Discoveries

The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.
--Marcel Proust-

It is a challenge to observe wholeheartedly--to really look at your surroundings. There are so many distractions that can alter perceptions: smartphones, sunglasses, anger, loud headphones, jealousy are minimal examples.  The discoveries on this journey are more wondrous then imagined: the smile from a elderly woman when a child gives her his seat on the bus--even though his eyes are so very tired, the lovely melody sung by the teenage boy in front of the fruit stand by 711, playing a stringed instrument so fast...so fast, the taste of the ripest, reddest, more ridiculously delicious watermelon that it seems alive or actually makes you feel more alive when eating it. Simple gestures from people are my favorite discoveries. When someone wants to see you--just to be with you for a few hours each night, they travel hours on a bus or a boat or a bus and a boat or a bus and a boat and the train. Just. To. See. Me. Every night. That is a discovery I am overjoyed to have found. I think I may have discovered reasons why people cherish these moments. I know why I do. These special times happen when special people are there. They show up. Even if the voyage is difficult--they are there eating incredible spicy Issan food with you, then getting pineapple, or going to see a big big big IMAX movie and for some reason the movie is always amazing. I discovered something good. I found my heart--my most profound epiphany of the year. :)

Long Way to Home

After tutoring today at Siam Square I ventured to Silom Saladeang to take an extreme exercise class at a new facility called Twist, in Silom Complex. It couldn't be too difficult--there will be many in the class if I get tired, I thought. When I arrived, I was the only one in the class. Sexy Coach Aek worked me hard for almost two hours. After my shower in Silom Complex--Yes I was naked in the mall--again, I went to find my friend Dee who worked at a very exclusive Japanese travel agency--all on the same floor. I found a place the had a "J" (Japanese)in the title and behind that title sat my friend by his computer terminal, showing off his caveat smile. We chatted then I began to venture home to Pinklao. Soi convent had too many delicious foods for me to pass up, so I got some Kao mun Kai and Koon and took the BTS to the river. At the pier. I waited. I waited. I waited for my boat. The one with the orange flag. Only blue flags arrived every 30 minutes. At almost over an hour wait I asked the best I can in my Thai if the boat was going to stop in Pinklao--"No boat to Pinklao." So, I took the blue flag. Looking at the map it seemed that it was very close to my stop. Soon, it arrived at the last stop. My stop and yes, Pinklao was on the other side of the river. It was closer then I anticipated. I jumped off the boat excited my condo sat a few kilometers on the other side of the river. Now, this side of the river there is a small narrow metal pier where kids drink whiskey late at night and steal kisses from boys and girls. The walkway meanders to a ferry that crosses the river. It was not running. I walked. I walked. I walked, always knowing there is a way to get where I want to . At the end of the walkway a Thai boy on a bike sat behind the gate door. He held up the lock from the other side and said, "Jump," followed by cute laughter. I grabbed the lock. Most people would turn around and find a way around. Well, I just kept looking at the door. All around it were long metal arrow blades and on both sides the river. Most people would turn around and find another way. Well, I saw a small rectangle space toward the top of the gate. Now, I just jumped up, shot my leg through, then my head and chest then my other leg and found my self climbing down to the other side. I did indeed "Jump." I realized that somewhere in my consciousness there is a guide that ignores any outside thinking. I soon passed the biker and nodded and climbed up the stairs that led to the Pinklao bridge. I walked across very very very busy bridge. Many yellow shirts were arriving on buses for the Bangkok shutdown on Monday 13, January. I raised my hand screaming "Thailand" every time a carload of yellow shirts blew whistles. After climbing down the stairs on the other side of the river I walked to get a bus to my condo. I waited. I waited. Then I saw a motorbike taxi--I took it. Double the usual price and double the speed, I made it home. Silom is so much closer.

