When in Crete...

One day is really not enough in Athens, if you ask me.  In one day, you don't get to experience the laid-back-ishness that is fundamentally Greek, just wandering down streets and seeing where you end up.  But that was what we had, if we wanted to see some of Crete and Santorini, too, in less than a week.

After a taxi ride from a driver with a sense of humor...actually, let me stop there for a moment.  That sounds like a good thing, but it rarely is.  I don't want my driver to make jokes like, "No, you're right, this isn't the way we should be going...I'm taking you to the mafia," or, "OH!  You wanted to go to Eleftherios airport?!?"  That is some stressful shit first thing in the morning.  I know the way to and from Athens' airport relatively well, and I wasn't sure where he was going, so I didn't appreciate it particularly much.  We should have called the driver that took us into the city - he gave me his card, but it was too much hassle to think about.  Lesson learned.  Anyways, we made our morning flight into Heraklion and stepped out into bright sun reflecting off the ocean.  Engrish booked our hotel, which was near the waterfront, and after getting settled in, we went around exploring.  We were very close to the main pedestrian area, so we wandered around and found the old lion fountain, which was conveniently located next to a Ben and Jerry's.

"It's only a model."

After a decent amount of walking we found our way to the museum, which had a lot of really cool stuff.  Crete was the center of the ancient Minoan culture, and the palace of Knossos is only 5km outside of Heraklion.  It was cool to see some of the octopus vases I studied in art history classes, and I enjoyed seeing the reconstructions of what the palace looked like (supposedly) in its glory days.

The actual site was pretty cool, and Five, Engrish, and I had fun guessing at what functions different areas had originally (none of us are nerdy audioguide people, so who knows whether or not any of us were correct).  Heinrich Schliemann, the guy who dug up Troy, originally had plans to brutali...er, excavate, Knossos as well, but he died and the privilege went to a British dude, who seems to have been somewhat less of an amateur...meaning I had to use my imagination a lot less in order to get an idea of the grandeur of the place.

Also, I had to buy a hat.  It was sunny, and I have no idea why I wasn't using the olive oil sunscreen I bought from the guy who kept telling Engrish and Five what the fragrances they were considering would do to their boyfriends...

There were other cool things to see and do on Crete.  Unfortunately we weren't there long enough to see most of them, because Crete is a bigass island.  But we did get to see the Venetian fortress...from the outside, at least.  The inside was under restoration or something.  Seeing San Marco's winged lion took me back to the summer.  Later that evening we went to the best restaurant we ate at the entire trip (I'm not counting Katharos, but I'll talk about that in my next post) - Peskesi.  If I'd had my way we would have gone back the next night as well.  They didn't have any of my favorites (tzatziki, dolmades, and Greek salad) because it was authentically Cretan, but it was so delicious that I DIDN'T EVEN CARE.  If you go there, get one of everything.  You won't be disappointed.

We also enjoyed Starbucks on more than one occasion.  You can not underestimate the excitement you feel after months (okay, so it was October and it had only been two months...DETAILS, DETAILS!!!) without it.  Mongolia's improved since I first came in terms of coffeeshops (Tom n Tom's cinnamon hot chocolate actually slays), but there's nowhere that does good frappuccinos.

Oh yeah, and we went to the beach.

Forget about frappuccinos - there is no beach in Mongolia.  Or, well, there might be a good one somewhere around Khuvsgul, but I have almost never been hot enough here to think that getting into a body of water seemed like a good idea.  Not so in Greece.  Even in October it seemed pretty damn hot to me, and even if I weren't in a beachy mood, Engrish and Five were determined that they were going to get some sun (I was not - I hid under my umbrella, determined not to blind anyone with my scary whiteness as demonstrated by the glare coming off my leg).  It was actually lovely - not crowded at all (apparently late October seems like a terrible time to go to the beach for the Greeks), hot, and yet, a nice breeze was blowing off the ocean.  We had drinks from the restaurant just inland and I had my hundredth serving of tzatziki, and it was a nice, chilled way to spend our second afternoon in Crete.

