. We were never hassled for money, a refreshing change from the other ports of call during the cruise. But the most memorable part of our day in Grand Cayman, aside from speeding down the waters or Seven Mile Beach by Jet Ski, was meeting new friends. California natives Robert and Cindy approached us as we waited to begin the tour and, since a group of four was required, asked if we'd like to share a Jeep Wrangle. We readily agreed.

Like Max and me, Robert and Cindy chose the Mariner for a honeymoon cruise. Unlike us, however, their nuptials were the start of a large blended family of seven children or, as Robert explained, "The Brady Bunch plus one." I cannot fathom starting off a life together with 7 children ranging in age from 5 to 15, but this couple positively glowed when they spoke of their family during our day-long tour of the island.

In Grand Cayman motorists drive on the right side, a throwback to the time when Britain controlled the island. Max and Robert shared driving responsibilities and offered each other reminders on what side of the road should be traveled.
After stopping by a local a rum factory and savoring local product, We headed straight to Hell--a small area that certainly lived up to it name because of bizarre rock formation made of dead coral and that is unique to Grand Cayman. Hell boasts one nightclub not surprisingly called Disco Inferno and a combination souvenir shop/post office, and little else. While Max and I refrained from buying any “I went straight to Hell” t-shirts, we couldn’t resist sending ourselves a postcard just to get its devilish postmark.

Grand Cayman was certainly hotter than Hell on this particular Thursday. And even though the beach offered refreshment from the heat, I couldn’t wait to get back to the lovely Mariner. In contrast steamy Grand Cayman, the boat featured an ice show, one of the highlights of its entertainment schedule. Max and I hadn’t made it to many of the nightly shows, but after being stuck in Hell for even a short period of time, anything on ice seemed like the place to be!

Haiti and Jamaica

I'm already sporting the best tan in my life, but my skin color is nothing compared to Max. After soaking up the bright Caribbean sun, his skin has taken on a marvelous cinnamon tone, hence my new term of endearment for him--Cinnabons. ;-)

We had a great day in Lambidee, Haiti, one of Royal Caribbean's private islands. Since there really wasn't any local Haitian culture on the island to explore, we decided to try parasailing--a first for us both. Flying above a boat, hundreds of feet in the air with only rope and a sail to secure us, was both thrilling and surprisingly peaceful at the same time.

Max and I were one of 7 pairs on this outing, but one couple stood out-- a 70-year old man and his 69-year old wife. I felt inspired watching this elderly couple savor every minute of their parasailing flight.

"Promise me that in our retirement we'll be as adventurous and active as them," I whispered to Max, who nodded in agreement.

But as much fun as parasailing was, it seemed completely benign when compared to the next day's adventure.

When Max and I made reservations to sail aboard a party yacht cruising, Ocho Rios, Jamaica, we had no idea the excursion included hiking up Dunn River Falls.

Hundreds of tourists from all parts of the globe joined hands for support in making it up the 600 feet of jagged rocks and rushing waters. Because the water came down fast and furious, there was no way to see the rocks beneath your feet. Slowly and carefully, the line of people felt their way up the falls one small step at a time. In contrast, Dunn River Falls photographers trying to make up quick buck by selling pictures and video, climbed up and down the rock side as if the had suction cups for feet.

I looked to these photographers for comfort. We had taken the more challenging route up the falls and moments came when I felt as though the rushing water was pushing my feet out from underneath me. My heart pounded as I feared slipping and taking the chain of people with me. Yet despite my worries, I made it to the top of Dunn River Falls without incident, along with the hundred of other tourists.


Besides crystal water and beautiful beaches, Haiti and Jamaica had one other feature in common. Small-time marketers and beggars were everywhere the tourists went. In Jamaica, one man even canoed out to our yacht, hollaring up to us to buy his goods. I had to admire his persistence, while feeling sorry about the conditions that drove him to these actions. I find that whenever I travel to third-world countries, I come home with more of an understanding of how easy we have it in the United States. But on this particular trip, as Max and I returned to the indulgences of the beautiful Mariner of the Seas, the disparity between the wealthy and poor felt all-too tragic.