I've never had to deal with allergies and finals at the same time before, and it's miserable. Luckily I think the worst is over for the school year. I have one more essay to do tonight (German) and one due Wednesday (Spanish) and two low stress finals (German and Statistics) on Tuesday. That's it. Other than that I have just random tasks to do, like getting my external hard drive fixed, buying a new power cord, finalizing a few of the last details for Japan (I have two more hotels to book, and one hotel stay to extend, and I want to order my rail pass) and... erm... sleeping? Haha.
Oh yeah, and I have to move out, which is a daunting task. :) I'll probably get a good start Wednesday and finish up on Friday. My dad is coming in the evening with the car and boxes, and without the boxes I'm limited as to what I can actually pack, but I can organize things before then. There's a lot going on right now and I'm really looking forward to having some time to deal.
I'm long term and short term exhausted. Sick of allergies. Sick of feeling trapped and all that shit. I want to relax. There is the sea longing, for example...
I have an exceptional imagination. Today I took a different turn than normal from Journalism and found myself looking up a hill towards the main University. I was actually looking at part of the Business building but I didn't quite recognizing it, just seeing walls and trees behind. And what trees! I never, ever, ever have too many trees. Every kind in every season amazes me. I don't know. :) But these were summer green, and the sun was shining through their leaves.
This is what I saw: red brick walls, bright green leaves behind, and then nothing. The angle of the landscape left what was beyond to my imagination. I imagined a wide green field. Perhaps some low and unobtrusive sand coloured ruins. They weren't central to the theme. Beyond, the sea... calm, blue, crystal clear, waiting. A few families. Picnics. Swim Diapers. Soft Laughter. A yellow lab was playing at the edge of the water.
I saw it in my mind's eye and more than that I felt it. I felt as if that was beyond the wall and the trees and that changed the flavour of the street I was on entirely. I felt contented and relaxed. I wonder if it's not my adjusting to the move to Florida, but I think it's something more than that too.
I think you can tell something about someone's personality by whether they prefer mountains or the sea. Ideally, I'd like to have both, but if I have to choose, mountains win with no contest. For me, the sea is too calm, too relaxed... a place to lay down and let the world pass by. It's pleasant, sure, but we have only so much time in our lives, and I'd rather spend it on my feet.
But right now, I pick sea. Because sometimes even those who go go go need to recharge.
Showing posts with label The Sea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Sea. Show all posts
May 07, 2009
April 22, 2007
Something to Eat on a Cracker
Far from the sea,
The memory of waves,
From each shell drifts into the wine.
A cloud of steam erupts;
A smell my mother calls,
Horrible.
To me it smells of tidepools,
Washed in brine, and teeming,
With strange life: many eyes,
And bright shells, and seaweed.
I pour in the salty water,
That drips from the cracked shells,
Mixing it with olive oil,
And alouette and garlic,
While a boil rises.
Once we dug, barehanded,
In rough brown sand,
Chasing a trail of bubbles,
That disappeared into the sea.
Now peeling side from side,
Held together tightly by,
The tenderness within,
It seems strange and alien,
A creature from the sea.
Seasoned with lemon juice,
And cocktail sauce, and salt;
Now it is unrecognizable,
Something to eat on a cracker.
The memory of waves,
From each shell drifts into the wine.
A cloud of steam erupts;
A smell my mother calls,
Horrible.
To me it smells of tidepools,
Washed in brine, and teeming,
With strange life: many eyes,
And bright shells, and seaweed.
I pour in the salty water,
That drips from the cracked shells,
Mixing it with olive oil,
And alouette and garlic,
While a boil rises.
Once we dug, barehanded,
In rough brown sand,
Chasing a trail of bubbles,
That disappeared into the sea.
Now peeling side from side,
Held together tightly by,
The tenderness within,
It seems strange and alien,
A creature from the sea.
Seasoned with lemon juice,
And cocktail sauce, and salt;
Now it is unrecognizable,
Something to eat on a cracker.
October 08, 2006
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.
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.
October 07, 2006
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. ;)
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. ;)
June 11, 2005
Thoughts in California
A poorly typed (wrote on a little palm foldable keyboard), poorly phrased (wrote things right as they came), bit of inspiration from the hills of California, courtesy of Spring Break earlier this year.
The things that challenge a writer - hills forever in red and gold, others in fresh green - every green. The rocky mountains a deep grey, with shining silver white watefalls cascading over and filling the valley below with mist like a pearl.
Feelings like this since the dawn of civilization artists, poets, writers, painters, musicians; all try so hard to be master of thier craft, to capture the feeling of the top of the world, where the sky meets the earth - that which god made they can only hope to capture a pale reflection of.
Here I find my own humble words slip away in awe of natures majesty, and its all I can do to capture the feeling of a feeling.
By forces seemingly antagonistic and destructive, nature accomplishes her benificient design. Now a flood of fire, now a flood of ice, and again in the fullness of time, an outburst of organic life. John Muir - 1877
The world as a sandbox... having yet the power to sweep into impossible pinnacles of sheer rock without losing its unity.
Green rolling hills... laced with gold.
Here a dusky crimson flower joined the gold. She saw it first from afar - blending into the gold flowers.
Words cannot describe. Like the maps; its like the mountains on a map, but made real and huge and magnificent, and robed in a carpet of green with lacing gold and violet, and the thin twisting trunks of flowering trees.
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