True Happiness

This is me right now:

Just look at the exuberance on my face, the eagerness in my eyes, and the confident, can-do demeanor in my posture. I am so happy.

In my effort to maximize every second I have in this country, I've been taking very poor care of myself. Consequently, I may appear incredibly miserable. In such an event, it is likely because I feel incredibly miserable. Lack of sleep and proper nutrition weigh one's spirits down so. However, this does not mean that I am not thoroughly loving the experience; Little Kyle can attest to that fact.

This place, if only by virtue of being exotic and new to me, is magical. Merely wandering the narrow European streets provides a profound ecstasy, and developing the connections that I have has inspired such satisfying fulfillment. This last week was more of a growing experience than my last two semesters combined.

...Unfortunately, by taking the time to craft the perfect elaboration, I am perpetuating my lack of sleep problem. Let it just be said that this morning I felt sick and miserable, but that this evening was one of the most fun experiences of the trip. It just gets better and better. Now I'm off to dream about the fruits and vegetables I haven't been eating.

Lycabettus

I am hopeless.

But it's the best kind of hopeless.

It took a while to sink in -- I was sitting on a bench on the side of Lycabettus hill, staring out at a gorgeous skyline as the city of Athens put on its best suit for us. Leaning against my side was an Athenian woman who rivaled the spectacle at our feet. Despite my layers, it was terribly cold, but we didn't mind. After several hours of the Question Game, we were enjoying a moment of silence

"Athens: it is fine, I guess." She sat up and looked around. Understatement of the century. 

When it comes to writing, I like to think that I have a decent way with words, but on the spot, I'm pretty useless. I just grin like a buffoon. 

She ran her fingers along my smile wrinkles. There was no language barrier that could misconstrue that intention. Ever so slowly, our faces moved closer. As if we were in a scene straight out of a movie, a chorus of strings erupted inside my head.

Later, in keeping with the movie motif, the clear sky became shrouded, and we worked our way back down the hill in the pouring rain. 

"Five days." She repeated forlornly. 

We're off to see the Oracle. (Sorry.)

I don't have a very good sense of time.* Some people call it "perspective," or "scale," but I just have a hard time appreciating the oldness of ruins (I'm also terrible at gauging distance).

What I see are rocks. I take peoples' word that those rocks were once significant structures and I try to imagine them as they were then, but soon I realize that I'm just replaying bad Roman coliseum movie scenes in my head. 

Still, ever since I learned about the Oracle of Delphi in middle school, I have wanted to visit the place. I don't know why, but I was enchanted by the idea. So today's trip was literally a dream come true for me. I spent most of the experience wrapping my head around the fact that this was real.

(To be honest, I'm still in awe that I'm in Greece at all). 

What little is left of Delphi has been reconstructed by modern hands. Because of that, it's difficult to separate the old from the new. But I'm torn here: If they had made no attempts to restore it, but instead merely excavated it, the entire place would likely look like a graveyard with random blocks littering the mountainside. That would make very little sense. If they had gone the opposite route and reconstructed everything to the point that it actually looked like Delphi in its prime, one might more easily appreciate the architecture and the achievement of the ancients, but it would look and feel like a tourist trap similar to the faux pottery and sculptures sold en masse in the many shops lining the Plaka. So in that sense I'm thankful for the recovery work that they have done, but I can't help myself from wondering how much they just made up. 

Ben and I went spelunking in tunnels under the foundation of the Temple of Apollo. A lot of it was pitch black, but we navigated it smoothly....for the most part. I wonder if this was how ancient priests snuck into the Temple to steal the offerings to the gods? Actually, it probably wasn't. They weren't very hard to find. 

Subsequently, I went on a culinary adventure. The highlight would be a dish that is pronounced (i.e. probably not spelled as such unless it was French chicken, which it wasn't), "coq-au-retsin." It consisted of lamb entrails wrapped in its own intestines and roasted, and it was actually delicious. 

An observation I've had about Greek food is that a small amount can be incredibly filling. In America, one could inhale a cheeseburger, a plate of fries, and two refills of soda and look around for more. At this restaurant, we passed around plates of what would otherwise be considered small hors d'oeuvres -- local cheeses, stuffed eggplant and potatoes, etc. -- and scarcely were able to finish it, despite a long day of high-altitude exercise.

Now I am eagerly looking forward to whatever happens next. 