Tea Time Boys

Tea Time Boys is about the mysteries discovered while searching for a murderer. Together, the boys unravel the secrets of the killer by delving into a dirty Judge’s corrupt actions. Each boy has his own private battle to contend with in the search. Mason continues to suffer from a complex Aphasia where he confuses English words with French. He meets a blind boy, Cassander, who sees color waves. Mason’s speech dilemma disappears in his presence. Pekoe, an eccentric white haired British boy who acts and plays an accordion, searches for his mother in a Newark graveyard, having lunch and tea with dead mother candidates before the threat of nightfall and a rumored wolf. Grey continues to practice track with high potential for the Olympics while dealing with the murder. The boys commit to unthinkable acts to find the truth

Times Square Kiss

Times Square Kiss


a novel

by Kevin Voglino

Every day is a kissing event-What if a kiss can determine who to spend a lifetime with and do you dare go on that adventure to find that person?


reserve a copy at Rogue Phoenix Press in ebook or print format

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The Best Shot

Tree-covered foothills tunneled into the ravine. It had changed since the drought had begun months earlier. Leaves crumbled in Terwilliger’s hand, like timeworn paper. On both sides of the gorge, hills sloped at impassable high angles. Mirror images of the other inclines reflected at the end of the gully. A blind alley, he thought. It was a box, like an aged coffin.
Bundles of trees lined the bottom of the canyon. They ‘d been cut for timber, lying on their sides, bent, twisted in a grip like gnarled fingers of ancient men. There was no space between the severed, twisted mountain ash, mixed with hundreds of birch trees. A skilled tight rope artist may pass through the gully in expedient time, but not him. He preferred his urban bungalow and gingham shirts. The air smelled like apples, and when Terwilliger roved, plumes of leaf dust swirled into miniscule tornadoes by his feet. “There’s no place like home,” he said aloud.
He gripped the protruded lens of his Canon 35mm camera as if holding his lover’s hand. A strap hung over his neck, embracing the viewfinder close to his chest. Heaps of timber lay in front of him as if masses of corpses contorted, bronzed with time. He tried to form a mental route he’d take into the abyss of trees. He plucked a leaf off a honey locust, noticing how it looked like spearmint. He smelled it. Small coffee colored pods budded on the tree where the flowers blossomed four months previous. He lowered his head, stepping onto a bundle of paperback maple branches. No ground was visible when he fumbled on top of the group like an old Greyhound stepping on a wet blanketed shroud.
He imagined the infinitesimal times he reputed the location of the rare animal only to find out he’d been mistaken. It had to be in the ravine he wished. Over the past month, many tracks had been discovered by lifer townies. All the local papers printed articles of a blue dog roaming the streets at night. Terwilliger’s footing was unstable; he slid onto his back, holding his camera high into the air as if offering it to Demeter.
He clambered over fallen nut tail oak branches. His feet touched the ground through a small aperture of branches, then noticing a familiar scent, reminding him of his fireplace in his Manhattan apartment. Terwilliger stared at the entrance to the ravine only to see a gigantic woman, who stood like a thick sequoia. She studied him. Could it be a woman? She adjusted her Remington rifle strap over her large breasts, clarifying his perception. She pointed at him. Should he run away? he thought. He dove over a large section of shagbark hickory branches. It was like diving into a frozen lake. Skidding on his back, his body contorted like a confused snow angel. The woman’s laughter bounced off the steep walls of the ravine. Tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose; his fists clenched.
Who does she think she’s howling at? He panned the vast area of dead trees. He imagined somewhere in the ravine, the blue wolf hid. He was going to find it without any trouble from a local. His far-flung reaches of the globe in search of rare photos had made his discoveries a pop-culture obsession.
“Hello fucknugget! Backdoor Charlie! You’re up to you’re assess and elbows in branches,” she screamed.
What? Is she talking to me? he thought.
“Enough of your finger-blasting. You emo kissing boy. You looking for blue wolf?” she hissed. “YES…YOU ARE. I see we’re both here to shoot her.” Her vowels dragged on too long. She pointed to his camera.
He tried to hide it with his twisted apricot jacket, then stepped onto a bent hemlock. Its branches ascended as arms. They reached for him. Below, the tree seemed trapped and for a moment, he tried to release the crushed conifer.
“I’m a pho-ta-gra-pher,” Terwilliger said.
Stopping, the arm of the hemlock slapped him in the face, then he hopped onto coiled red dogwood branches. A powerful scent of pine burned his nose. Their branches snapped like broken fingers. As he tiptoed, a limb cracked under his 140 pounds, sending an echoed wail to the Amazon hunter. He desired his 400-thread-count sheets or TiVo. He’d settle for a Grande latte.
