A Year Behind

This year was the happiest and the saddest of my life.

This year was the busiest and the most introspective of my life.

This was the year I got a job and a drivers license.

This was the year I went to Greece and met Norwegians.

This was the year I looked ahead to life and found myself small and inadequate.

This was the year I looked behind to memory and found strength.

This was the year I had a Christmas in Curacao.

This was the year I looked at my friends and found goths and nerds and druggies.

This was the year I listened, and felt the words of others.

This was the year I spread my wings, shook them out, and folded them again.

This was the year I lied and snuck into a bar.

This was the year I walked the city of Mainz alone and without English.

This was the year I stood on a stage without shaking.

This was the year I won a sports trophy.

This was the year I twice loved and was twice wounded.

This was the year I couldn't count on a smile.

This was the year I felt the sunlight.

This was the year I faltered from my path.

This was the year I kept walking.

12 Weeks

Time limps by like the winner of the special olympics. I've been in school for 12 weeks. That means it's emo grade time. My grades have taken a hit from Greece. Not an irreparable one, but a noticible one for this grading period. I think I can bring my parents over to that idea at the lake. Unless they see it here first... but I don't think they read my blog.

And I always get the funny idea that if they did, they'd understand what I was getting at and my point of view and everything, probably because I just write it exactly how I feel it with almost no censorship. And thats mostly names, and when something would be equivalent to starting a rumour.

But yeah. I don't need there pressure. I'm pressured enough myself. And super stressed out. And a little depressed. I thought it would go away when family problems calmed down. Maybe that was just a mask. Gah, I feel a bit trapped. But yeah, I know how important grades are. Exactly so. I don't think they're all important or worthless. I actually think I have a pretty good idea, and I worry, and work hard, and stress, and study, and cram, and cry, and all that.

So yeah, I don't need the parents angst on top of it, not when it's half founded in doubt, and not when I have a good idea of the situation and am reasonable confident I can bring the grades around by the end. Besides, I always do. ;)

Notwithstanding, Grade Guesses:

English - B, because of Essay weirdness. Should get back to an A.
Chemistry - B, nice and solid. Hit mercifully not applicable.
Math - C, nice and solid. I had hoped to bring it to a B. I can do it on the final, I know I can...
Government - B, should be solid and stress free; and that's the goal.
German - A, nothing to say here.
Spanish - A, but is it high enough for an H? I've done well on projects and tests, and participation, but I've missed a homework assignment. O.O, today, actually, and it was a horrible accident.

Total: AABBBC
Goal: HAABBB

I'm two and a half away from goal. That's not impossible at all. I can do this. :D

Waahhh...

I haven't had time to write about Greece... so I haven't written at all! I'll get to it... I promise. :D

Day Three - Athens City, the Agora

The air was clear when we first woke up, bright and early - eight o' clock in Greece and midnight back home. The air was clear, so we could see then that what we had previously mistaken for open sea was perhaps a bay, or a water so crowded with islands that they ringed us with seemingly unbroken land.

At breakfast the quiet lay upon us still. The banquet hall and porches contain, in full, too many silent seagulls, a very friendly cat, and some exquisitely coloured birds with the most graceful shape, all striking black on white. The waiter is a slightly frightening man with a very square head, perhaps vaguely inspired by Frankenstein. Beyond that our company is nothing, and we had the distinction of being alone in a restaurant, watching trays of fried eggs replaced by trays of fried eggs, twice an hour, like clockwork. It seemed to me a waste, but for all I know they may be swapping the same two trays ad infinitum. What would stop them?

I sample everything and arrive at my favourites: squares of soft bread, warm, in cinnamon and sugar; sesame rings with salami; 'Frutomania!', also known as yogurt for small Greek children, bearing a picture reminiscent of Pokemon, a little boy with his hand outstretched presenting an unusual, star shaped fruit. I found slices of this same fruit and sampled them, but their taste was about as remarkable as that of a pear, and nothing like the yogurt. Still, I wonder who could make the connection between a grape and a grape slushee? I'll have to look it up when I get home... I've also taken a picture of said yogurt.



On we went to Athens itself, taking a cab to the Plaka. Anywhere in that district you can stop and look around you, find no less than one site of ancient ruins, two tourist shops, one taverna, four motorcycles, one random peddler, and a hundred and fifty Greek people. So, while it is a tourist neighborhood, understand that is only because the tourists love it there, not because the Greeks do not.



