Awkward Ambrosia

I know that I am mortal by nature, and ephemeral; but when I trace at my pleasure the windings to and fro of the heavenly bodies, I no longer touch the earth with my feet: I stand in the presence of Zeus himself and take my fill of ambrosia. 

-Ptolemy

There is a special awkwardness to being the only person dressed on a nude beach (or as they say in Greece.. a beach..) There is also a certain unfairness to being surrounded by beautiful fit people after being fresh out of the second year of a Masters degree, a Masters degree which had sucked up all time to eat, sleep and exercise properly. Midday, when one of our companions left on an errand into town to pick up a friend, I prayed that he would bring back someone average, but sure enough, he returned with a stunning Spanish woman; tall with a beautiful face and completely comfortable in her own skin. I hated her instantly. (not really, she was actually quite lovely.)  I wasn’t even able to cover my awkwardness in the sea as I am a terrible swimmer and could possibly accidentally drown myself in my own mortification. To top things off, we were staying the night and I was woefully unprepared. (To be fair, it’s tough to fit a sleeping bag and blankets in my luggage from the States alongside 22 ukuleles..) 

Now, one might think that spending a weekend being perpetually embarrassed, completely unprepared and ever so slightly terrified of the sea would be a recipe for a miserable experience, but actually, quite the opposite occurred. I napped under a tree with a breeze off the sea blowing between my toes and rustling my hair. I learned that I am capable of having a mostly coherent conversation with a naked attractive man that I just met, all while keeping my eyes firmly focused up. I discovered the nearby hot springs and sunk my legs in next to a giggling pair of topless retired German ladies.  I ate delicious local cheese cut by a pocket knife and drank a potent Greek alcohol, of which I forgot the name. I would like to say that I forgot the name because I drank too much, but really, names fly from my memory. As a setting sun necessitating clothing, we relaxed on blankets mere feet from the gentle waves rolling in, and we played music; guitars, ukulele and voices carrying on the breeze. When darkness fell over, the stars took center stage, demanding us to drown our eyes in their depths. As a reward for our attention, multiple shooting stars left trails across the heavens. The constellation of the vain Greek queen Cassiopeia drew my eyes, time and time again, to her crooked crown. “I learned my lesson about vanity and am now here for all to see. But tonight the question is, did you learn, Jen?” 

Point taken...

Though the waves leave the shore

Though the waves leave the shore, they always find their way back..

For 45 euros, one can take a large overnight ferry from the Athens port of Pireaus. One can sit on the deck, concurrently watching the sunset in the west while glancing at a disappearing Athens to the north. Eventually, when the novelty of watching seagulls soar over the wake of the ship has worn off, a passenger then has about ten more hours to fill aboard this florescent lit behemoth alone in a dark sea.

I imagine the sunrise was stunning over a clear sea, however, I missed it while hiding under a blanket that I had accidentally stolen from the SAS airline. As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, Mytiline appeared all sharp, clean angles in the bright morning light. Mariza greeted me at the dock with her cheerful hat and little red car to drive me and my 22 ukuleles two blocks to my tiny home. (where I promptly fell asleep for 3 hours..) 

Lesvos is familiar this time, her turns and curves leading to places that I understand. My bed is the same. The same freakishly dull cutlery is in my apartment. Little decorations that I left last year are still in their place. The lamp that I bought and proceeded to knock over last year has been glued back together and placed cozily in the window.  The guys in the copy shop (that I go to EVERYDAY,) smile with recognition. The uneven stone streets do not trip me up and the food... ah, the food. I’ve managed to stay away from the ice cream shop on the corner, though I remember well the taste. I may give in tonight. 

After sleeping and showering off the overnight ferry adventure, I met Mariza and headed to Mosaik together, where we, along with Christina and a man who's name I have forgotten, would have two hours of children’s choir rehearsals. Mosaik’s beautiful courtyard and high ceiling airiness filled with the voices of kids anxious for the freedom of summer. Two sisters walked in, the older showing signs of becoming a young woman and the younger smiling with a mouth still half full of baby teeth. We recognized each other from last summer, exchanging rib crushing hugs before forming a circle for the start of class. As the younger sister, with her dark hair and freckle sprinkled nose, took my hand, she hugged my arm, sighing softly. “I love you,” she said.

Now, I am aware that there are countless studies on the effects of trauma on children with outcomes being that they form quick attachments or no attachments at all. I know these things. But this little girl?  She can have my heart. 

έχω χαθεί (I'm lost.)

έχω χαθεί (I'm lost.)

For the moment, Athens is the city that robs me of my equilibrium. I suspect that will change in the future, but for now, her streets veer off in directions unknown to me. In Chicago, I am one of those annoying people who gives directions using North and South, rather than right and left. But in Athens, I receive directions with a blank stare, unable to even pronounce street names as the Greek script is outside of my realm of Latin based languages. 

While Nadia was at work, I left her home to journey the six miles to city center to pick up ten ukuleles. I closed her door behind me and walked into a world in which I would be unable to even give my address to a taxi driver if necessary. (I considered stealing a piece of Nadia’s mail with her address) I headed towards the train station, an indecipherable fifteen minute walk, and I proceeded to double back multiple times. It did not help that up to this point Nadia had, without malice, managed to take a different way home from the train station each time we returned. My phone and maps sat uselessly in Chicago. 

The following night, after meeting up with Mariza and hearing Polyphonica, her Athens choir, sing, I stood alone at midnight near the tunnel of the Monastiraki train stop waiting for the next train north. The sound of clanking silverware from above mingled with the plaintive modal melody of a bouzouki as a dry wind passed through the tunnel heralding the arrival of the next train. Directly across the tracks from me, a couple made out voraciously.

Sometimes, getting lost is being found.