Roots: I Complete My Journey

After Delphi, we stopped off at the island of Aegina for a very rainy day - previous days had passed like a flash of lightning, but Friday, Aeginaday, in spite of the rain was excruciatingly  slow. Rain does that. Without any enterprise to apply ourselves to, due to the bad weather, we rented a car again - this time, and Suzuki Samurai. We thought about naming it, too, decided that the Suzuki Samurai was much better than anything at hand.

(Take note that the picture is dated - that would be Emaline the Fiat, spouse of the Suzuki Samurai, in the picture, in Ithaca. Also, take note of the sunglasses of distinguished heart surgeon, Dr. Ted Fish.)

Using a map that the city's information officer had drawn in crayon and then photocopied, we played snake across the northern half of the island, periodically stopping to look at a church, or walk along a beach, or to let other people pass. I did that a lot. The Samurai was a stick shift, and I don't think I left second gear that day.

We ate dinner alone, and when I say alone I mean that we were the only party in a restaurant of two big empty rooms. The cook, a large Greek grandmother, would serve us herself, then watch us eat through a small window pane connecting the two rooms. I would have offered her some food, but I didn't know how - she speaks Modern Greek, you know.

The final port of the EasyCruiseOne was Athens. We did the things good learned people do, made the pilgrimages that the good craftsmen and commoners alike make: the Acropolis, the National Historical Museum, the Temple of Zeus. But, like other people, I was underwhelmed. It could have been the wear of the EasyCruise upon me, a sleepiness that settles when I know I'm ending a journey. It could have been the proximity of Rome, time-wise. It could have been aliens, to tell the truth - I never can rule them out completely. But outside of the area of the National Gardens, I could have passed Athens in the night and not known it. The Hellenic period is so far removed that all that's left in Athens is this crescent of ruins in the southern part of the city, plus a pretty cool museum. The rest of the city is another metropolis, where you don't understand most of what's said, on ground of it being another language or heavily accented. I could have been anywhere.

No. Rome is fine with me. I think I could fall asleep anywhere in the world, wake up in Rome, and know it immediately, so distinct is this city.

All roads lead to roam. Or Rome. Also, Baroque Church Domes, Sea Foam, and Funeral Homes.

As it turned out, the most expensive thing I bought during my trip was a book in the Athens airport, as I awaited the plane ride home. I had already gone through the other two I had on me, and needed something else to pass time until I got home. There's not a whole lot of selection in airport bookstores, you know? I've never bought a book in an airport, or any transportation hub, but it's quite difficult to find anything good, especially if you're looking for good smut, which is vital for any reader. I eventually settled on The Secrets of the Chess Machine, on account of its mentioning dwarves, robots, and 17th century Prussia all in the first sentence of the synopsis.

Roots: The Ship Is In Shipshape, And The Whotu Uprising Is Over, Over

Unfortunately, unlike Fred Randall, for me, the Whotu Uprising is not over, over. If you are unfamilar with the Whotu Uprising, it's an event in the glorious Rocketman. It was also the name of a three-on-three team I played on, in eighth grade. It's also the broad sweep term for Greek civil unrest.

The past three days have been shaken by the earthquakes of the Hellenic proletariat. He has stood his ground these days past and shouted, "There shall be no more garbage collection! There shall be no more running of national monuments! There shall be no more electricity!" And after a few more moments consideration, he also shouted, "And there shall be no more nonsense! I've had quite enough of it!" When we ported in Patras, the streets were filled with garbage that looked like beaver dams - the city's workers were on strike, against what I do not know. Possibly over the level of nonsense in the Attic government. The national government workers also went on strike, and shut down all archaeological sites for one day (as they promised: they notified all that they would only strike on Wednesday, then go back to work. Not very effective bargining). From Patras we were supposed to travel to Olympia; this was ruled out, as well as the possiblity of any fun, given the surrounding trash and bad weather.