The tourist shops all have postcards, picture books of Greece, coffee tabled books (invariably Athens, Greece, the Acropolis, Greek Lovers, Greek Islands, and Kitties!... I don't pretend to understand that.) They also have lots of jewelry, lots of realistic looking pottery (my favourites were the salt and pepper shakers), all the little statues, and nice chess sets. There are these little medallions everywhere - blue, with a sort of eye painted on them, which are to ward off the evil eye. For Melissa we wanted a necklace of blue beads with a single, medium sized evil eye medallion at the end, but this was easier stated than followed through on. They had everything but that particular design, and finally we compromised with a bracelet of pretty blue beads and the evil eye every four spaces.

Eventually, of course, we bought the obligatory tourist clothing. My Dad bought a T-shirt of the Acropolis, and I got for myself and Melissa a shirt with the first lines of the Odyssey in Greek. What I really wanted was an entirely non touristy shirt with Greek writing like the natives might wear, but this was better than most. For Mom we bought a "traditional virgins dress" because it was cuter than the "traditional matrons dress", and besides, everything in those stores are "traditional". We picked a deep olive green like pine needles because it goes nicely with our skin tone.

Now this next part was purely destiny. The store had a thousand shirts saying "Greece!" or "Athens!" or "The Olympics!" and exactly one which said, "Norway". I had to have it. I didn't know or care what it was doing in the Plaka of Athens Greece, but I knew I couldn't find them in Ballwin MO, and here they were. It also has a little flag, and the whole shirt is decent quality... embroidered and the like.

At one store a lady was complaining as we entered that the same pottery she once bought for some hundreds of currency thirty years ago was now selling for Europennies in comparison. She was actually still lamenting this bitterly as we left ten minutes later...

"With the exchange rate, that makes almost 300 times!!" Alas for her...

There are an incredible amount of birds, cats, and dogs in Athens. In every olive tree you find a pack of the kitties, all shy and wary, but friendly, too. They snake their way through each ruin, as well, oblivious to signs and 'archeological sites" and "Do not touch the marble!", walking the streets humans once walked.

And on every ancient stone and outlook the dogs gather, many of them no more than puppies. We heard one fight and encountered the one strange dog our first night, but otherwise found them all rather amicable. They frolicked all over the hillsides, through parks filled with pot smokers and ancient statues, jumping over holes as perfect circles, once wells, now communal trash heaps. They even made their way into a few of our photos.

There are also peddlers everywhere. No straight out begging, but many instruments, trinkets, flowers, and obviously pirated DVD's striving for a glimpse at your wallet. I don't know how many people tried to sell me keychains, roses, or Pirates of the Carribean. From the Monostiraki beside Hadrian's Library I snapped a picture of one of the more unusual ones, an old lady selling cloth.

The place was beautiful. The Acropolis stood golden above it, nestled amoung many other hills, some deep pine green and others shimmering desert-like in the smog. Greek music wafted out of tavernas and down into the streets, and at our favourite store grape vines had grown up the treets and over across to one another, creating a shady and lovely green canopy.


Most of the Greek in the city had a translation, which was a bit of a shame, but what was interesting was that the translation wasn't always in English. There were several in German, a handful in Spanish, Italian, or French, and exactly two (that I saw), in Japanese.

We saw Socrates's prison, Pan's sanctuary, the Fountain of Kalliroe, the Sacred Gate, and more in the hills above Athens, then climbed in a roundabout way through homes carved into rock to the steps of the Acropolis and climbed to the rock of Pnix, where the first democratic assemblies were held.



I thought my prayers had been answered when the refreshments man, having no water, described one of his juices as "lemon."

"My God." I said, "It's Lemonade, in Europe!" But it wasn't meant to be. The juice was, as advertised, straight, pulpy, sour, lemon juice. It actually made me thirstier.

I counted thirty postcards from the cheapest store, at 20 Eurocents a pop. They all show Athens, Santorini, the Acropolis, the Karyatides, or the Tower of the Winds. I may wait until I get home to send them though, sorry to all those who hoped for a postmark. It's too complicated here.



After this I enjoyed some Gelato, a cone of vanilla. It's funny, I can't quite say whether it is more sugary or more creamy or what than regular ice cream, but I will say that it is different, and just as good, and it was what I had in Köln all those years ago.