Which reminds me: Eugenia and I met up again yesterday for a pleasant walk around the Acropolis and a discussion of the meaning of life. I learned how to pronounce her name correctly, and she built up the confidence to post a picture of herself smiling on Facebook. So, all things considered, it was a very productive outing.  :)

The flash from my camera added a very cool effect in hers.
She will hate me for this photo. :P

What an amazing trip this has been -- and we've only been here for less than a week!

*I like to tell myself that it's because I have an enlightened view of time and can see through the illusion of its linear progression, but I might just be incompetent. 

Dog Days

Today, I felt like a hero.
I also felt like an arse.
Here is the story of the Heroarse.

In Greece, the stray dogs follow tourists around, partly out of a longing for a pack, partly out of the need for attention, and partly in search of things to eat. Tonight, we recognized one that we had seen before -- it was a particularly pushy black & white dog that strolled out purposefully to the front of a courtyard and barking at oncoming passersby, trying to scare them into clearing our holy path.

Three times tonight I had to wrestle the dog off from attacking old men carrying sticks. When the dog saw a cane or umbrella, he lashed out and viciously barked. It wasn't a friendly bark, it was the kind of bark that you feel in half an hour.

I don't know what that means, but I'm falling asleep and that was the third time I tried to write that sentence. My eyes close and I end up writing about something else entirely. The point is that the progression probably goes like this:
1. The dog saw the cane,
2. The dog remembered an old man from the past who hit him with a cane,
3. The dog preemptively strikes out at the cane-bearer
4. The cane-bearer defends himself with the cane, hitting the dog until it leaves,
5. Rinse and repeat.

At any rate, I'm a hero because this particularly daft mutt attacked three men around the Acropolis and the Plaka while he was following us. Each time I tried to stand in between the dog and the man. I attempted to put my hand on the dog's head to calm him, and eventually it worked; placating the dog, letting him lay down at my feet. That's the thing a decent man would do to help his fellow man, right? It was an obvious misunderstanding from both camps, and both parties needed help. So I'd keep my hand on the dog and gesture for the man to continue on his way, but each time, he just stood there and rattled something aggressive-sounding in Greek. I had to tell them that I don't understand Greek, and then gesture elaborately until he understood that this was not my dog, and that I was sorry for this mishap regardless. I never heard an "ευχαριστώ," and so I felt like an arse for trying, when they probably walked away wondering why I hadn't acknowledged their request for me to keep my dog on a leash. Even after I had said, "δεν μιλώ ελληνικά," they continued speaking in rapid-fire Greek. But there's something to be said (in English) for that -- naturally it was a high-stress situation and they'd be relieved. Maybe the aggression wasn't directed at me, per se, so I would assume he was asking something like, "What the heck is wrong with that dog?" to which I would shrug helpfully. The first time, though, there were a few Greek women walking by who started chastising the dog after I had calmed him down. They seemed to be on the same page and we exchanged smiles.
Bingo. Connection.

The dogs are generally very sweet creatures who lovingly approach you and let you pet them. They genuinely want to help; they're just simpletons.
I was all dressed up nicely too, but no, I had to fight off stray dogs.

Why was I dressed nicely......?

υπέροχα νύχτα. 

Yes. :)

Opposition vs. Adaptation

I am currently in the process of not passing out, so this entry will be less thoughtful and less (or perhaps more) esoteric than previous and subsequent entries from this camp.

Arguably the best parts of world travel are when locals mistake you for a local. Walking into a bakery and receiving a warm, "Γειά σου" instead of "hello" even when surrounded by my American peers is a pretty basic example of that phenomenon, but it still makes me smile. 

Unfortunately, most of the time,
I probably stick out like a sore thumb.

That is to say, adapting to foreign cultures and blending in is a challenge I readily and excitedly accept. Of course, my value system is not completely malleable, and I must confess that the amount of smoke that fills the air here is rather off-putting. Smoking is still a public pass-time, and passing by cafes and shops, cigarettes are lit, inhaled, and then wafted across the crowded sidewalks. 

Curiously, though, I noticed that the ground is rarely plagued by cigarette butts. In America, the gutters are often lined with them. I wonder if the difference in attitude is such that here, where smoking is more acceptable, people aren't embarrassed or concerned with holding cigarettes, and are willing to take them to garbage cans instead of simply throwing them out of the car window. Alternatively, Americans are unfailingly impatient, and if a trash can is more than 20 feet away, they'd rather just drop their trash on the floor and forget about it.