A Walk in Athens

It's Thursday and my spring break is mostly over.  I'm a little bitter about it - for the first time in a very long time I haven't gone anywhere, and instead, am supervising my students in a service project.  I was going to take them to Greece this year, but it didn't pan out, and I have no money to go elsewhere because I spent it all going to the NAEA conference in Chicago last month.  So here I am.

My darling brats were asking about the blog today (they found out about it because of last year's trip), and in an attempt to feel slightly less bitter about my lack of vacation, I decided to relive last fall's trip while pretending I'm there now.  Basically it's impossible to get too much Greece.  You might gain 10 pounds and come back with olive oil spots on your clothes, but you will always come back for more.  Or maybe that's just me?  At any rate, I convinced Engrish and Five that gallivanting amongst ancient ruins was a great thing to do in October, and away we went.

I've been to Greece many times since the first, in 2007, but this was only my second trip up the Acropolis.  Unfortunately the main facade of the Parthenon had scaffolding on it for some maintenance, but the porch of the Caryatids has always been my favorite, anyways.  It was super hot, even early on an October morning, and sweat was dripping off my hair by the time we were on top, so after a good look around we headed back down into Monastiraki where we got coffee, coke, or ice cream (depending on which of us we're talking about).

Monastiraki is great for shopping and food, and we did a little of both - including taking Engrish to buy sandals from Melissinos, the poet sandal maker of Athens (yes, that's a thing, and his sandals are the best) before heading back to my favorite hotel.  The Evripides Hotel seems like it's in sketchy neighborhood but trust me, it's actually fine.  I've stayed there several times on my own.  Along the way we got to see one of my favorite things about Athens - its awesome street art.

I actually made Engrish and Five go down this alley with me later when it was dark; I was hoping all those lamps would be lit up.  Sadly, they were not, and they really figured out what I meant when I said that our neighborhood felt sketchy when it was dark and no one was around.  After a little rest at the Evripides, we went back for more.

I led them past Plaka and over to visit the Temple of Olympian Zeus before it closed for the night.  I love the openness of the area and that you can see the hills all around (including Lykkabetos Hill, the Hill of the Wolves, which I thought would have been a good place to visit since that's our school mascot, but we just didn't have time.  There aren't any wolves actually there, but the view is killer, especially at sunset).  We walked through the national gardens and then headed into Plaka, for yet more shopping and wandering before ending up at Stamatopolous, another fave of bygone days.

It took me some work to dredge up that name.  The first time I can to Athens, Mariette and I went looking for music and food and found this taverna, which was at the foot of the Acropolis and served us a free shot of ouzo.  The three of us were offered that and other treats throughout the trip at the restaurants we ate at - we were also given a complimentary platter of fresh fruits, which - being expensive and of a limited selection here in Mongolia - we devoured with more enthusiasm even than the baklava, let alone the ouzo.

This Camel's Straw

If I had a tugrug for every time I curse the person who came up with, "Getting there is half the fun," I'd be able to pay for my students' trip to Istanbul...

My trip to Greece over Tsagaan Sar ended up being even more of a mad dash than it was originally supposed to be.  The timing of it couldn't be helped - when Western and Eastern calendars magically line up, you have to seize the day and hope that everything goes according to plan.  It just so happened that in this case it didn't, exactly.

I arrived at the airport on February 19th to be greeted by one word, "CANCELLED."  Apparently it was snowing in Istanbul and for some reason this was a problem.  I've never had a flight outright cancelled, and lacking better coping mechanisms I sat down and cried a little before calling Enkhaa to ask if he could come back and get me.  While I was waiting, an airport worker came and told me I should go upstairs to the Turkish Airlines office, where I was told the next flight was on Saturday.  I told them I couldn't wait that long, and when they said they'd have to put me through Beijing or Seoul, I begged them to put me on the flight to Seoul that night.  They sent me away, promising to call and that they would try.  Four hours later I was booked on the next afternoon's flight through Beijing and would arrive 1.5 days later than I was supposed to, not to mention the fact that it meant I would be traveling with the Chinese, who are not my favorite seatmates, to say the least.  I was pissed but there was nothing I could do and 1.5 days late is better than 2, so I resigned myself to another day in UB.  Which had lovely weather for a change but even with the best weather is still not Greece.

