Kos, Greece

What do you make of the email you never send, the one that sits in your Drafts folder indefinitely? Do we hesitate because the words are too premature for life? So deleting it entirely would be like an abortion?? (Ooph, that's a warped analogy.) Eventually, I move mine to another folder because the feelings were lived, so why discard them? This is how I feel writing about Kos. A part of me doesn't want to include it in this little blog here, but another part, can't part with it (was that my first word play of the year?? in April?!).

Athens, Greece

UPDATE: Athens has officially redeemed itself ten times over. Not only did the state department returned my pickpocketed wallet after three years, they contacted me for my current mailing address when it was returned to them the first time around. Who does this during austerity measures?! Wow, simply wow. Of course, this necessitates an edit to my rating of three anchors to five.

Dear Athens,

I write you a letter because I care. Okay, I'll admit, a part of me wants to complain, how though when you have bigger problems to worry about. As your lives are whittled away, it's understandable why I met stone faces and saw what you really thought of my like. I too would tell a lost tourist "I don't know" and turn around when I no longer recognize my city as my own. But how I silently wept when I saw your frustrations scrawled on prized relics. Is your anger that dispassionate? Perhaps not because thankfully the Parthenon hasn't been vilified yet -- wait a minute -- yet?? I'm worried, aren't you? 

Then again, I reminiscence of fig gelatos, verdant olive oil, and of course, feta. Oh, feta. A love for their city and its splendors can't be too far behind as long as Athenians take pride in their cuisine. So dear Athens, please don't bury Athena. More for your sake and less for mine.

Sincerely,

A typically hopeful American tourist

Santorini, Greece

So last week I celebrated my blogging anniversary (first one!) by not writing a single word. Even after 41 posts, it still takes me days to write three or four paragraphs. Oh, fear not, I too wonder if keeping this thing alive is a good idea, but fortunately (or unfortunately), I'm old enough to know that often the journey for a love has some grit. Making every milestone feels like Oz.

I suppose this is why I have yet to set foot on a cruise ship*. The journey is too perfect, robbing the destination of its charming idiosyncrasies in my opinion. Any port-of-call town will have lamentable customer service if Celebrity Cruises is giving you "The Celebrity Treatment" day and night. Still, if you find something to carp about Santorini, well then, you're just a stodgy Scrooge I'm sorry to say. The only thing you should be complaining about are your moored eyes...

Delphi, Greece

I hate packing. After the first half an hour you'll find yourself wondering why you have a certain item to begin with. An hour later you're sitting on a heap of clothes tearing up over old letters. Disgusted by the time you've wasted, you vow to be more efficient and aim to finish packing before midnight-- but it's 11pm and you just started cleansing your chakras (or insert the latest New Age term for getting rid of old shit here)! There are people who can pack for an entire family in a couple of hours (e.g. my mom, I have to observe her more closely), but I know they're not the majority. Now, what gets me really riled about my packing equation? I don't even have a lot shit in the first place. My entire set of things does not equal to universal set. Ooph, I need to stop this rant. I'm beginning to reference Set Theory from Math...

So naturally, instead of packing the night before my flight to Greece, I spent most of my time looking for an old freshman history notebook where I had written, "Visit here one day!" in the margin of my notes on Delphi. A vagrant thought given my circumstances then, and consequently, it held no expectations. I wrote it to laugh, and I did. Especially with that dorky exclamation mark.

Delphi still didn't seem possible upon arriving, especially the way our first stop, Athens, was wringing us. But when we finally made it, the happiness I felt came from the bowels of being. Holy freakin' shit, I can't believe I'm here.