What would I want to take home with me? Frankly, I'd argue that we do not yet know enough about daily life in Greece to say. We know about their affinity for long conversations in cafes, and we know more or less their rough daily break schedule, but the pace of American life is not at all conducive to either of those ideas. As much as one might like to incorporate a three hour break in the middle of the day, American employers would never tolerate that. We might as well take the whole day off, they'd say, while we look for another job. 

So, personally, I suppose I'd like to find an employer that would allow me to come in to work an hour or so late, and then leave an hour or so late so as to avoid rush hour traffic, thereby maximizing the amount of time I have for everything else while not neglecting any work time. 

Aaaaand *scene*. 

Between Parkland & Pagkrati

I gave Jet Lag a very stern talking-to last night, at which point it tucked its tail between its legs and hobbled off down the street. In case you're wondering, Jet Lag is the name of the stray dog that followed me home.

I lied: he didn't actually leave. He just waited in front of our apartment.

Deliberately misleading introduction aside (he didn't actually leave), today was our first full day in Athens, but looking back on it, it feels like three different days. We woke up, wandered around the Acropolis and the surrounding neighborhoods, watched Rachel Weisz be gorgeous in Agora, had a fabulous group dinner, did some additional wandering, and then spammed unsuspecting Chatroulette.com users with unintentionally awkward poses. If you're concerned about that last bit, just know that it wasn't the worst thing they'll see on that site tonight. 

My recall process did a few double-takes ("That was today??") because there was so much going on at any given second. The Acropolis adventure alone is worth three or four hefty posts: Should I discuss the glorious lunches we shared? How familiar the flea market seemed after I had seen similar ones around the world? Or should I mention the second stray dog that followed us around the Acropolis (Animal magnetism, what can I say)?

Do I talk about how beautiful Rachel Weisz is, or how perturbed I was by the actions of the Christians in the movie? Do I describe how we appeared to swarm the streets of Athens at night, or do I apologize to the poor guys whose digital presence we momentarily suffered?

I shall do none of those things. I utilized creative exposition to convey the ideas for me. You read about my day without even knowing it. So there.

See? Robert, Ted, & Ivory approve of my wit...and the food. 

I do, however, have one story to share: during dinner, I was issued a threat from Dr. Finitsis. According to his rules, we (the students) are allowed to fall in love in Athens, but we are not allowed to date. I said, "Of course I won't date. Or at least I won't tell you about it." As the class laughed, he looked at me solemnly and replied, "Kyle, I'm not taking any chances. I will castrate you."

Subsequently, my peers poured me some wine, saying, "This'll make it easier," before brandishing a butter knife.

I'm locking my door tonight.

It's so Easy from Above

From the sky, Europe seems to be much more stream-of-consciousness than the US typically does. In my experience, the roads are windier, and the entire light show seems to have been built as it occurred to the builders. In the US, cities are much more squared out, suggesting that they were planned out beforehand. European cities may have expanded when it was necessary, randomly branching out with no clear plan for coping with the additional space. 

I say this as an amused foreigner, not as any kind of value judgment. Frankly, at 35,000ft, the world works the same way everywhere. 

I am not currently at 35,000ft. I already spent upwards of 14 hours at that altitude today. I am currently sitting in a decent apartment not more than a quarter-mile away from the ancient Panathinaiko Stadium and within walking distance of the Acropolis. It looks like a plateau on the horizon, but all 21 of us marched around the entire structure, meandering through downtown Athens for three hours, proving that ancient history isn't really all that far removed from us. 

The view of the Acropolis rising above the city of Athens, taken from my classroom building

Speaking of not being far removed, I just dozed off on my computer, only to be awoken by loud honking from outside. This is still a European city, and if you haven't been to a European city, imagine New York with more impatient motorists deftly navigating their motorcycles through harrowingly tight spaces on roads where lanes are merely suggestions and where no one asks for permission. I'll probably get used to the noise after a few nights.

I have some Greek under my belt. I wouldn't stand a chance in a conversation that extended beyond a few common pleasantries, but I'm looking forward to blending in a bit more as we go out in smaller groups. After all, a mob of 19 wide-eyed students is hardly inconspicuous. 

I almost met Eugenia tonight, but after walking so much and having not slept for 30+ hours, we decided that we were in no shape to go out. So here I am. In my apartment. In Athens, Greece. O_o