Behind him, the woman crashed into the gully, forcing her way through the briar bushes and the fallen helixed horse chestnut logs. It sounded like a train of demon draft horses.
“I am Yofa. I’ve been tracking blue wolf six years through boondocks and back. I haven’t seen blue wolf in a coon’s age,” she said. She spat massive gobs of mucus from her jaws of granite.
Her bulky form moved in large strides, stamping over numerous white oak, mountain laurels, eastern red bud branches, like a bear scrounging for food. He flashed to a Godzilla movie, imagining buildings destroyed by the fierce monster’s footfalls. A Remington rifle clinked off her metallic belt.
“I’ve been tracking her for some time as well. I need to photograph her. You’ll scare her the way you’re trudging through the branches! Please be quiet.” Just go away, he thought. What a quintessential know-it-all.
Yofa cackled her roar. “Yofa has a plan that’ll corner blue wolf. The piss-lipped beast will come to me. “Lean with it rock wit it my little prissling,” she growled.
Terwilliger halted halfway through the labyrinth of trees when Yofa’s deadly intentions sparked his fear. Above, the fall sun highlighted the autumn copper of the terrain. Smoke billowed through the patchy canopy of trees, as if umbrellas ripped apart by fierce winds on city streets.
Yofa trekked through the spruce trees. She crushed the rhododendron shrubs. Their necks snapped. She stomped the spruce. She pounced on the chokeberry. Her gaze at the dominant mistletoe colored leaves halted her, then she pounded her chest as the first flames raced toward her. She plodded on white birch saplings. “Hello p-dog. Did you spend your last-dollar today? You must be a spring slut if you want a picture of blue wolf. You’ll never make it. I’m sure as nuts as balls,” she mocked.
Yofa raised her rifle, then shot at Terwilliger. He stood with a bent knee unbalanced on a nest of contorted black walnut branches when the bullet ricocheted near his Vasque Velocity VST Trail Runner shoe. He’d just purchased them before the trip. With the shock of Yofa’s measures, he plummeted into a contorted mass of dogwood and black oak branches, cinching his leg in a woody vice. He smiled at a white starflower, poking out a crevice in the logs. He tried to sniff its aroma, then failing to pluck it. Terwilliger couldn’t move. He expected Yofa to kill him. The moment arrived. His eyes shut. She gazed at him through her scope, then dropped it to her soccer ball sized knee, grunting, nodded with pleasure, then continued to hulk over poplar trees. She stepped in and out of the endless bundles of branches as graceful as a Cyclops would when placed in an environment requiring no poise.
Terwilliger tugged at his leg, glancing over his shoulder. Snaps and crackles of the helpless fallen trees syncopated the destructive sound. Yofa bulled to the far right. She slumped in line with him when the blue wolf howled somewhere near to them. Cacophony wails trumpeted like an unstoppable subway convoy, blending with reverberations of mangled Christmas bells that had been crushed before the holiday season.
“Did you hear that you nickydoodle. The blue wolf’s calling me. I’m coming you shuttle-monkey,” she screamed, stomping faster through heaps of logs.
“You’ll never get her! She’s too smart. Too quick to be trapped,” Terwilliger yelled.
He wiggled. He tugged. His leg began to move. His leg burst from the trapped branches like an unexpected birth, ripping his trousers. He’d just bought them too. The warmth of the conflagration grew, as he glared at the dead-end in front of him. He turned to gaze at the inferno that approached him and the hidden blue wolf. The beast screeched again. Faint sounds of howling gurgles rang out.
Black cherry logs passed him in fallen collections as he charged in and out of the intricate patterns of tightly woven boughs. He imagined his serpentine dance as a practice regimen in the military. His feet poked into the small blank spaces. When he reached to the giant firebug, she sensed his presence the instant he gasped behind her. She pivoted into his stare. Yofa grunted, glaring down at Terwilliger. He cracked a half smile before Yofa battered him with the stock of her rifle. Her breath smelled like sardines, cigars and Asian noodles. Terwilliger clasped his bleeding forehead. He used his only weapon against her, snapping his camera in the giant women’s contorted face. His smile grew. Was he beating her?
For a moment, it blinded her. Then it happened. Bestial blue monsters pounced on the Amazonian woman, covering her in an inhumane blanket of tresses and curls. Lupine silhouettes shot past Terwilliger in midnight shadows. Voracious howls mingled between Yofa’s shrieks and the beasts wounding assaults. The bloody attacks continued, forming puddles that mixed indigo with cherry. Sounds of crushed bones overpowered the sounds of the holocaust. Snapping resounded as if firing artillery. Electric azure fur buzzed by Terwilliger. He dropped his camera behind him. Flames melted the lens. It bubbled like scorched flesh in a cremation. The mazarine wolves disappeared into an aperture in the side of the hill. One by one, the sapphire ghosts vanished into the dead-end.
“A pack of them. Of course,” Terwilliger whispered.
Smoke filled the boxed valley, billowing into immense plumes, covering him in an ochre shroud, as he crawled to the concealed hole, following the wolves and sinking into the violet shadows.