After a gloomy morning, we finally made it out of the city to an old German winery named Achia Clauss. A Grecian suggested it, as a model Grecian winery, which was founded by a German and run by his Germanic family. But wine crosses all borders. Being the off-season for tourism, the winery was open but only staffed by two: a receptionist and a bartender. The tour guide called in sick. So we made up our own tour, climbing into windows and scaling buildings, taking cover at the sound of footsteps or conversation, and pretty much trespassing all over the vineyards.

I will say that this trip has showed me how sovereign God is, concerning transportation. If I was an atheist coming into Greece, I would be a theist leaving it, on account of the miraculous happenings of arrival. No matter how late the bus is or how confused I am towards the route to take, God always delievers my party and I back to the ship.

From Patras we sailed to Itea, from where we took a bus to Delphi. Delphi was the ancient site of the Oracle of Delphi (go figure), the main consultant of antiquity. It was also the ancient site of a city built at a 45 degree angle. Climbing all the way to the top, to see the complete ruins, I think I doubled my exhaustion, and doubled my sweat, by trying not to show that I was tired. I'm traveling with two girls, and thus I cannot show weakness.

The museum at Delphi is home to most of the old things recovered from the archaelogical site, including the statues of Kleobis and Biton. I had actually studied these in my Classics classes, and once translated their story, which went like this: Kleobis and Biton's mom had to get to Delphi for an engagement, but their oxen weren't running properly, so Kleobis and Biton hitched themselves to the ox cart and dragged their mom the whole way. Once there, their mom was so grateful that she prayed to the gods to give the two brothers the ultimate gift. Thus, Kleobis and Biton lied down that night and died in their sleep. In a completely unrelated note, I almost died of heat exhaustion.

When night came, we found out about the third strike: there was no electricity in the whole port of Itea. Sad day. This, however, was balanced by a chance encouter I had. An old man, who came from our boat with way too much to drink, hailed me as the Duke, due to a Duke University shirt I had on. I was slightly embarassed, and told him, no, sorry, I'm not a duke - I'm a Captain. Immediately he saluted me. Then I gave him leave to get some Rest & Relaxation.

Roots: Ithaca Is The Cheese

I fear that before EasyCruiseOne docked in Ithaca, another ship under a black flag swifted into port and made off with all the young people. I say this because there were absolutely no youths to be had throughout the entire island. I came to this land, supposing it to be flowing over with milk and honeys, and am yet to alighted on a single honey. I will simply have to bide my time.

Ithaca is the cheese to my everything - my omletes, my pasta, my nachoes, et cetera. It is the bee's knees, the fly's eyes, the cat's meow, the dog's bark, my grandmother's exclamations. In short, I think Ithaca is one of the top five places on Earth, right in front of Blair Library in Fayetteville. It is an island of about 8000 people, with two major towns; when I say major, I mean that the populations of those two are both calculated without the census skewing inclusion of animals. Vathi, the port, has around 3000, and Stavros, above 1000.

I stand by my assertion that the young people of Greece are kept in the backrooms of tourism. Everyone had faces carved out of wood, or maybe the rocks that the island is made out of. Yes, like Tellson's Bank in A Tale Of Two Cities, young men are kept behind locked doors until the age like cheese and are acceptable to be brought out into the light.

To tour the entire island, Virginia, Emily, and I rented a small, pastel yellow Fiat from a foreigner named Charles. When Charles made us guess at his own port of origin, we only offended him, in increasing doses as our guesses became wilder, with the likes of Australia, England, Ireland, and climaxing in Poland, of all places. Charles was from South Africa. We took turns in the Fiat: Virginia drove north to Stavros, where we stopped once to survey the Odysseian olive trees, terraced into balconies overlooking the sea, and again to let a heard of billy goats gruff cross the street (jaywalking, in case you were curious). Emily drove south back to Vathi, where we stopped at the School of Homer, the supposed site of the Palace of Odysseus. It was nothing more than what could have been the remnants of the foundation, or what could have been children who created a small fort out of rocks.

This entire time, we spent our minutes driving trying to come up with a name for our pastel yellow Fiat. My suggestions (The Hands and Fiat, The Fiat of the Giant, A Fiat of Strength, A Fiat of Homeric Proportions, The Final DeFiat) were all rejected on the grounds of being band names. So, Joe Kane, take your pick.

