Dispatches from Greece: cicadas on steroids

Photo: Kathie

     Kathie (philosopher, University of Redlands) is in Athens, Greece, for an international philosophical conference—and some carefree vacationing.

     Here are her “dispatches” (or at least those sent to Jan and/or me).

KATHIE:

Wed, Jul 31, 2013 6:13 pm

Hey, Sweetie,

     I'm sure this is overkill, but here is a little information about my hotel in Athens:

Holiday Suites, Athens….

     The conference is at the University of Athens School of Philosophy, ELTA University Campus….

  

KATHIE:

Fri, Aug 2, 2013 12:21 pm

     Ha! They immediately "upgraded" me to a different hotel (ran out of rooms, I'm sure): so now I'm at the Crowne Plaza Athens City Centre Hotel….

KATHIE — Re: talking

Sat, Aug 3, 2013 10:52 am

     Hey, Sweetie (Jan), and my other sweetie (Roy),

     I was walking through one of those odd European markets near my hotel, and when I spied the peculiarly-shaped, bulging cartons of juice, memories of shopping in Italy came flooding back. [Kathie had visited Italy with Jan and Lori, maybe five years ago.] I've been wanting to get in touch, anyway; and I'm sorry I didn't manage to give you a quick call before I departed for Athens! (Sorry, Roy; that part was for Jan; then I decided, out of laziness, to send this to you both.)

     I'm ensconced in the Crowne Plaza in the center of town, but have had no proper touristy adventures yet. This morning brought some frustrations and peculiarities to report, though:

• Millions of bugs in all of the trees—cicadas on steroids?—make a huge racket all through the day that sounds like millions of full-on maraccas—LOUD!—in a way that makes you think you might be quite frightened if you ever spotted one of the noise-makers. So far, I have not been able to spy (or even espy) any. I love the sound, though. It's my favorite thing, so far.
• I met two Greek cats who came yammering up to me asking for food as I exited that peculiar grocery store. Since I had just refused help to the (robust-looking) man sitting there, I was too cowed to give the cats anything. But I'll sneak back later....
• The conference organizers provided nothing in the way of advice for getting to the University, so I spent two hot, absurd hours finding the place. I set out in exactly the wrong direction (as I deciphered later on), in part because whenever the woman at the front desk gave directions, she would firmly announce "go left" as she gestured definitively to the right. Finally I started asking directions on the street, and I'd have this experience repeated each time: "It is FAR!" the concerned Greek citizen would tell me. "How long?" I would ask. "TWENTY MINUTES!" the apparently walking-averse Greek would reply. Then: it would turn out to be more like SIXTY minutes, after all—definitely "FAR!" My feet and my temperament grew correspondingly prickly and sore. Eventually I made it; but I noticed that like me, everyone else was quite anxious to obtain a TAXI for the long ride back. I won't make that mistake again! The kind taxi driver thought to give me his card; and the essential memory of using the same taxi service repeatedly surfaced from those years ago in Italy. Yes!—something is going my way now.
• The "School of Philosophy" of the University of Athens is a barn-like, echoing, decrepit, and exceedingly ugly hunk of concrete. Thankfully, my paper presentation is tomorrow, on the very first day of this shindig; I will try not to set foot in there more than I need to after that. (They are holding some special "plenary sessions" in cool sites elsewhere, such as where Aristotle used to walk and lecture.)
• I was reduced to requesting from the front desk, already.... more toilet paper! These people have no idea how profligate we wasteful Americans can be—especially me.

Photo: Kathie

     BUT: I fully expect to experience sublime pleasures (after tomorrow) that will more than compensate for these absurd moments in Athens. Actually, I did squeeze one in today: at a shady sidewalk cafe with an English-speaking waitress that you and Roy would have lusted after, I ordered a Greek salad and got the most plenteous, gorgeous, fresh pile of tomatoes, green peppers, onions, feta cheese, and olives I've ever seen. No lettuce to complicate things. It was heavenly: a salad a fresher than which cannot be conceived. Then she brought me a huge hunk of watermelon for dessert!—watermelon seems to be a summer thing here. It was wonderful.

     Well, that's my first report—not a very eventful one, but I hope a little entertaining. Xinyan should be here by tomorrow, and that will be fun, though we aren't going to get too much time together. On Tuesday is my tour of the Acropolis. I listened to the half of Rick Steves' guided tour of it that I managed to download onto my iphone (must find the other half) as I was napping today; it seemed excellent. Amazing how far back this city actually goes (some 7000 years of human habitation).