Excerpt from The Times Square Kiss--"The Trial"

There had been times when months would pass without the Elders deciding someone’s punishment, fate. Today’s trial sputtered in the center of town, in the church. Outside, giant barns dotted the landscape. Tall windmills whirled like Ferris wheels. Many draft horses were connected to black buggies that had been tethered, as if waiting for David’s judgment. Gaston had been allowed to attend, but wouldn’t be given a community castigation. “Why am I treated like a child,” he asked his father. In Amish society—at least northern Ohioan Amish--most penalties for breaking rules involved shunning or exiling. “Please don’t let David be exiled. Please don’t let David be exiled,” Gaston prayed aloud. I’ll run away if that happens, he thought.
He slumped in one of the ten chairs arranged in front of a square table. The elders congregated at the lectern, waiting for David. No women were allowed to attend. One elder wore a long wooly white beard, a gray shirt, and trousers held up by braces. “There’s David,” Gaston said to his father, not looking at Samuel. Gaston whispered to David as he passed, “It’ll be all right. I prayed for you.”
David pirouetted to face Gaston. “You’ve got to stop this. I’m going to take my punishment. Move on like a true Amish man.” He sounded doubtful.
“But what about us?”
David gripped Gaston by the shoulders, “There’s no ‘us’ Get that through your head, kid. Not anymore.” David’s face knitted together. His eyes seemed smaller. The vacant holes didn’t see him.
As the elders shuffled papers, they cleared their throats. One gestured where David could stand. Another flipped through pages of the Ordnung. Such elders modified it each year, and were doing so now.
The long beard tapped his copy and opened the trial. “Die Welt. The outside world must remain separate from us. It’s God’s will that you follow these orders.”
David said, “Yes, Elder.”
“Your parents are responsible for your training, to make you morally accountable to God. Yield yourself to Him.”
“Yes, I agree, Elder.”
Samuel bent over to Gaston. “As a twig is bent, so the tree is inclined. Proverbs.”
Gaston lowered his head, avoiding his father’s scowl.
The long beard said, “You’re right to say so, Samuel Bailer.”
“My son feels the say way. Right, Gaston?”
“I guess so.” He kept glancing at his feet. Bits of his fingernails dropped to the floorboards.
A different elder said, “David, your period of latitude ended the moment you’d decided to get baptized. You became a member of the church. You’ve disgraced your family, God and your duty to Him.”
“I’m sorry, Elder.”
“Have you searched for a wife? Your courtship should’ve begun?”
“He doesn’t need a wife.”
Samuel slapped Gaston’s face. Then immediately seized his shoulders, his face going white as February snow. “I’m sorry, son. But it had to be done.”
“You’ve never hit me before.” Gaston held his cheek. He felt the redness on his hand.
Without breaking eye contact with Mr. Bailer, David tightened his fists. “I’ve decided to court Mary Yoder. With permission of Jacob Yoder, I would like to drive Mary home today, after Mass.”
Jacob, in the crowd, nodded a yes.
The head elder murmured, “A wedding is one of the most important days in your life.”
“I agree. My rumm-shpringa has ended. No more running around.” David glared at Gaston.