The next day I came to the airport, checked in, and was faithfully waiting to board my flight, when it was announced to be delayed, and then five minutes later, cancelled.  SON OF A BITCH!  I joined the queue of people waiting to talk to Air China, and then figured, "Screw this, I'll call the guy from Turkish Airlines," who it turned out was on his way to the airport to deal with those of us who had been added to this flight.  The unfortunate people who were just going to Istanbul were switched to the next day's flight, which was predicted to leave 5 hours late and treated to a taxi ride back to a complimentary hotel.  I once again begged to be put on a flight to Korea - for once, Korean hadn't cancelled a flight when China had, and I can handle pretty much anything if I know there's a bath house in my immediate future - and this time succeeded.  In the end I would get to Athens two days late, but as long as I got to spend time with Bronte, got to stuff my face with Greek food, and got to go to Bourani, I could cope.

After my breakfast at Butterfinger Pancakes got #rekt by Seol Nal (they open late during Lunar.  Who knew?) I went back to Incheon to wait and wait and wait.  Boarding time came and went, while we waited on some sort of delay.  I was starting to get nervous, because I only had an hour in Istanbul to make my connection, but after 15 minutes, we started to board the plane.  And THEN we sat on the tarmac for at least another half hour, waiting to take off, which I figured basically destroyed my chances of making it to Athens that night.  As we flew over central Asia, I watched the clock and counted the minutes we made up.  I had the vaguest hope that maybe, just maybe, I might make it on my flight.  Probably not my luggage, which I was kicking myself for checking at that point, but again - Bronte, Greek food, Bourani, so life goes on.

It was 45 minutes to take off when the plane touched down and started to taxi out to the back 40, because apparently that's how Turkish Airlines rolls.  When we were finally deboarding I managed to get on the first shuttle, the classy one, and got into security 30 minutes before take-off, while the screens flashed, "FINAL CALL" on my flight.  I crammed my stuff into the bins, and of COURSE set off the buzzer when I went through the metal detector.  I explained to the frisk-ee lady that it was my shoes, so she made me take them off and go put them through the x-ray.  When I was finally cleared I started shoving things in my pockets, grabbed my boots, and ran off while someone was still trying to give me back a handful of paek-won coins that fell out on their way to my pocket.  Honestly lady, I don't give a crap about 50 cents.

I ran.  I ran through the main part of the airport, and ran down the moving walkway, until the treads hurt my socked feet enough to make me stop and slip on my boots - precious wasted time.  I ran and ran and ran until I got to the gate, number 303, where the staff replied to my breathless, agitated state with, "It's okay, one more shuttle is coming."  When the shuttle got there, I got on.  And then a member of the flight crew got on.  And then we went to the plane.  As we pulled away from the gate, I saw the entrance to security, a mere fifty feet away from the door I'd just walked through.  I made a mad dash across the airport, and the damn gate was RIGHT THERE.  And I was the last passenger to board, but that was okay, because Bronte and Greek food and Bourani.  So there.

As we were sitting and waiting to take off, the announcement came on that we were waiting for some luggage to be loaded.  Say whaaaaa?!?  Was there a possibility that one single thing would go right on this trip?????  I got to the baggage claim in Athens, and the answer was, "NO."  My luggage was not there.  I went to the luggage counter and made my claim, and after telling them I wouldn't be in Athens the next day was promised that they could put it on a bus to Larisa.  Finally, FINALLY I walked through the doors to see Bronte's sunshiney, smiling face.  And then we went to Gazi where we stayed out all night eating and drinking and talking before catching the first train to Larisa, and if I had no luggage it didn't matter, because I was in Greece, at long last, and we were in a compartment by ourselves so we could stretch out and sleep and after setting my phone to go off a half-hour before we should have arrived, we were gooooood.