     I hope that everything is good at home! Miss you all!

XO
Kathie

KATHIE — Re: austerity for philosophers

Sun, Aug 4, 2013 2:48 pm

Rick Steves. He's into marijuana

Hi, you two,

     I just got home and felt the need to report:

     I'm pretty sure I've never spent a more all-around miserable day. HOT, sweaty, dry, thirsty, TIRED, sticky, hungry, thirsty, cranky—and did I mention THIRSTY? 

     My theory is that the Greek financial crisis has hit academia hard, as it has so much else—how else to explain what is definitely the worst-organized and most uncomfortable event of it kind that I've ever experienced? It was sort of like a bad dream, with a couple of good moments spread through the 11 hours that they pretty much kept us captive at the hunk of graffiti'd concrete that is the school of Philosophy on this sorry campus. Graffiti everywhere; piles of trash and grass strewn in the hallways; pigeon shit on the floor (not making this up); one tiny snack stand for around 3000 philosophical masochists, were there was always a line of twenty or thirty ridiculously patient people, waiting. There was a big bottle of water upside down for about an hour with tiny cups for us to use; then that ran dry. No more water appeared. The "WC's" were weird; the practice here seems to be that (if you're on the ball) you spy a giant roll of toilet paper near the sinks, grab a wad, and hope it's enough. !!!!!!! (I don't mean to be hung up on T.P.—but really?!) Dirt everywhere, graffiti everywhere (I find it utterly desolating to behold—I guess we all do). Everything started late. People didn't show up to the sessions they were supposed to speak at. What....?

Photo: Kathie

     My session went okay (and everyone showed up), except that I could understand only about every 12th word of the Indian woman whose paper I was most interested in. (I know; I should be bilingual, too.) I got a couple of good responses to my paper; one guy even smiled wonderfully at my quasi-joke, for which I was ridiculously grateful after that uncomfortable, sweaty, grim day. I almost went to sleep when another guy spoke about Kant—honestly, I had to catch myself up short so as not to doze, right in front of him. It was like an SNL skit on how to be BORING. No one could have done it better.

     I did manage to connect with Xinyan and Jiabo (her husband who is really just a good friend) about halfway through the day, and we signed up for that 3-island cruise together. That should be fun. 

     At the end of the day, exhausted and plenty cranky, I assure you, I went with Xinyan by subway to a wonderful ancient site: the Odeum of Herodes Atticus. He was a famous orator who built this special, magnificent theatre for his wife in the first century A.D. I think it was considered the best of the best of its kind. It's right below the Parthenon, which was just barely visible—tantalizingly so—above us. (I will have a guided tour of it, finally, on Tuesday.) This event—an opening ceremony a la the Olympics, could not have been more badly (or just "less") organized. Throngs of people showed up and were mashed together trying to show our badges so that we could get our tickets. (Why (WHY???) didn't they simply distribute them with our packets at registration? I just don't know.) People were rude—always, people turn rude in masses. We clung to those tickets but had to wait an hour to actually enter the theatre.

Photo: Kathie

     BUT: now for the good part. Here we were, in a stunningly ancient, high, steep, different-feeling amphitheatre. I kept imagining people sitting there for entertainments in the 7th century B.C. (It holds 5000, and was pretty much full.) And: the Prime Minister came to welcome us. That was exciting enough, but about halfway through his speech, which of course referred to "certain people having a very hard time," the hundreds of Greeks in the amphiteatre began yelling and hectoring and heckling him—screaming and yelling him down. He was remarkably dignified, I have to say: just kept plowing ahead, starting again, growing louder, starting over once again, even louder.... At one point the translation (Greek to English) disappeared, just when the Greek crowd was getting especially aggressive and ugly. He wrapped up his remarks to a resounding, anarchic chorus of ugly sounds. That was, hands down, the most interesting moment of the day. But I sure do hate a person being shouted down. (He must be pretty used to it, at least.)

     Incongruously, we were then treated to a wonderful concert by Athens' best: symphony, dancers, singers. The dancing was extraordinary—athletic and violent, martial and exciting—never seen anything like it. 