The long beard tapped his fingers. “Seeing you’re still young and have made the decision to get baptized. You’ve joined the church, as well as to court. Your punishment will not be as severe.”
David’s father sat next to Samuel and Gaston. He continued his examination of Gaston. Gaston’s suffering persisted, as if he’d eaten rotten sour crab apples. Mr. Lapps scooted closer to Samuel. “I think it’s best you keep your son away from David.” And slid away, saying nothing more.
Gaston checked his father. Samuel patted his head and hugged him with one arm. “It’ll be fine, son. Trust God.”
“My days of trusting are over. I can’t live without seeing David. And Mary Yoder is a hog. No wonder Mr. Yoder’s allowing this. Have you seen her, Papa? Yuck.”
“You have no choice.”
“We make our own choices. You told me that.”
All ten elders stood; stock-still, as if made of stone. David wiped sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his white shirt. It smeared a long dark streak. The mark resembled a half a heart. A pungent stench of stale body odor, pork, horseshit, and aged denim flooded the room.
“David Lapps.”
“Yes, Elders.”
“You will be shunned for two weeks. You will not be permitted to eat with us. You will sit at the children’s table. No one in the community is allowed to speak to you, starting today. Immediately, after this sentence. You will not be permitted to court Mary Yoder until your shunning is over. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Elders.” David wiped his face with his shirt. In front of his eyes, the smudge turned into a narrow fish.
Gaston screamed, “You can’t do this. We’re singing tonight after Mass.”
“Samuel, control your son. You are responsible for his discipline and growth toward adulthood and to God. David can go to Mass and sing. He’ll not be noticed.”
Gaston reared away from his father. Samuel whispered to Gaston. “You’ve got to conform. These outbursts will not render you a position in the church or a courtship. Shunning is an incredible growth experience. David will be fine.”
“Just like you were fine? You were shunned for five years. I remember. You talked about it with Mother. I’m still ignored here. I know what shunning’s like too.”
“After your shunning, you will be back in good standing as a member of our community. You must understand your mistakes to return to the fold,” the gray beard continued.
“Why do they shun people? Do they hate us that much?” Gaston said.
Samuel said, “We shun out of love for the errant member. It gives him time to reflect on mistakes. It’s a good thing.”
“Can I talk to him? What if he runs away?”
“If David made a decision to leave the community he’d never see his parents or twelve other brothers and sisters again. He could never see his friends or speak to them again. That means you too.”
“What if he returned like you did?”
“It wouldn’t be easy, and the Ordnung changes twice a year. More than likely he’d be exiled. Wouldn’t be allowed to return.”
David shook the hands of the elders, then they turned their backs to him. Everyone in the audience did the same. Samuel gripped Gaston’s neck, making him squint as David passed them. “Let me see David.”
“Sorry, son. It’s for your own good.”
Gaston forced his eyes to meet David. Gaston mouthed, “I’m sorry. I love you.”