Or she was, anyways.  I was jetlagged, which goes along with traveling and is just as well, because a half-hour before the alarm was set to go off, I poked my head up to see which station we were coming to, and it turned out to be Larisa.  I nudged Bronte awake, asking if this was our Larisa, and we shoved our boots on as we grabbed our backpacks and hopped off the train.

Let me just stop here for a minute to say that in spite of being very good friends with Bronte and having worked together for almost three years in South Korea, we have only traveled together once, on a very tightly controlled Adventure Korea trip to Geumgangsan in North Korea.  After the luck I had during this trip, she may never want to try it again.  I have had the occasional bout of bad travel karma, particularly when it comes to delayed flights (even without throwing Mongolia into it), but it has never, EVER been this bad.  It's possible that my jealous God didn't really want me going to Dionysos' revels, but what can I say?  I've gotten good at kicking against the pricks lately.  And since that last sentence sounds a lot less religious in this context than it was meant to, I guess it's time to move on.

After sitting down for a few minutes in the cafe at the station, we decided to go to the Hotel Achillion, which I'd booked and then cancelled in a panic because I thought I was going to get stuck in Mongolia.  Here, at last, was a ray of sunshine - the old papous who ran the hotel noticed that I had booked it, cancelled, and then showed up anyway, and the 30 or so euro that were forfeit because of my late cancellation he applied to our bill when we left.  It was not a luxury hotel, because that's not how we roll, but it was clean and convenient and they served a good breakfast which Bronte assured me was Clean Monday appropriate and were helpful.  Even if they hadn't put the cancellation toward the bill, I would have been happy with the Achillion.

And hallelujah! - the wifi worked!  When we got to the room I called on my skype credit to the baggage company (Bronte's phone had stopped working some time the night before...possibly my bad luck striking again).  Yes, my luggage had arrived!  Yes, they could deliver it Larisa!....but not until Tuesday, thanks to the holiday.

...it took me a minute to process this...

Well, I guessed I'd just have to pick it up that day on my way back to Mongolia and I'd be spending pretty much five days straight in the same clothes and stinky because Bronte didn't have deodorant because she didn't USE deodorant because of her awesome Korean genes but that's okay because BRONTE AND GREEK FOOD AND BOURANI!!!!!!!!

And it was.  We had a great time and talked pretty much non-stop for three days and ate some good food - buyurdi is my new Greek love - and after one last dinner in the shadow of the Parthenon on Tuesday evening, we went back to the airport so I could claim my luggage.  I followed the instructions - went to Info, went through a door, picked up a phone, went through another door, was sent to get my suitcase and tried to go back the same way.  And I finally, FINALLY lost my shit when the lady told me I couldn't.  No.  I had to go ALL THE FUCKING WAY DOWN TO CUSTOMS AND COME ALL THE FUCKING WAY BACK TO MEET BRONTE.  I don't think she understood the severity of the situation - that this was the worst travel experience of my life to date, and why the hell did I need to go through customs when I was just going to take the damn thing upstairs to re-check it???  I, however, did - I was in a secure area of the airport and if I went nuclear at that point like I really wanted to, I was pretty likely to find myself enjoying the hospitality of Greece on an extended basis, and although I'm sure the food in Greek prisons is probably better than anywhere else in the world, I didn't really want to find out.  So I stomped off, swearing under my breath, and after putting on deodorant and putting on fresh new clothes for the first time since leaving Mongolia, I made Bronte go with me to get my hair chopped off at the airport salon, which was surprisingly good (in fact, she decided to go ahead and get her Emeli Sande haircut there this month on her way to the States) and actually calmed me down a lot.  Which is good, because I still had three hops including a long layover to get me back to Mongolia.

Dirty Monday

If you've been reading for a while, you may know that I love checking out places of phallic/sex worship.  I find it fascinating, but realize there are a lot of people who probably find it distasteful (there are plenty of people like that in Greece, but that hasn't stopped the event I'm writing about today).  If you're one of those people, this is probably where you should stop reading.