     So now I have an egg-shaped and egg-sized blister on one heel, plus giant other blisters on the outside of both pinky-toes. They hurt! It's hard to walk!

     But I swear I'm off for nothing but fun for the rest of the week. These people owe me. Stupid, stupid conference planners. HAH! It was a miserable day, but I did my thing and, if my feet can stand it, I plan to do some decadent shopping and solitary explorations for a few days. (Xinyan has to do presentations the next 2 days. That's okay. When she and I are together, somehow we become Mr. Magoo, magnified by a thousand. I don't know why.)

     All right; I will release you from this litany of complaint now. Partly, of course, I just want to record it while it's still fresh. I have to admit that, even in the throes of some pretty extreme and deep grumpiness, the moment I walked into that amphitheatre, I was thrilled with the oldness of it—the sense of another time, with humans like us, but different. Loved that. Time travel!

     I miss you both hugely!—I always want to be travelling with you guys; it's you for whom I save up these stories and my unrivalled crankiness.

     Later!

xo
Kathie

KATHIE:

Sun, Aug 4, 2013 2:53 pm

     p.s. Sorry for the inconsistency: before I checked up on the "Odeum of Herodes Atticus," I thought it was built in the 7th century B.C. Such is the state of my memory. First century A.D. is pretty darned old, too, though!

     Gossip! I want gossip!!!

xo
Kathie

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE:

Mon, Aug 5, 2013 12:45 am

     "Hell" is a very apt way to describe (most of) it. [In an email, I had joked that her experiences sounded like hell.]

     I'm trying to get back into writing. I'll never be as funny as you, but I'm going to work on writing as deliberately as I can for a while. Need to get better! Need to get back what facility I once had! Need to stop using "!" marks!!!

     Miss you madly. I went to bed suffering something almost unheard of for me: profound homesickness. For my parents, for you guys, for my "bears." But I hope, in a week, to feel deep reluctance and sadness upon leaving, as I do when things have gone right.

     Hope to have cheerier stories soon!

xo
Kathie

[Earlier, from Roy]

     Very funny. Sounds like hell.

     It'll be great leaving all that behind!

--Roy 

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE — Re: serious fun with Rick Steves

Mon, Aug 5, 2013 11:57 am

     Well, you two, I'm weakened by the case of Hadrian's revenge (?) I acquired during this really good day, so this will be a mercifully brief dispatch.

     Mostly, I just wanted to report that I had a great few hours doing about half of a city walk narrated by the incomparable Rick Steves. Actually, I wouldn't know if he's incomparable, having heard no others of his kind; but man, the guy is good. He walks you through specific areas of town, providing a lot of history that even I seem to have absorbed in spite of myself—and with amazed pleasure—and pointing out great details to look for. It was wonderful, though I will have to pick up the last half of that "90-minute walk" on another day. He must be in great shape!—but also, I had a blast stopping and taking a zillion photographs. I have good hopes for a few of them. I ended up in an old, narrow district of little shops and boutiques and absolutely charming restaurants. Had another fantastically fresh and good salad, sitting outside and watching the crowds go by. I think it was the near-liter of "mineral water" (uh-oh) that got to me, but only after I'd had a really satisfying time shopping and admiring beautiful things in the boutiques. When the effects of (let's hope) that water kicked in, it was kind of difficult to get home.

     But I did it, using the metro (the underground subway thingy) and gaining in confidence no end.

     Tomorrow morning is my tour of the Acropolis. Lucky! The history here really is terrific to contemplate, even beyond that golden age that I already sort of knew about. Once, the acropolis and its temples were completely destroyed. It was rebuilt in the 400's B.C., I think. Hell, the whole town was destroyed at least twice over. Romans, barbarians.... When I get back to the last half of this tour, I'll get to see Hadrian's arch (remains) and some wonderful-sounding little obscure neighborhoods. Rick Steves is definitely my new hero. 

     Off to bed early with no water, no dinner—only dreams of the Acropolis. One of the most beautiful things I've heard here (or anywhere) was the mellifluous voice of the metro announcer announcing sort of matter-of-factly (or was there a tinge of triumph in it?), when we got to our station last night: "acropoli.")

     Homesickness is better now. It's quite embarrassing how shopping can lift one's spirits—but oh, so true! Terrible.

xo, xo — much love,
Kathie

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE:

Mon, Aug 5, 2013 12:06 pm

     Well, thank you, Sweetie. It's clear (to me) that I am emulating you, in part—but, I hope, only in part. The blog has definitely inspired me.