Greek Taxis

August 10, 2007

The water taxi in which I'm writing this article is taking me from Elia beach to Platis Yialos beach where my hotel, Petassos Beach Hotel, is located in Mykonos, Greece. My vacation is almost over. I've been to Athens and Mykonos. Mykonos is the most chic and cosmopolitan of the Greek islands. People of all cultures visit the upbeat atmosphere for the unexpected liveliness found everywhere. The island is a favorite of celebrities and the average person alike.
I approach the end of my trip, which began in Athens. The boat I'm riding on has a center sitting area beneath the hull. Benches line all sides. Passengers cling to each other as the boat bounces over the waves and a warm wind flows over everyone. The Greek captain screams, "Adio" — goodbye — to friends sunbathing on yachts we passed. When the boat hits the shore of a designated beach, it scrapes the sand and swimmers move out of the way. The captain guides the boat with a motorized Venice-like steering oar.
Super Paradise beach is the next beach stop. Mykonos has many beaches (27) and all can be reached by bus or boat, departing from Mykonos town, which is completely different from Athens.
Two days in Athens is more than enough time to appreciate the Acropolis and the 17th and 18th century buildings, mixed with the Byzantine churches. The Parthenon was constructed during the fifth century B.C. to commemorate the victory over Persia. It sits on the Acropolis as a symbol of Greece and the birthplace of Western democracy and civilization. I got a stunning view from my Acropolis hotel balcony. Most roadways, walkways, stairways in hotels and buildings, stoops outside of eateries are constructed with marble. Be careful. It can be slippery.
Air temperature is hot. Daytime averages range from high 90s to 100s, whereas nighttime offers little relief and remains in the 70s and 80s. The Parthenon is currently undergoing restoration of the ancient ruins. The ticket price is 12 euros per person (a little more than a dollar) or 6 if you're a student. Show college identification and the price is cut in half. In most paid attractions, like museums, I did get a reduced price by using my college ID.


The steps leading to the plateau are slick marble stairs. It's an easy climb, where sparse olive trees line the sides of the long staircase, offering little shade. Plenty of water is needed to replenish constant thirst from soaring temperatures. The wind always blows, adding a constant dusty film prevalent to the town below the Acropolis. Most cars remain covered in the sandy dust. No birds congregate or venture near the Parthenon and when I asked a local the reason, I was told there is no explanation. "They just don't go near it."
Athens has plenty of friendly wandering dogs. They lie about in town and near the Parthenon. Some learn tricks and will raise their paw to you, making it difficult not to give them a treat.
Taxi cab drivers compete with each other for customers. It is common for a driver to stay with you for the length of your trip. My taxi driver recommended many restaurants and even took me to an amazing eatery near the harbor and returned to pick me up after midnight for a few hours of disco dancing. Dinner in Athens is always at late hours when compared to American standards. I ate at 9 or 10 p.m. each night.
Another restaurant called Vitros had been recommended by the concierge at my hotel. Vitros serves food family style. If you want to know what it's like to eat like a genuine Greek family, then this is the perfect restaurant. This amazing dining find serves foods like zucchini salad, fresh mackerel, potatoes, lamb, and Rosso wine. No ice unless you ask, consistently. Outside eating does not have air-conditioning.


The owner told me stories of her youth, as if she were my aunt, while her son Thomas served the meal and cleared the plates, keeping my glasses of water and wine always filled. The room is outside, on a concrete floor. The ceiling is a majestic weave of grape vines, sealing out the night sky. Euros are the choice of monetary spending, and credit cards are frowned upon. My taxi driver told me most businesses get a service fee when customers use them and some workers do not receive commission. The ATMs easily provided me with Euro currency.
My original taxi driver returned and asked if I visited the places he recommended. The Tower of the Four Winds in Athens — a gigantic water clock — Likavitos Hill, the National Gardens, and Parliament were just a sampling of the amazing sites in Athens. One thing for sure is everyone I met was more than kind and showed me hospitality I've never received before in other countries.
Built in the first century by a Syrian astronomer, the Tower of the Four Winds is a water clock, sundial, weather vain and compass. The water clock was powered by a small stream running from the Acropolis. At the top of the tower on each face are carved figures floating through the air, representing the eight winds. The tower is part of the much larger site of the Roman Forum, which itself was an extension to the older Greek Agora that lies to the west.
In the water taxi I'm sitting, a loud whistle blew, warning swimmers of the approaching boat. Once the boat brushed onto the sandy shore of Paradise Beach, the captain rushed people off the boat, down the ladder, screaming, "Paradise Beach," expressing his thick Greek accent. "Hurry up," he yelled and departed the shore for the next beach, leaving one passenger jumping into the shallow shoreline.
Time is very important to the water taxi drivers. They will leave you if you are not on the boat at the exact time.