When we learned when Tsagaan Sar would fall this year, Bronte was the first person on my list of people to talk to.  I'd been hoping and praying that our holiday would coincide approximately with the end of Carnival, and - miracle of miracles - it did!  I told her that I wanted to come to Greece for Dirty Monday in Tyrnavos, and would she be interested in joining me?  OF COURSE she would, but she corrected me that it was Clean Monday.  Then she found out how they celebrate in Tyrnavos and conceded the point.

There aren't many traces left of the old gods in Greece.  Sorry, that sounds idiotic.  There are TONS of traces of the Greek gods - you can't dig a subway line in Athens without unearthing somebody's temple - but they sit empty, museums paying homage to a distant past.  Most of the Greeks have moved on, and maybe their gods have, too.  However, in the little town of Tyrnavos on Clean Monday you can still participate in a Dionysion celebration - the making of the Bourani.

Clean Monday is supposed to be the first day of Lent - Carnival ends the night before with a big parade that Bronte and I slept through.  We were in Larisa, but the big party actually takes place in Tyrnavos, and was probably what their friend had in mind when he told Bronte and her husband V that we needed to be careful.  We weren't exactly sure what to expect.  I'd read about this celebration in my ongoing quest to visit sites of phallic worship, but it didn't give me a really clear idea of what was going to take place, other than the fact that it was centered around the town coming together to cook a spinach soup, and that there would be lots of penises decorating the town (I particularly appreciated the ingenuity of the balloons).  This happened in the center of the town, and the good old boys in charge of the soup would grab unsuspecting passersby (such as Bronte) to help stir the soup (and tease them with big phalli, but I'm not sure she wants that picture on the interwebs).  At the same time music was playing, and after the excitement of helping make the soup, Bronte and I sat down in one of the cafes next to the square and she translated some of the lyrics for me.

All of them were sexual in nature.  This one, for example, talks about vaginas - it's one of the few words I know in Greek, thanks to the fact that Azhaar's idiot of an ex once pointed out that my belly dance name - Muneera - included this word (no, I'm not telling you exactly what it is...you'll only get yourself into trouble).  Another song, which was pretty upbeat, centered on a delightful Greek phrase which essentially means, "F--- off," but is translated literally as, "You may f--- me up the ass, but I'll fart on your balls."  Which, come to think of it, could be a very useful phrase in Tyrnavos on Dirty Monday.  Besides that song, there was a certain heaviness to the music that felt ceremonial to me, and made me feel as if I was somewhere in the past.

As far as activities go, there weren't a lot.  There was dancing around the bourani, a Greek line dance that reminded me of dabke, and of course a lot of eating and drinking and posing with the various phallic objects around the square.  Most of the food was still in line with Clean Monday - seafood, halva (which we were served free samples of, and it was warm and wonderful), and vegetarian fare.  For first lunch we ate Greek salad and tzatziki (I ate SO much of them all three days - every meal!) and I had vegetarian dolmades while Bronte ate some octopus.  Neither of those were very satisfying, and we tried second lunch before leaving for Larissa (although it was only in Larissa at a place called Grandma's Cookhouse that we had the meal we were craving).  There were also these amazing fried balls of dough made with "carbonized" water.  They were fluffy and hot without burning my mouth, and covered in chocolate and - heheh - nuts.  We may have broken into a rendition of Chef's "Chocolate Salty Balls."

There was lots of phallic paraphernalia for sale, too.  I decided that most of the penises were for pouring tsiporos - the local beverage of choice - although people were predictably doing naughty things with them, more so the later it got in the day.  The lollicocks didn't come in quite as wide a variety of shapes and colors that they did in Japan, but they were there, and they even had big chocolate ones, the Dirty Monday version of an Easter Bunny, which I definitely picked up for Blondie, since she's the only one who hasn't yet run into Mongolia's big, black American basketball players.  When we first arrived most of the festival goers were old Greek papous and yiayias - grandmas and grandpas - and there were a lot of young children running around too. 

