Being a largest island of the series of Greek Dodecanese islands, Rhodes is no far from the Aegean Sea. It has a total area of about 1400 square kilometers. It has also a shoreline of about 220 kilometers. Rhodes Island has a population of approximately one lakh people.
If you are desirous to go for an ideally romantic honeymoon, your top three priorities must not miss Rhodes Island. Some of the glamorous places like the Old Town Rhodes, Lindos and it Neighboring Island (Symi) would certainly make your Rhodes Holidays a perfect idea for your honeymoon.

Lindos

Located 55km on the eastern side of Rhodes Island, your Rhodes Holidays are spent in bliss in Lindos. Ancient monuments and thick walls are surrounded by the medieval castles. The view from the cliff astonishes tourists as they get pleasure from the beauty of this magnificent place.
Lindos is famous for its sea views, white walled houses, an exciting night life, food and the beaches. Enjoying sunset, while walking on the golden sands of the beaches, is no doubt a romantic experience for the honeymoon couples.
Lindos also gives you many cultural options during your Rhodes Holidays. In addition, you can have a stress-free and relaxing honeymoon in the picturesque village of Lindos. Lindos is free of the usual chaos of a city life. Cars are not allowed and you can hire either a motorbike or hail a donkey as the only transport option for exploring the village streets.

Symi Island

Your Rhodes Holidays are incomplete without a trip to the island of Symi. The Symi Island is a neighboring Island that is situated twenty four miles north-west of Rhodes.

Symi Island is known for eye-catching and stunning harbors, making it a paradise for honeymoon couples. Even though most of the beaches of this area are small, Symi has beauty compared to no other. This place has scenic, romantic and glorious qualities and offers luxurious cuisines.
Apart from relaxing beaches and beautiful views, honeymoon couples can enjoy a wide array of bars, cafés and restaurants around the harbor in Symi. Being one of the most romantic Islands in Greece, your Rhodes holidays ideas are seen to be most enjoyable on this Island.

Old Town Rhodes

The Old Town Rhodes should definitely be on your must-see lists when on your honeymoon on Rhodes. It offers various architectural structures that date back to ancient times and are the most beautiful spot on the Island.

Old Town Rhodes in the evening provides many attractions. The town is lavished with hotels, paved roads, shopping centers, various sea ports, magnificent picturesque views and a decent population.

Old Town of Rhodes is no doubt a perfect resort as well as an alluring picnic spot for the honeymoon seekers. You can even visit Café Besara, Roloi and Mango Bar in order to enjoy drinking and listening to live music in evenings. Similarly, you can also get pleasures of Greek music (live) in the Taverna Plaka,
Ipokratous square.

Additionally, if you are willing to enjoy with some alluring music, view and some cocktails, you must not forget visiting the second floor of the Panorama bar. Moreover, to make your honeymoon outstanding, you can enjoy souvlaki along with beer by sitting on the steps of the Kasteloni. You can also listen to the music and view the tourists of different races passing by you.

and Italy

Walt Whitman’s Grandson and Hungarian Refugees

June 24th, 2002

“I spent ten years sleeping in that very bed…with a girlfriend! The two of us slept there for ten years! Of course, I couldn’t do it now,” George Whitman trailed off, his 90-year-old body suddenly going slack, offering a glimpse past the manic, animated persona he usually projected.

This was our invitation to take one of the larger beds squeezed among the bookstore shelves of Shakespeare & Co, Paris. For those of you who know the shop in Berkeley, CA …this is her parent store. George Whitman, Walt Whitman’s grandson, owner and proprietor of Paris’ Shakespeare & Co, named his shop after American ex-patriot Sylvia Beach’s original Paris shop. It was Beach’s shop where, years ago, James Joyce found the sole person willing to publish his magnum opus, Ulysses. Her shop was closed when the Nazis invaded Paris in the 40’s and arrested Sylvia for…well, for being an American, basically. George moved from Boston, Mass. after the war and decided to name his new shop after hers. The beat generation knew the shop well (Alan Ginsberg supposedly worked the till, once upon a time) and through George’s quirky efforts and encyclopedic literary connections, the shop has remained a mecca for writers and vagabonds; many of whom can be found, as we were on June 26, sleeping among the the shelves after hours (or upstairs in a private apartment…should you be a published writer of some repute!).