The ancient Agora is amazing as well. You can see quite clearly where houses have been cut from the soft stone out of the hillsides, where enormous temples once stood. There are bits of rock everywhere, most plain but many with sculpturing: the top of a column, perhaps, and here and there a truly carved piece: a horse rearing to charge, arrested by the stone, half a woman's face. It's eerie in it's own way.

The pride of the Agora is the Hephaisteion, and rightfully so. The best preserved temple in Greece, it actually looks whole, or nearly enough so, though two black pigeons did take the place where the heads of a few statues once sat. Though small and perhaps not quite as ornate as the Parthenon or the Nike, it gives a good idea of what all the temples may have looked like complete.

The whole Agora was shaded, which was nice; I'm glad we did it on the hottest day of our visit. Also lovely viewing from the Plaka area, even if you don't make the climb, is the multi domed Church of St. Marina, patron saint of pregnant women, on the Hill of the Nymphs. I kid you not; the church is pink, a sleepy rose colour with a light red and tiled roof. It looks lovely perched in the trees.

As we climbed over Athens we heard the sound of a flute creeping through the streets and over the hills, a haunting tune that stirred the little yellow flowers that bloomed amoung the ruins. It shall forever be the voice of Greece for me, and there's the irony. Upon chasing down the source of the music at last, we discovered a band of Native Americans...

We saw the sunset from an ancient roadway that looked over the sea, sharing the area with a few other tourists, a college student studying, and a pack of half grown dogs. Back in the city as it grew dark, we got a seat at a table where we could see the Acropolis lit up for the evening. We tried with varying success to get a picture of the citadel shining golden against the sky, but such a thing can't really be captured.

The whole city erupted into furious backgammon playing as we sat and enjoyed some quality father-daughter time. The menu offered Grilled Soloman, which would have been very interesting to eat. Old, a bit gamey, but still good! :D Obviously, it was a mistranslation of Salmon, but strangely enough, there was a Salmon of wisdom, and Soloman was very wise as well. Coincidence? I think not!

We had a hard time getting a taxi, actually. First two didn't want to go all the way to the hotel because they had faster turnover with more money staying in the city. We finally found a guy on smoke break, though, and he agreed to take us provided he could finish his cigarette on the way.

He was an interesting fellow; intensely Greek, the second most Greek person we met. He was quite surprised that I had read the Iliad and the Odyssey. Shocked, really. He quizzed me on them. Of course, this was probably due to the fact that he thought I was 13 or so.

Sleep came quickly. That's never the problem.

Day Two - The Longest Day

Now at this point I've missed an entire night. I woke up yesterday and showered and finished packing and ate a loaf of fresh rosemary bread, drank a bottle of Sobe and went into the city. The day passed in planes, and a short night, too. This I sat through sleepless. I find myself in Athens at noon, with only one surefire way to prevent jet lag - I must stay up.

I'm on a buzzy high of excitement at first. It carries me off the plane and through the airport as if charmed. Our luggage comes out first. We have no wait for a taxi. I look around me and find signs full of letters I've memorized, one by one.



I get into the taxi. The air in Greece is warm and still. Faint smog is in the air, lending a haze to far off hillsides. Sleep begins to come over me. Finally we reach the hotel, and I revive somewhat. We check in to the eerie feeling that we are the only occupants of a deserted resort.

Examining the room I find a toilet that flushes with a round handle in the top, like picking the lid off a cookie jar. The shower is strange too, the basin long and narrow, the showerhead mounted in the center lengthwise. Curioser and curioser. The shampoos are labeled mint, vanilla cinnamon, and rice. The rice shampoo actually does have that fragrance; fills the room with that smell almost like bread.

The check in ladies do not assume you speak Greek. Everyone else, ναι. I don't know why - perhaps I look the part? If so, that may be a first for me.


We go to swim after showering. It is so quiet here, even the gulls hardly call. When they do, you can hear it clearly, hear the sound swoop over you as they glide on the winds as picture perfectly as a nature documentary. The water, too, makes no sound. There are no waves, even against the rocks that ring the bay.


There are few guests here, as well. I see one woman swimming and several staff lazing about the bar. The woman tells us in a British accent that the water's fine after just a few minutes, so we figure we'll get in soon.

I had a few second thoughts, I admit, when a German couple made their way down and gingerly entered. The woman bounced up and down incessantly once immersed, and I kept making out the same word from their chattering teeth... "Kalt!" Presently they retreated to a lawn chair.