     Making fun of Greeks—yes! Also: certain xxxxxx (oh, so cheerfully and spectacularly rude during that sublime concert last night) and many others....

xo
Kathie

[Earlier, from Roy]

     Your description of your day from hell was pretty damned funny.

     I'm sure the rest of the trip will be much better!

     All is well over here in the colonies.

     We'll make fun of Greeks when you get back!

Roy 

KATHIE:

Mon, Aug 5, 2013 8:32 pm

     How I LOVE that sweet boy! [Teddi, cat. I had sent a recent photo of the fellow.]

     I can almost feel that fuzzy fur of his, in this photo. Nice! Shows the boy's shy side. Too sweet for words. Please rub him furiously for me.

xo
Kathie

[Earlier, from Roy]

     Teddy Boy says "hey"

     See attached [photo]

KATHIE — Re: heaven AND hell

Tuesday, Aug 6, 9:53 am

     It's a challenging time all around, I have to admit. 

     Our tour guide was very good, I think—and a really likeable woman—but circumstances are just kind of tough here. I would advise anyone never, ever to come to Athens in August. (I remember our learning that about Italy; thank god we waited as we did, until September. The problems must be quite similar.) The thing is, it's just HOT for most of the day; and by the time our lumbering tour-bus had picked up everyone and we were embarked on the tour, it was 9:30 or 10. We saw wondrous things: one favorite was the stadium where the first modern Olympics were held (holds 60,000 people) in 1896. Beautiful—the only stadium made entirely of marble, apparently. That was terrific. We saw Hadrian's arch, though we didn't get out of the bus for it. The Acropolis museum (just 3 years old), which she wisely had us do before we climbed the acropolis so that we could picture how the temples once appeared, is wonderful. Climbing the actual hill ("acropolis"= high/above the city) was truly strenuous; I worried seriously about old people (older than we are) or the faint of heart in a medical sense. STEEP. HOT. And the marble is really slippery, though I had the world's best sandals on that had good traction. If we'd been in the USA, we'd all have had to sign major waivers in case of medical emergencies—definitely.

     We faced a hideously long line, so she took us around another way—really smart of her, though by this time her charges were all flagging (we looked like drowned rats by the end—drowned in sweat, that is). Because she knew this "back way," we saw the 2nd oldest theatre in the world (whose name I don't recall)—very, very cool. We sat in the seats there. Then we climbed up again and entered the site of the Parthenon and a couple of other extremely neat little temples. 

     The thing is, as our guide told us, there were seven cruise ships that had come in to the harbor that morning, which meant that either 15,000 or 50,000 (I thought she said the latter) people were up seeing the Acropolis that morning. The place was crawling with brightly colored, loud, silly people who seemed to regard the place as another sort of Disneyland. Taking smart-ass photos was the main attraction. I had a great time taking photos, but had to work hard not to include these people in them. The crowds were immense—just overwhelming. There was also scaffolding all over; a restoration to fix the really badly done restoration of the 1960's (?) is in progress. That's a good thing, of course; but it takes some of the romance out of things. I looked down into a sort of deep hole at one point and saw: a white plastic grocery bag. Sorry even to report this (but I must); it just about killed me. If there's one thing that's worse than graffiti, it would be plastic bags. Sacrilege—just grotesque.

     Still: she had told us fantastic things about the smarts and artistry that went in to the design of the Parthenon; they had the columns bulge in the middle so that from a great distance, they would appear to be straight, correcting for our human eyes' ways of seeing perspective. They had lots of tricks like that--amazingly good with perception and getting things right. Learning all that was, in a real sense, better than seeing the actual thing.

     I hope that I will summon the energy to go back; I think that evening must be by far the best time to go. As it was, I scrapped my plans to go to Xinyan's paper, went and had lunch, and then did what I'd been dreaming of up there on the Acropolis (sad, but anyone who was there would understand, and a couple of my companions voiced as much): hanging out in the rooftop pool here. It felt absolutely wonderful. They don't need to heat it; it's perfectly cool.

So: hell really is other people; I wonder if Camus (or was it Sartre?) formed that thought while visiting the Parthenon? I am just hoping that with time, the sense of the place will settle into me and linger; and that somehow the red-shirted and irreverent crowds will magically disappear from my memories of today. (That sort of thing seems always to happen, with me; and I'm grateful for it.)