Also for sale were a variety of sizes of bread penises (I suppose there's a joke there to be made about yeast, but I'll leave it).  Bronte observed that they only had sesame seeds on their balls...I asked if she really needed the innocent Mormon girl to explain that one for her?  We sat down at a pub across the street from this bakery for cokes and beers and to watch the changing crowd - the older set was on its way out and the younger on their way in, as one partygoer went "fishing" with a lollicock that Bronte did not particularly enjoy having dangled in her face.  She bumped into two separate people during this time that she actually knew from Santorini, which seemed funny to me because Greece is not that small a country.

Well, people were getting drunker and younger and rowdier so we decided to head back to Larissa around 5.  I'm sure it was a great party that night, but we're a little too old for that shit, and V was already freaked out about sending his wife to a penis festival, so we left with the last of the sunset.  The skies were a cool grey - it had been raining off and on all day - and it took us about a half hour to get back to our hotel.  It was a good day - all three days with her were great, although the trip to get there, eah, not so much.  I'll tell you about them tomorrow.  Sadly, this was the end of the year of the cock.  Yes, I realize that it has actually been the year of the horse, but since last spring I was in Kawasaki for the Kanamara Matsuri and at Christmas I was at the Chao Mae Tuptim shrine, in my world it kind of was the year of the cock.  Sadly when I got back I had a notice on my Blogger overview that said that blogs with nudity/adult content would be made private, so I'm not sure if my blog will be able to stay up in its current state.  Since there's no actual nudity and it has educational value for travelers, this may or may not apply to me, so I guess we'll see.

Museumitis (April 2007)

 I know better than to go to four museums in one day.  I learned that lesson in Venice.  But the fact is that tomorrow I go back to a country that is something of a cultural black hole.  So with the minutes ticking down to zero, I decided the sore feet, legs, and often headaches that go with a sensory and information overload I like to call 'museumitis' would be worth it, if I could just cram in memories of a few more sculptures, paintings, and pots.

First I trekked over to the National Archaeological Museum.  The place was crammed with more pottery and sculpture fragments than I thought possible.  It was like everything anyone had ever found that could be identified as ancient Greek was brought in and put on display.  There were also a LOT of pieces I studied about in art history classes...my favorite being the 'Dipylon vase,' one of the most famous examples of the shift between geometric and figurative vase painting.  A lot of the pieces on display had been recovered from shipwrecks, and it was really sad for me to see what the ocean had done to these masterpieces (but I guess better than what early Christians did to some of the pieces that WEREN'T safely at the bottom of the sea, and vandals in general...most of the male statues were missing a rather important member of their anatomy).  Still, lots of cool stuff.

I took a lunch break and then hit the National Art Gallery.  I wasn't that impressed by it - maybe because I'd already hit my ability to take stuff in for the day, maybe just because it wasn't all that great.  Usually, in every art museum I'm in, I find something that stops me dead in my tracks and makes me laugh, or cry, or both.  Not the case here, so I didn't spend too much time before going to the Goulandris Museum of Cycladic...etc...art.  (I've been on a time-restrained schedule all day - the Archaelogical museum closed at 2:45, the art museum at 3, and the Gouldandris at 4....the Benaki is open til midnight and had free admission, so I took lots of sitting breaks when I got there).  The Goulandris had more ancient artwork, specifically anthropomorphic stone figures from the Cyclades, which were really cool.  I would have liked it a lot better if I'd seen it fresh.

Finally, the Benaki museum, which had more ancient stuff, some Greek Orthodox religious icons and accompanying stuff, and a really cool collection of Greek traditional costume.  That was really neat - they even had a couple of rooms set up with the furniture and decorations and everything.  I enjoyed that, but my feet were REALLY killing me (didn't make the best choice of footwear this morning, but I figured my feet were going to kill me anyway, so why not???) so I left there at about 5 past 4. 

Ancient sculptures of the Cyclades meets children's art

So the tally for the day:  Four museums.  Thousands and thousands of artworks.  About six hours of slow walking on my feet.  And zero cokes - aish!  No wonder I feel rough.  Time to go eat one more delectable Greek meal, maybe a bit more shopping, and an early night back at the hotel (maybe).