Finally we did get in, although we feared for our lives after seeing the Germans and the Brits tested by the waters. We're Americans, after all, and quite used to the Gulf of Mexico. Note that these three guests were the only guests I saw at the hotel in the duration of our stay, excluding of course the other businessmen my father worked for, and possibly one other British woman.

All for nothing, their whining! Cold on the bare skin for five seconds, no more. We swam over to the rocks on the other side, and there the fun began. Standing on the rock, I began to feel a burning all down my leg and also on my elbow.

"Do these things bite?" I asked of the plan material clinging to my legs. They looked harmless and I guessed wisely that they were unrelated to the sensation. I rinsed them off and Dad and I conjectured that I had scraped my legs a bit in climbing and now the salt water was stinging them. Moments later a small quantity of blood appeared, so we figured the case was closed.

Back in our lawnchairs, I realized said affected areas, having continued to sting rather fiercely, were now lovingly swelling, turning puffy, white and red, in little lines. Anemone sting, as it happens. Aren't I lucky?

We wanted to take pictures, but the camera seemed broken; bad luck so far, it seemed.* I'll confess it; I began to long ardently for Germany. I reminded myself that the primary and sole purpose of the day was to stay awake so I could enjoy the rest of my trip, and took another bath, so hot it more or less cauterized the toxin. The stinging, which more or less felt like constantly pouring alcohol on a fresh wound, began to abate at last. I did fall asleep in the bathtub for a few minutes, though... this is not recommended.

After this we went out to Glyfada, a little district of Athens that was mostly unremarkable save in its proximity to our hotel. We had Souvlaki, Pitta, and Ice Cream. There was a chicken going around begging at the tables just like a pigeon would anywhere else. You can also find these in Key West, but I liked this one because it kept closing it's eyes and swaying slightly. Was it falling asleep?


We also had more fun with the local wildlife as a strange dog was lurking around, and charged the two of us and a Greek couple repeatedly, barking and snarling. My Dad had to go after it with a stone. When at last it fled for good, my dad and the Greek man turned to each other at the exact same time with their own equivalent of, "How Strange!” Funny, the four of us laughing, understanding our bewilderment without words.

Back in our nearly private hotel, I crashed, and had absolutely no trouble making it through the night.


* - The pictures did turn out in the end. Mildly gross image warning. ;)

Day One - In Route to Athens

Day One – In Route to Athens

First we stopped by some sausage place for lunch. Service was incredibly slow. Maybe a record. They cooked on sausage at a time, and probably spent another 5 minutes switching one with another. After consuming said sausage I determined that the extra time was needed to endow it with its uniquely wrinkled and crunchy outer covering. Hopefully my last meal in the states for a while.

Missouri to Chicago was a quick and uneventful hop. 1 Hour. I did look out the window and really was quite impressed by Missouri's stretch of farmland. Funny; I live in the middle of our breadbasket and need an airplane to get an eyeful of the fields. After this there was a long walk to the opposite end of the World's Busiest Airport. I joke that we're a third done. Then the fun begins.

We head to München... on Lufthansa! I got an eyeful of Germany before I even left our soil, much less our airspace. There was a guy from Serbia, too, but mostly a terminal full of jabbering blonds. I was in heaven.

I guess this was all yesterday; we flew against the night, so it's midmorning here and only 1 am in St. Louis. So; we got on the plane. On the ramp there was a cart of newspapers. I wanted one in German, but of course I didn't want to hold up traffic or take a paper from a genuine German, either. After a few apologetic and frenzied moments, I snagged one. It appears to be one giant business section. I don't know why that always happens to me... but it will serve.

I get on the plane. Dad heads to business class, saying, "You better go to the left." Of course, he means the left of the bulkhead, but I go to the left of the entrance and find myself in First Class. Everyone's speaking in German, so it falls to me to find my way back to coach. I manage, and since I boarded with my father, I'm one of the first.

The flight attendants assail me with an utterance born of years of experience. (Or perhaps they learn it in training). It's exactly halfway between Hallo! and Hullo! I say Hi. It's not quite as neutral, so they immediately ask my how I am and proceed to speak to me in English for the duration of the flight. Genius.

I'm not so wretched with my row mates. The first to arrive, on my right, is a tall, blonde female, 25, obviously German. For a few minutes I debate speaking in Deutsch and appearing an idiot or in English and removing all doubt. She asks me the wonderful question first.