     Sorry to go on so! I do want to remember this, and it's a lot more fun to write for a concrete audience out there, even when I'm just struggling to get basic thoughts out.

Miss you!
X,O,
Kathie

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE:

Tuesday, Aug 6, 10:16 am

     And here comes the follow-up message (as always):

     My waiter at the outdoor restaurant was so sweet—extremely attentive and kind. Brought me cherry liqueur on the house, even though by that time I was indulging in a huge and extremely wonderful hunk of baklava and the Turkish coffee (the Greeks apparently would never admit it, but that's what it is—a really strong little cup of sludge that I have resolved to drink here). We shook hands and I thanked him for his kindness—nice interaction.

     But then: we both left at the same time; we were both going to the Metro; pretty soon he asked if I was married. Could it be that he was trying to pick me up? I wondered incredulously—and yes; that was clearly the case. I wasn't interested at all—why must the world be so cruelly sad in this way?—and told him good-bye as I ducked into a shoe store, though I wouldn't be caught dead buying those decadent (and adorably cute) leather sandals. Sad, somehow.

     Other odd things:

     They serve lemon juice here—just plain, sour, wonderful lemon juice! I love it. SOUR!!! (They bring you packets of sugar to put in it if you must.)

     And: a Russian woman insisted on practicing her English with me. She was sweet, but it was mighty taxing; I found it almost impossible to understand her. She took it in good spirits, but persevered. Why do these things always happen to me?!

     Okay; I'm off to read and snack—try to go to bed early. Think I'll try to hit another of Rick Steves' favorites—some sort of authentic and funky old shopping district with (apparently) dozens of cool cafes. That's right up my alley.

X, O!
Kathie

KATHIE — Re: a Rick Steves rescue

Wednesday, Aug 7, 8:38 am

Hi, you two,

     I was starting to worry: would I go home with mostly bad stories, and bad experiences? That's never happened to me, but it would be interesting—in a really sorry way.

     But Rick Steves came to the rescue again. His walking tours are just terrific—or at least this first one (which I did in two installments) is. I've listened to another that I will do, I think, on Friday, of the ancient agora. Today's started at Hadrian's arch, where there are also remains of the gargantuan Temple of Zeus (it was two football fields long, and used columns twice as high as the Greeks'—the Romans had to do everything that way, apparently). There were lovely little quiet squares; at one of them I had a delicious iced cappucino that gave me a stomach-ache for the rest of the day, but no matter. (What on earth has happened to make my system so damned sensitive these days? Hate that.) There was a steep climb to a road that runs just below the acropolis; it takes one to little tiny streets of feral cats and charming little houses. Some of the black-and-white films of the '50's and '60's were filmed in that neighborhood. (The Third Man, maybe?) There was one young, orange kitten (among several) who snaked around my legs and loved cuddling; it was all I could do to leave the little guy behind. (My trap-neuter-return and adoption instincts went into full gear.) There were little, very old churches. There were fantastic, though sparse, Roman ruins of Hadrian's library, where the Greeks enslaved to their more brutish and less educated Roman "masters" probably sat reading; the very cool "Tower of the Winds," which was some sort of weather station and planet-locator, etc. that had beautiful (still visible) representations of the 8 winds. 

     I ended up back in that fun Plaka district, with many shops, and made a great connection there mostly by chance: a classy woman with a beautiful little shop of fine little dishes. She told me where each piece was from; knew about the artists and how some of them have retired; knew about which artists learned from which others. I made sure to get a few pieces from Lesbos, thinking of Wendy and Anissa. Really lovely stuff. This woman told me she started the business in her '30's; she's now 77, and she is happy, she emphasized (very convincingly). I think she liked how much I admired her stuff, which really was special and nice. When I left, after spending some 100 Euros (for many things—not bad prices at all, in my view), she kissed me on both cheeks and we said our good-byes. Really liked her. She seemed pretty much middle-aged—healthy as a horse and vital. It was great talking with her. 

     She offered to speak in English or French, by the way, when I entered. If I'd been braver, I'd have tried French. Given that I learned it at a much younger age, an amazing lot of it has stuck with me. Sometimes people think I'm Greek here (twice so far), and seem quite surprised when I shake my head and say "sorry." Of course I like this a lot. One wants to be exotic in some way!