The landscape of Mykonos is breathtaking. The landscape is set in a tableaux of Mediterranean splendor. Many soft brown rocky mountain formations are broken up by the sharp ivory square and rectangular homes. The homes are further enhanced by brilliant crimson, evergreen, and Carolina blue doors, displayed like art pieces on the hillsides. The buildings are nestled into the rocks and man-made stone walls fall off the cliff sides into the Aegean Sea.
Greek drivers are the most talented drivers of any country that I've ever visited. They are like roller coaster engineers who travel down roads that resemble an 18th century village rather than a modern city. I was scared at times when it did not seem physically possible for my cab to drive between two parked cars on each side of the narrow road. He slid through, without scratching or hitting any vehicles at a speed I wouldn't dare drive on those roads. He zig-zagged past motor bikes, Smart cars and walking pedestrians. He hit no one.
There are numerous bars and restaurants, with the best eateries near the seashore. The whitewashed houses, narrow alleys, and the labyrinth of stone roadways, windmills and ancient churches of Mykonos make each glance at the scenery a postcard.
Overall, traffic is banned from Mykonos city, the waterfront, and the narrow mazes of streets in the town. The best way to explore it is on foot and prepare to get lost in the maze. Mykonos is the most cosmopolitan of the Greek islands. Even with the narrow roadways outside the city, traffic is always at a constant flow of motorbikes, four wheelers, cars, bus services and the only 35 taxi cabs on the island. The most difficult part of public transportation is getting a taxi. It is easier to learn the bus schedule and take it to your desired point of interest.


The taxis stop running at 3 a.m. There is a taxi square where I waited for 20 minutes as the few cabs drove up and took the next person in line to the location given to them if the driver agreed to it. Prepare to wait a long time after 2:30 a.m. or take the bus. If you have money to spend, a colleague of mine would paste a 50 euro in the face of a driver as they made their way to the taxi square. We always had a ride to the hotel.
Dinner in Mykonos is later than in Athens. It begins at 10:30 p.m. and ends at 4:30 a.m. when most restaurants close. A favorite of the locals and mine is Fish Tavern Kounelas. It is one of those restaurants I dined in more than once. Watch for the friendly cat that climbs into one of the ground floor dining areas, then stop for a drink at Porta bar situated next to Kounelas. Many cats and dogs wander the city, adding charm to its scenery.
Night life in Mykonos is busier than the daytime. There are many discos, bars and restaurants to visit. The best sunset is seen at the Elysium Hotel pool bar. It is a long hike up a brick road, but it was worth the panoramic sight.
I could not leave Mykonos without seeing its mascot, Petros — Peter — the Pelican. He isn't the original bird, but one of many. The original is found in the local museum. He was stuffed when a local taxidermist ran him over by accident and, in fear for his life, had him stuffed to preserve Petros' name. The new Petros now has a family and I had the pleasure of petting them and watching them drink from a water fountain.
It is de rigueur for male tourists to wear white linen tops and bottoms, and for women to wear brightly colored patterned day dresses sold at the hundreds of unique shops through the narrow passageways of town. Mykonos streets are stunning displays of brown and gray slate stone surrounded by a bleached white painted tile, giving a resemblance of giant cobble stones. The many white washed buildings are broken up with colorful doors of blood red, turquoise and robin egg blue.


There are many ancient chapels in town and scattered around the island. I passed a couple getting married on the top of a vista in a church as small as a one-car garage. They celebrated overlooking the sea, rocky cliffs and a view seen nowhere else in the world. The sea is cerulean blue mixed with patches of turquoise.
Local vegetables of eggplants are brought in on boat and are abundant. The watermelon is as red as some of the doors and filled with juicy flavor. Tomatoes are eaten like apples and they might be the best tomatoes I've ever eaten. Tomatoes seemed to dominate as a main ingredient in most food entrés. Greek salads are amazing. I enjoy my meals with night temperatures in the 70s. I learned to prepare myself to feel my feet burning on sandy beaches during the hot days.
The water taxi driver blew his whistle again, the passengers lined up preparing to step from the boat to the dock, "Platys Gialos," he screamed. It's my stop.