"Spriechst du Deutsch?"

"Bisschen," I answer, and we proceed to describe our bosses and fathers getting first class while we were stuck in coach, that coach is far too small, where we live, and where we're headed, all in German. It's amazing what one can accomplish with even a partial hold on the language with creative speaking and discriminate listening.

Her name was Kristina, aka Stini, she lived in Hamburg, she had a boyfriend in Florida who looked just like my cousin Todd, and she was on her first business trip. After a while we did switch to English, but only after I (I hoped) demonstrated that at least some Americans care at least a little for other cultures. I also asked her how they had a city called Essen. She told me that of course she didn't know, only she didn't think of food, and that her boyfriend had asked the exact same question.

On my left was a married couple, sadly American. But all was not lost! Immediately to my left was Keiko, originally Japanese. I used my few hard won phrases and she was pleased, but mostly we talked in English, and her husband was also very nice. We shared music and travel stories until they both fell asleep. At this point Kristina was out too, so I tried to follow suit.

It kind of didn't work. The auras created too much interference. I couldn't distance myself mentally or emotionally from the fact that there was a perfect German here, and there was a perfect Japanese woman, and beyond was a whole field of Germans and their hum of German conversation blending into the roar of the plane, and also the plane was switching from a great model of our flight to a movie in no less than eight languages. I know I may be pathetic, but Lufthansa is right; there's no better way to fly.

The downside of all of this was that I cramped up really, really badly and couldn't move for 9 hours straight. I lived.

We arrive in Germany! We circle München for a while... there are mountains! So, we land and head through security again. Even that's better abroad. Again, the ambiguous greeting. I find it mildly but deservingly insulting. Are you one of our own, returning to the Vaterland? Or are you Auslander?

Um, right, the latter, and the worst sort at that.

I am emboldened by my encounter with Kristina and perhaps would have gone for the German, but my dad answers. I go through the sensor first, however, and once emboldened, once denied, I am hardly shy!

They ask if I am carrying a computer. I tell them nein, they point to the screen.

"Ach." I say, cleverly. "DVD."

They say stuff. They want me to take it out. I do. They put it in it's own box and run it through the sensor again, which confirms that it is a DVD player. Now the question...

"Spriechst du Deutsch oder Englisch?" I concede the latter apologetically, and then cheerfully add, "Bisschen Deutsch!"

They run my bag through again, sans DVD player, point at more stuff at the bottom. It's the landwire cords to the DVD player. I dig them out of the bag. Not those, they say. I'm confused, but then my calculator falls out. I'd forgotten I packed it.

"My Calculator?"

They seize it.

"Thisss...." With a laugh, I realize the problem. They don't know what it is. My memory returns to Stian, disbelieving my tales of Zelda and Mario on the Ti-84. I am only too happy to explain the situation like the imperialistic American I am.

"Taschen-rechner." I say omnisciently, pointing.

"Das ist eine Taschenrechner?!" (Best quote of trip, so far, albeit I haven't gotten out of the airport.)

"Ein sehr gut Taschenrechner." Unconcealed wonder. "Für meine Hausaufgauben." I want to stay and give demonstrations of Tetris, but by this time my dad, having had to fumble with his own very real computer, is finally through the sensor.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Mhmm..."

"I hope they hurry. We're going to miss our flight." (Spoiler: We don't.)

I danke everyone and we make a hasty retreat, shoving everything into my emptier carryon. The Athens flight is, from here, 2.5 hours. I don't mean to sound like a battle worn veteran, but that's nothing.

There are more German's on this flight. And a Spanish woman with a pretty baby. I LOVE Europe. If we went back to St. Louis right now, I would consider the trip worth it. It's silly to be so enamoured, but it also doesn't hurt.

So I expected the last flight to be boring, as some Americans with Chicago accents sat beside me. Instead I found myself extremely lucky yet again. The pair was originally from Chicago, but living in Zurich, as I found out when they came around for drinks.

"Möchtest du etwas zu trinken?" She asks, since I tricked her, and didn't speak English on the way in.

"Wasser ohne gas, bitte, danke schön."

They did the same, so then we really got talking, and didn't stop until Athens. We talked about poetry, literature, the northern lights, the pyramids, and, I must admit, languages. The woman was a linguist! We had a delightful chat of linguistic jokes that went right over her husbands head, literally and figuratively.

"Ah." He might cut in. "The imperative tense." To this his wife asked,

"Do you even know that the imperative tense is?"