Visiting the Oracle (April 2007)

I think I must have pissed off Apollo by calling his twin sister butch, because he did not put in an appearance at his temple today.  Instead it was freaking cold and rainy, but I had to be undeterred by the weather, because how many times am I going to have the chance to visit Greece?

Today I went to Delphi.  This is the oracle where the prophecy that Oedipus was going to kill his father and marry his mother was made (twice).  It's also, according to Greek mythology, the center of the world - Zeus released two eagles from the ends of the earth, and this is where they met.  You can't even believe the geography - the slopes of Mount Parnassos fall away one after the next and nestled between them is the complex of treasuries, temples, and even a theater (oh, those wacky ancient Greeks and their love of a good play!).  It's all ruins now, but I think that makes it even better.  Maybe it's my twentieth century mind, but a temple just isn't a temple unless it's crumbling to bits.

Note: Definitely not a skinny, docile blonde

There's no longer an oracle at Delphi.  I thought I might apply for the job, since I'm not really happy in Bahrain, but according to Lonely Planet, her visions were induced by inhaling vapors, and drugs don't really coexist with a Mormon lifestyle.  Also, I can't really see myself being Apollo's type - I imagine he's more into skinny, docile blondes (since most of the men in my life are).

The gymnasium of Ancient Delphi

I also spent two hours talking to a 'good boy' (or so a random old Greek man told me when he staggered up and engaged us in conversation...he had a badge on his shirt that said he was with New York City School District Security Services, but I have my doubts) from Canada named Kevin.  He'd spent a year teaching ESL in Korea - Pusan to be exact - and it was really good to talk to a person who didn't roll their eyes every time I said, 'When I was in Korea.'  He admitted to having really bad travel karma, though, so maybe the rain was his fault.

Patron Goddess (April 2007)

Today was the day (well, one of the days) I've been waiting for my whole life - the day I climbed the Acropolis and paid homage to my patron goddess, Athena.  It wasn't until I was on the Acropolis, taking it all in, that I realized that in some way, shape, or form, Athena IS my patron goddess (or would be, if I actually believed in the Greek pantheon).  Remember me mentioning that game I played at Bright Ideas?  Well, I learned about all the Greek gods and goddesses, but it was Athena that I really admired, because she was the goddess of wisdom and the arts.  Aphrodite had love, of course, but even at an early age I looked down on doe-eyed twit girls who used love to manipulate men.  So I thought Athena was cool - she was who I wanted to be like.

If I'd realized that she was a virgin goddess...if I'd known what that meant...I might not have thought she was so cool.  On the other hand, at least I didn't pick a butch goddess like Artemis....

These were the sorts of thoughts stewing in my brain as I explored the Acropolis, admiring the temples and being astounded by how much history this place had seen.  Then I descended to the Areopagus, and wandered over to the Pnyx, and the hills of the nymphs and the muses...and I wondered if I could change it.  I may or may not have taken a rock from the Acropolis (a regular rock, nothing significant, to give to my brother Jeremy....it won't be the first rock I've illegally exported from somewhere to give him), which is Athena's sanctuary.  What if I took it to a temple of Aphrodite and left it as a symbolic offering?  Would I suddenly become lucky in love?  And would I piss of Athena so royally that she would take back every artistic or smart thing about me?

I decided even if that sort of thing worked, if it was real, I wouldn't do it.  It turns out that as an adult, I still look down on women who would trade their self-respect and talents for the feeling of being loved.  I'm sure they have their reasons, but I can't live my life like that.  I won't settle for a mediocre life with a measure of comfort and security, just to feel loved.  I would rather be single than live my life with a man that isn't in every way my equal.