Shakespeare & Co.

Shakespeare & Co. itself is a crossword puzzle of books referenced every which way from Sunday. There are books crammed into shelves, stuffed into crates, books in boxes under tables, books in piles on top of tables, books laid out on various beds throughout the shop during the daylight hours and, as a last resort, books stuffed into any leftover nook, cranny and corner. For the most part, there is no order. Shelves are generally alphabetical and in relatively coherent sections (the shelving that makes the most sense isn’t even in the shop – George’s first edition printing of Ulysses, worth millions, is in a safety deposit box somewhere).

We pulled back the heavy cotton comforter of our bed and spent the night dreaming under the weight of two floors worth full of musty, bound treasures � sleeping under thousands of titles shoved into their burdened, sagging shelves. In the morning we discovered one of George’s favorite running gags – opening the bookstore while his visitors are still sleeping blissfully on the shop floor. Sean commented that he can only hope to be half as ornery and mischievous when he reaches George’s age.

Next door to the main shop is a Shakespeare & Co annex just as cluttered with books, although devoid of the adulterating presence of paperback literature. All the books here are hard-bound and usually of larger dimensions; encyclopedias, dictionaries, reference books – reds, browns and tans with rows of faded gold lettering. It was by candlelight, locked behind wooden shutters in this apartment, that several of us crowded around two bottles of wine and a guitar until the wee hours of Wednesday morning. We met some fascinating, wonderful people the two days we were in Paris and saw some incredible things: the catacombs beneath a nearby jazz bar where one need only wander a few feet from the nightly session to descend into clammy-walled, unlit passageways where some of the people who roamed these murky places hundreds of years ago can still be found � their grinning remains tucked into small, barred-off niches to startle the lighter out of your hand as you feel your way along; San Francisco’s City Lights Bookstore owner Lawrence Ferlenghetti lounging casually on a bench in front of George’s store; a hapless passerby George randomly asked to work the till fretting over the conversion of Francs to Euros…

I suppose we needn’t mention that it was with great reluctance that we finally left our new-found friends in the magical bookstore, shouldering our day packs for the walk back to the train station where the rest of our belongings crouched quietly in their rented locker and our empty train seats waited beneath the vaulted metal spiderweb ceiling of Gare d’Austerlitz. Ah, but travel is a sweet mixture of nostalgia and anticipation. Our night train slid down the French countryside, bumping over the Alps into the Cinque Terra district in Italy.

Cinque Terra sunset

The Cinque Terra is a small seaside niche in the north Italian coast consisting of five cities precariously clinging to their cliff-side perches. These distinct towns are connected by thin, steep, winding hiking trails that provide breathtaking views of spectacular seaside cliffs hosting seemingly impossible grape terraces and the rugged coastline below. The towns are known for their wine and pesto sauce, but you’d best be in good shape – Cinque Terra is composed entirely of stairs. We walked up so many stairs it began to feel like we were trapped in an MC Escher engraving where every direction lead uphill. Nevertheless, it was all worth it. The stairs seem to scare a majority of tourists away and assist in preserving the cohesiveness of the local community (hey, who wants to leave when it means climbing more stairs??!). We spent some fantastic evenings: sitting lazily watching the old Italian people emerge from their homes at dusk to impregnate the streets with local gossip, climbing out on the rocks at sunset with some fresh brucheutta to listen to the ocean and drink the local wine, down at the local pub where we played every backpacker’s favorite game: pass-the-guitar-around. There were no sites to see. There were no museums to visit. Cinque Terra was just pure, relaxed…Italy. Ahhh…

Venice

Not so relaxed was Venice. Ah, Venice…so many cities are compared to thee and all fall short…most of them have some sort of economy dependent on something other than tourism. Did we mention the cost of living? Venice has 120 churches, each on its own island, these islands are connected by over 400 bridges…the place is a fascinating stroll and can be incomparably beautiful at night if you just refuse to look at any price tags, close your eyes and pull your loved one close while listening to the gentle lap of the water and your holy-guacamole – I-can’t-believe-it-costs-that-much – but-what-the-heck-how-many-times-are-you-in-Venice gondoleer sings forgotten Italian love songs in his cheap wine and cigarettes voice. Yes, we enjoyed Venice. We were so glad to see the tiny bridges, the bizarre alleyways that dead-end at canals, the glass-blowing factory on Murano (est. in the 13^th century) and the retreating rail station sign that indicated we would not be spending another day in a place that charges $5 per candy bar.