     After that there was another cool "square," with old churches and a shiny metro station, a flea market street that was too funky for my taste, and, on the bottom level of the Metro station, fantastic layers of ruins that they discovered in excavating it. You could see (marked clearly with good diagrams) an aqueduct from the 1st century A.D., remains of buildings from 4th and 5th centuries B.C., and other things from before and after, all revealed together. Wonderful to see it. (They build glass floors so you can look down at stuff, as well as across at it. It's a great way to make great use of space and give one an extra thrill.)

     This excellent excursion was followed by a long rest while my stomach finally settled down, a fabulous stretch in the pool and in the sun, and now, I hope, a short trip to find dinner. Must go to bed early: must! I have to meet the tour bus at 7:10; it will take me—and Xinyan and Jiabo, too—to the harbor to meet our little cruise ship. I'm fully armed with Dramamine—"less drowsy," but who knows if that will be "less drowsy" enough to keep me awake? I'm willing to risk it to prevent any motion sickness, for sure. (I think it helped me, at half a dose, on that bus tour yesterday.)

     How I hope this isn't just boring! I wish I could convey how exciting the walking tour was today; the guy (Steves) has a way of bringing the historical things alive. And of course the combination of inhaling history and shopping for beautiful little things is just killer, for me. 

Love you guys—back soon!
Kathie

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE — Re: the usual follow-up

Wed, Aug 7, 2013 11:16 am

     You guys are so sweet; truly, thanks for the encouragement!

     I'm on a roll now (for fun, I mean). One must ALWAYS ask for help, which I sometimes forget. I inquired (without much hope) at the front desk: is there a nice restaurant within walking distance? I doubted it, for we are on a major thoroughfare, and graffiti surrounds us on the side-streets. How I hope that when things pick up here financially, they will get a handle on that—an effort akin to what they apparently did (a huge clean-up and modernization) for the 2004 Olympics.

     The guy responded, "of course!" and directed me to walk about 3 blocks up a little street (also filled with graffiti; I was pretty dubious.) OMG! At the end was a place incongruously (to any North American) named "SALOON." It was a version of heaven: the outdoor patio area was nestled right in among a stand of beautiful big trees, resounding with the wonderful cicada sounds, sometimes deafening. I had a fabulous Greek beer named "Fix," which in this case was the perfect name. The food was just average, for here—in other words, excellent—and I had a wonderful hour there listening to the fantastical bugs and looking at my cool little book on the Acropolis: the kind where they do plastic sheets that overlay photos of the ruins and show you how things once looked. I even heard mourning doves and, just maybe, an owl (more homesickness, but now a sweet and mild version).

     So it was an all-around almost perfect day ("almost" because of the persistent, blasted stomach-ache).

     I'm off to bed!

     BTW: did you, Roy (especially), receive a message via snail-mail from Mary S (who now has a completely different name)? She is in a recovery program, apparently with the kind of steps that at some point require that one "make amends" or apologize for past misbehavior. I was touched to get it, especially because she remembered exactly why I broke off our friendship 30 years ago. I am cautiously planning to write her back. I'm sure she's put herself through the ringer a hundred times over, in all these years.

XO!!!
Kathie

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE:

Wed, Aug 7, 2013 11:18 am

     Bien sur! I say we do it.

     Remember how, in Italy, Jan, I kept coming up with French phrases instead of the Italian I had studiously studied (oh, brother—redundant??!)? Well, now I keep coming up with the 2 or 3 Italian words that have stuck with me in these 5-6 years. Strange! But I somehow feel that they gain me more respect than our crass American must.

xo
Kathie

[Earlier, from Jan]

     Another great piece—I hope your cruise goes well and look forward to hearing about the islands..

     Next time we all get together, I suggest we all speak French. Let's see how it goes. Ha!

Jan

KATHIE:

Wed, Aug 7, 2013 7:27 pm

     I remember doing the same thing in Italy—saying "merci" and "bon,' etc—it came 

sort of naturally.

     Your description of this fine little eatery reminds me so much of the last place 

Marion and I ate at on the last day of our visit at the wedding in the South of 

France in 2001—almost identical, except it was the first time I had a real 

French Rose'—the waiter insisted that their Roses are not like the crap we had 

here at that time. He was dead on.