The Problem with Lonely Planet (April 2007)

Tonight I took the funicular to the top of Lykavittos Hill and took in Athens at sunset from a wind-blown peak, complete with church bells ringing.  It was the most sublime experience.  I could see all the way to the coast, and the mountains all around, as they disappeared one by one into the fading light.
I'm really glad Mrs. Julia (one of the embassy wives who works for Al Hekma), suggested I go.  She lent me her tour book, Athens Top 10, but I'm a loyal Lonely Planet Girl, so I set out from my hotel (the Evripides Hotel, in a kinda sketchy looking neighborhood that actually appears to be Chinatown, so I'm pretty much at home there) with my camera and wallet in my fake Coach bag and my Lonely Planet in my hand.  That's because the Lonely Planet guide to Greece is too big to fit in my fake Coach bag.  The two previous fake Coach bags I bought fit bigger books in them than that, but after both of them broke, I bought a more expensive, nicer, but smaller fake Coach bag based on my Dark Lord's continually invaluable advice, and it has worked quite well.

I left the Evangelismos subway station and headed up the hill, following LP's flawless map, and after a hike up the hill, arrived at the funicular station.  No snags.  But as I was standing beside the bell tower having my picture taken by a Korean (I didn't single him out to take my picture because he was Korean, but it DID give me a thrill to say, 'Shillye hamnida,' to him), I realized I was missing something.  A chunky $30 something.  I raced down the stairs and around the church and found my book lying where I'd left it when I took a picture a few minutes earlier.  I knew it was mine because I'd written the address of my new hotel there a few nights before.

Well, I had dinner and watched darkness fall over the surrounding countryside, then decided it was time to head out.  Took the car down, and talked to some delightful little old ladies, realizing that my breath had some horrible funk from the garlic in the tzatziki I've been eating at every meal (oops).  So I stopped in the gift shop and bought a pack of gum, then set out down the hill again (and, by the way, by 'hill' I mean I was walking up about a 60 degree slope...I was also slightly freezing, because it's much chillier in Greece than it is in Bahrain, and I didn't pack exactly appropriately, and I forewent my sweatshirt in the interests of photography).  When I got halfway down the hill (approximately twelve flights of steps, and, oh yeah, I was wearing platform sandals because I like the way they look with the skirt I was wearing), I wanted to double check how to get to the PCbang where I am writing this, and it was at that point that I realized I was, once again, without a Lonely Planet.  I set it down when I bought the gum.  For at least a moment, I debated walking away from it...the book may have cost $30, but don't underestimate how lazy I can be, and how I was dressed...but in the end, I knew I needed that book for the remainder of my stay.  I have Kit's guide, as well as Julia's, but, you see, neither of them is a Lonely Planet.

Living Like A Nymph (April 2007)

No, not that kind of nymph.  Don't you know me at all?  Okay, actually, never mind.  In fact, it's really hard to keep your mind out of the gutter here.  I was fully aware of how lewd the ancient Greeks could be, but after living in the Middle East for the last seven months, I forgot that some people could be proud of their horny past.  When I first saw 'Ancient Greek Lovers' Playing cards (with illustrations taken from authentic red and black figure pottery) in the hotel gift shop, I was shocked.  I'm not anymore, but I can't say that my twisted little mind doesn't get a kick out of seeing a jewelry stand shaped like a satyr with a huge phallus.

Anyways, I was going to say that that isn't the kind of nymph I was talking about, and you had to go and get me off track.  No, today, after the conference, when Mariette said she needed to take a bath before we went to the music taverna (which was great - good food, good music, good atmosphere, good company), I decided to go ahead of her and meet up a little later, and explored the National Gardens, which are conveniently located across the street from Syntagma Square, where we've been taking the trolley for our Plaka excursions.

It was so lush.  Green trees, green grass, and, oh yes, an abundance of flowers.  There were hills, and paths, pools with goldfish or turtles.  It was right before dusk, and there weren't too many people around.  I wanted to kick off my shoes and frolic in the grass, dancing among the trees like a Greek nymph would have.  As I wandered through the forest, I could believe I'd somehow stepped back in time, and that any minute a satyr might step around the side of a hill, and knowing satyrs, ravish me, but hell, with the state of mind I'm in, that might not be all that bad.  I mean, I've seen how those guys are hung.