Our Venetian train fled east to Budapest, Hungary. Our fellow globetrotting friends, Miguel and Linda, warned us that Budapest was less than amazing for the average tourist and, for the most part, they were right. The good news was that the town is MUCH cheaper than the rest of Europe, and we were glad for the financial respite (being able to afford to eat out in a restaurant on one’s honeymoon is a good thing!). Sean took advantage of the inexpensive Turkish baths for his poor aching body while I, not so inclined to stroll around in the buff in front of a bunch of strange Europeans, took advantage of the body soothing products of a LUSH store in town (I am a LUSH fanatic and am on a crusade to obtain a photo of myself in front of every LUSH store in the world…hey, ya know, since we’re going around the darn thing, I might as well).

In any case, these were well-earned indulgences; our pedometer tells us we’ve been walking 8-14 miles a day. The hostel we stayed in was our FAVORITE so far. The people were from all over the world, the staff was beyond friendly, it wasn’t too crowded but a heck of a lot of fun (Kim kicked a bunch of Aussie’s butts at cards and then proceeded to beat them at their own drinking games! …well…uh…we suppose that depends on your definition of “beat”), and reminded us of very much of a clean, well-run version of a Berkeley, California co-op house.

Our hostel more than made up for the fairly mediocre sight-seeing aspects of Budapest, as did our train ride back. Let’s face it, no matter how boring a place might be, if, while you’re leaving it, the Austrian and Hungarian armed border guards eject you from your train compartment to extract a refugee from a small hole in your compartment ceiling, it kind of adds a bit of spice to the trip. At least, we think so.

Tonight finds us spending an evening with Julia and her family in St. Johann, Germany. Julia is a German midwife we met in Ireland during our second week of travel. She was enjoying the Irish weather (read “cold and absolutely soaked to the skin”) and over a shared meal together invited us to visit her here in Germany. Her family is originally from East Germany and orchestrated a daring escape through Poland when Julia was just 12…but that story will have to wait for the next installment.

Bonjour!

‘Allo to ehv-wee-one from lovelee Pare-ee, Fwahnz!

But first:

Heidi’s monastic brewery in Salzburg, Austria was better than we could possibly have imagined. Walking into the grand old stone-floored building we were greeted by a beautiful sight: a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with ceramic beer steins. Visitors select a vessel of joy for themselves (liter or half-liter sizes) and proceed to rinse it in a graceful, multi-spigoted marble fountain built there for that purpose. Your ticket is purchased from a solemn older woman barely squeezed behind her cash register before you proceed – stein, ticket and self – toward a surly-looking older gentleman who stands, arms crossed over his enormous belly in apparent imitation of the gigantic oak barrel beside him, to receive the fabled beverage. Your stein is unceremoniously grabbed, the giant oak keg is tapped and tilted to fill your mug, and then it is flung back at you, sliding across a stainless steel grating into your welcoming grasp.

To the beer hall! We sat quietly chatting, drinking this glorious, unpasturized beer while making forays out to a bank of restaurants where giant pretzels, roast pork, veggies, sausage, sandwiches…just about anything you can imagine, was available for purchase. Then about a hundred loud, singing, boisterous young men swinging their steins in great jolly celebration joined us in the hall…Austria’s boot camps had just let out and everyone there was serenaded by these delirious, drunken soldiers who banged their mugs against the wooden tables to keep time while the occasional brave (read: “extremely drunk”) soldier leapt on top of one of the tables, thrust his beer before him like a conductors wand, and led half the hall in some rousing drinking song.

Needless to say, we were well-prepared for when the big Eurorail destination wheel spun around and settled on…

…Munich!