"Well, yes, like, I am impaired..."

"No..."

But yes, it was very nice. She said it was a fun major and I should go for it. And her husband was a great guy, humbling himself at every turn and making everything hilarious. At one point I had finished my water and was holding it out to the attendant in a way that clearly signalled my desire to dispose of it. She merely raised her eyebrows as if to say,

"That's nice. That's really nice. You can hold a cup!"

With a laugh I turned back to my new friends. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well it may seem rude," he said, "But there's this thing, this feeling in Germany, Switzerland too... and it's like... 'How you like it." Oh, I'm going to do such a bad job explaining this..."

And so he did. We were in stitches as he described this phenomenon.

"It's like, if you want to hold your cup like that, that's okay, that's fine, they don't want to interrupt you..."

"My experience of holding the cup!"

"Well, yes, it's just; they're not going to take it away unless you ask them. 'How you like it.'"

"And if I should like it on their head, slowly dripping from their blonde hair?"

"There are obviously limits..."

Oh, they were great. I never cease to be amazed at my luck in good travelling companions. At last the plane lands. I look out the window and see hills and buildings. Suddenly I am lifting off the floor. It's Greece. It's really Greece, all there and suddenly real as it's never truly been real in my mind before. We are here.

Prepare for Takeoff...

There's really nothing like an American Passport. I have nothing to compare one with and therefore absolutely no business making that statement, but there you are. It's a deep navy blue, like Prussian Blue in freshly ground paint, with little silvery gold letters and our olive and arrow bearing Eagle gracing the cover. It's enough to make me proud of my country.

It opens to have a lovely message in English, French, and Spanish: "The Secretary of State of the United States of America hereby requests all whom it may concern to permit the citizen national of the United States named herein to pass without delay or hindrance and in case of need to give all lawful aid and protection." Funny, I never knew Condi cared so much. Interesting note: On British passports, the Queen "requests" this safe passage, etc, so thereby she can't actually have one herself. She requests directly in the event that she travels abroad. :D

After that I have all the wonderful data. Massachusetts, U.S.A. Following all this is the ugliest picture I have ever taken. That includes the one I took on webcam where I'm flashing the birdy and look obese. One of my eye looks like Poe's Evil Eye in a Tell Tale Heart, the other is normal size. Weird... Not to mention I'm about 13, and I have braces, and I normally take decent pictures for official stuff.

Now heres the part that bothers me. You know where you get the stamps from all the countries you've visited? I have two. Go figure. One barely visible one that says Frankfurt, and one big ugly one from Curacao. What happened to France, Belgium, and the Netherlands? Bah... :( Well, I'll be sure to get a Greek one this time.

Passport --- √

After all that, I've packed. One pair of shorts, one pair of jeans, skirts (4 long, 1 medium), a sweatshirt, swimsuits, a jacket, and a ton of shirts, shoes, and necessaries. I made all this fit in a carryon. :D My "Fun Bag" or lightweight stowable carryon, is at an all time record weight wise. It's empty except for my portable dvd player, toiletry kit, and purse. I'll add a book before I leave, though.

Luggage --- √

Can anyone tell I'm excited?

Greece AND Germany!

Alright, so here's the plan for the vacation:

Friday - Travel to Greece
Saturday - Sightsee with Dad
Sunday - Company Athens Tour
Monday - Hang out at awesome hotel
Tuesday - Awesome Hotel, Fly to Germany
Wednesday - Rhine Castle Cruise
Thursday - Hang around downtown Mainz while Dad works.
Friday - Fly Home.

St. Louis... Salute!

Honestly, how many places can you have 40 degree weather one week, and 90 degree whether the next? (5-32 degrees celsius.)

If this keeps up, I'll be flying to Greece to BEAT the heat...

4 Days Until Greece....

The excitement has started to mount. ^^

Greece

We went to the Omnimax today and saw the Special on Greece. It was amusing, and dual purpose; I got pumped about my trip, and I realized I've done a decent job of educating myself in preparation thus far. The whole movie was filled with wonderful Greek music playing over seascape vistas or historical monuments or modern day Athens, and to my wonder I found that I could understand bits and pieces. Ναι! Οχι! Εντακσι! Θεν ξερο! And, I recognized the city on the pamphlet as Sandorini.

This trips going to rock. In a month, I'll be in Athens. Melissa is jealous. ;)