I drove east of Vathi to a beach named Sarakiniko. As it is March and still winter here in Greece, Sarakiniko was deserted. It was a beach made of rocks and surrounded by trees - we had to cross a path along a cliff to reach if from where Emaline (the final name) was parked. After a few minutes looking into the water, a straight shot line of sight to the bottom, and wishing that I had worn swim trunks, had brought a towel, that it was hotter, later in the season, earlier in the day, that I had a million dollars or the complete works of Sufjan Stevens, Emily decided to jump in. Not to be out done, so did I.

I read once that a person can contract hypothermia from water up to 70 degrees fahrenheit. This may very well be true - the water next to the beach of Sarakiniko was definitely not 70 degrees fahrenheit, and immediately after jumping in I could feel the skin on my chest shrink like wool in the washer. My breathing sounded like I was running the 400 meter dash, over and over again. After an acclamation period, I stopped thinking about myself and looked about me.

Did you know that the Aegaen Sea is crystal clear? I mean the kind of crystals used in lasers and science experiments of the future. Once I stopped treading water, and looked down that straight shot line of site to the bottom, my personal problems were overtaken by the plain jane magnificence of the sea. In my head, I was thinking, I can obviously touch the bottom, but, as it turned out, the clarity of the water acted as a sort of magnifying glass, and the water that was beyond a shadow of a doubt shoulder high, in application showed itself to be over ten feet deep.

Sadly, I have to say, I have no idea how far the water went down. In fact, I only marvel to this extent in retrospect. In the water, yes, I was amazed, but that amazement could not manage to overshadow the feeling that I have carried with me since birth: that there is a sea monster with my name on it, following me where ever I go, and biding it's own time until the opportunity to eat me presents itself. While swimming in Sarakiniko, I did not see the monster, but I think it touched my leg.

I Go In Search Of My Roots

I am spending this spring break in search of my Roots, in Greece. Architects Virginia and Emily have come with me to the Aegean Area to try and seek out our ancestors. And we're taking a cruise to do so.

It's an EasyCruise. Yes - this is the same company that runs EasyJet, a gigantic EasyJest, the Dollar Tree form of travel. These are the same people who turned me away from my flight to Lyon, but I'm a forgiving type of person, and forgiving in this sense can be interpreted as a synonym of poor. Yes, I'm a poor type of person, and to my type of person, EasyCruise, which is nothing more than a floating hostel, appeals. (In EasyCruise's defense, there is an inhouse deejay, DJ George, who laces international tracks seven days a week in the designated party center, the Sun Moon Bar. His audience is mostly grandmothers.)

Yesterday we ported (I love that word) in Kiato, a very small town, from which my party of three took a series of very confusing buses and by the Grace of God ended up in Mycenae, which was Agammemnon's seat. There was the Tomb of Atreus and the Lion's Gate, both behemoths in size and weight, but what interested me more were the surrounding mountains, which looked as if they had been quickly hewn out of a solid block of stone and hastily covered with moss. They looked as if they were in the process of creation.

I will say a word for the Greek peoples: they are much more gracious than I would be. I often say, when asked, that Ancient Greek is eight times removed from Modern Greek as Shakespeare is to Amerlish. In truth, it is even farther. The only thing I retain, and am able to convey, are the prepositions. Even so, I have picked up one word along the way (thank you, which is IFXAPISTO), and use it as often as possible. The Greek peoples, who look as if they are all retired, as if they have taken all the youngsters and put them in the back rooms of tourism, have nevertheless been great hosts, and have taken care of my group in our ignorance. In fact, one beratement by a transportation official aside, I have had a humorous, if not smooth, time communicating.

Today we ported (I love it!) in Ithica, the island of Odysseus. We did not raid the town's stores and carry off the women, as I had suspected (before getting on the EasyCruiseOne, our boat, I had thought it might be a pirate ship, and the patrons might be forced into a life of buccaneering; this did not happen, and I almost regret it). I will relate the spoils of my journey further on.