Munich: beer halls as far as the eye can see. Ah yes, Munich is a place where, when you say, “One beer, please” (“Ein bier, bitte”), the server brings you a LITER of the house brew in a giant glass mug. Sweeeet. In the company of a couple of guys from Tennessee we met at our youth hostel, we explored Munich’s beer halls over the next couple of days – whole roasted trout, giant pretzels, sausages galore, a huge plaza sheltered under a complete ceiling of 100-year-old walnut trees, German men in Lederhosen, oom-pah-pah German music, a Mariachi band (yes, a Mariachi band) and the oldest beer house around: the HofBrau (many thanks to Hannah and Rich for suggesting we visit!).

But Munich wasn’t all beer and pretzels, oh no, we had the luck to be there during the Corpus Christi celebration – that morning we were greeted by the echoing, ephemeral sound of hundreds of voices singing Baroque hymns. The local convent, monastery and various parishes paraded through the streets of Munich, their soaring voices filling the narrow streets and spilling out over the rooftops. When they arrived at the center of town, the bells of every church began to chime, sharp, resonant, clear and full, filling the city with a sonic glory we can’t imagine happening many other places. It was simply breathtaking. The rest of the day hosted a huge folk festival with visiting musicians and dancers from all over Europe.

Of course, while we were in the neighborhood we had to stop by Schloss Neuschwanstein, Mad king Ludwig’s fairy-tale castle dedicated to the works of Wagner. Americans may know it better as the castle that Walt Disney designed Sleeping Beauty’s castle after. While quite a clich� tourist destination, it’s still a spectacular, dream-like structure set in an unbelievable landscape. You tend to forget the crowds around you on the hiking trail as you stare up at this incredible fortress, perched in a region that Kim commented, “reminds me so much of Yosemite!”

Bamberg, Germany

We also had the opportunity to visit a little German town called Bamberg, one of the few towns that survived WWII without damage. Our good friend Chris was stationed out here until recently, and recommended we stop by. Like Cesky Krumlov in Czech, Bamberg is a UNESCO-protected town (that means the town gets an awful lot of money not to change a thing), and rightly so. It’s a quaint village with medieval squares, churches, a monastery and the infamous “smoked beer” that resulted from a local brewery catching on fire hundreds of years ago and the subsequent sale of the kegs they were able to rescue from the fire which tasted, not surprisingly, a bit smoky.

Lucerne, Switzerland

From Munich, we headed south to Lucerne, Switzerland. We happened to arrive during the Swiss-German Bacci-ball tournament. That Sunday was glorious, in the bright sunshine we wandered the lakeshore in the shadow of the snow-capped alps watching the tournament, eating crepes and sausages, dodging little Swiss children and enjoying the sporting of small boats and windsurfers out on the water. What a beautiful, sunny day. We made the mistake of laying out our swimwear for the following day which was, of course, DUMPING rain. Nevertheless, we left the safe and warm confines of our prison-turned-youth-hostel (yeah, we know, weird.) and explored the medieval ramparts of the city’s old fortifications. Soaked to the bone but very glad for synthetic clothing, we dried ourselves over dinner and caught a night train up to Holland. By the way, unlike anywhere else in Europe, it is apparently NOT okay to play one’s guitar in an empty Swiss rail station while waiting for one’s train…those crazy Swiss. It must be the cheese.

Mmmmm……Paris

After a couple of days of Amsterdam’s lovely canal-laced streets, ubiquitous bicyclists and cannibis-wafting coffeeshops we caught another night train to Paris where our good friend/translator Nancy met us to spend the weekend frolicking in the French streets, waving our baguettes wildly and causing all sorts of mayhem.

Truth be known, the first sight we saw in Paris was a world cup game. The WHOLE truth be known, we haven’t missed a single U.S.A. or Irish match. We don’t know if those of you back home have been following the cup, but for the first time ever America has a decent team, so keep your fingers crossed. And, if you REALLY want to have a good time, get yourself a green t-shirt and get thee to an Irish pub anywhere in the world when their team is playing – ’nuff said.

Last night we sat in a park at sunset drinking cheap French wine, enjoying a picnic of garlic-stuffed roasted pork, cucumber salad, brie and fresh bread when we realized that we are, indeed, the luckiest people in the world. God has blessed us so much with fantastic family, friends and a great big, beautiful world to explore together…we just couldn’t be more in love or more grateful for everything and everyone in our lives.