     To follow Roy—thanks for the great reports! I'm going to miss them.

Jan

KATHIE — Re: oh, god

Thu, Aug 8, 2013 12:11 pm 

     The Aegian couldn't be more beautiful. I may be idealizing, but it does seem that I've never seen more deep-blue, sparkling, benevolent- and playful-looking seas. There is a line somewhere about Odysseus' ship plowing through the "wine-dark seas," and I think it must have been referring to this water. It fits. The islands scattered through it look a lot like the hills around Laguna [Beach]—coastal shrub and dry, but nice. I tried to focus on that deep blue sea, hard.

     That's because everything else about the "cruise" couldn't really have been more tacky, underwhelming, and dumb. I don't think I have the spirit to chronicle the many absurdities here; but perhaps it will give you an idea if I say, first, that Greek towns on the Aegean can be every bit as tourist-trashy as the worst of American towns, and then there's this: as we disembarked from the stupid barge on to the lovely-seeming but tourist-obsessed island of Hydra, we were bombarded with an aggressively muzak'ed version of what song?—why, "Country Roads," by John Denver. 

     I knew despair, at that point.

     Is there anything true and good left in the world? I have to wonder. It was just dispiriting as hell. I was even spurned by a lanky orange and white cat because the table nearby was peopled with tourists eating fish and who knows what-all animal flesh. 

     I have another solitary walking day tomorrow, though. I am really hoping it can save me. Right now, I would just really love to go home.

     I'll recover. Miss you guys hugely. Love you!

Kathie

KATHIE — Re: in love once more

Fri, Aug 9, 2013 7:58 am

     I woke up alarmingly depressed, probably due to some biochemical thing as much as to yesterday's experience. It's an unfortunate thing to feel that you must try to have fun, but that's how I set out for the day. Once again, Rick Steves came to my rescue. Without him, I probably wouldn't have thought to visit the "ancient Agora," as they call it here; and I would have missed out big-time.

     It's a fantastic, huge archeological site filled with ruins strewn about every which way, but also includes an intact and very beautiful temple—the Temple of Hephaistos, wonderfully preserved—and the "panathenaic way," the major street of Athens going way back to several centuries B.C. We tourists could walk up this route that people used on their way to the shops, theatre, temples, political forums, and other things that were on this ground and on up to the Acropolis--the Agora was the center of political life of the civilized world, according to my buddy, Rick. People hung out here—including, apparently, Socrates. One huge "stoa," sort of a huge mall that was full of shops, has been entirely reconstructed and turned into a great museum that guides one (in just one hallway) through many thousands of years of artifacts, including some wonderful toys for Roman babies of the first century A.D. (I have photos of those—including a rattle in the shape of a cock and another huge rattle shaped like a cat). There were fragments of pottery called "ostreika," on which citizens would write the names of politicians they wanted to ostracize, or throw out of office. You could read the names on them—one clearly spells out "Arissteides." Wonderful pieces of ordinary life from the past. There's a "great drain" that still functions today to funnel rainwater somewhere, very much intact in places. There's remains of the round "tholos," where politicians speechified. There's a huge statue of Hadrian, with Athena standing on top of Romulus and Remus feeding from the shewolf (?); he saw Rome's conquering of Athens as its salvation, since Rome would preserve the greatest of that civilization. (So Athena is standing on the foundation of Rome, according to the symbolism.) 

     Just incredibly cool things, everywhere one looked. The great thing is that these guided walking tours help you to know what you're looking at and to make it manageable. You could take it all in in other ways, but those other ways would take a very long time to read, along with the use of glasses—I know I wouldn't have the patience. Steves also keeps one from feeling overwhelmed in the museum; I felt liberated and permitted to skip over a lot and linger at the especially neat stuff that he decided to include in the tour. MOST helpful.

     Drenched in history and in sweat (good GOD, it's hot here), I left the site and had a great lunch in a side-street next-door to the Agora. It was another simple and fantastic thing: a hunk of crispy, fat bread, on top of which they piled chopped up tomatoes and feta chunks. If it weren't for the cheese, I'd definitely be eating this way forever. Maybe I can invent a vegan version of feta; if anyone could, they would deserve to earn millions. The classy older waiter brought me a "digestif" on the house. (This has only happened on the two times when I've worn my sort of skimpy sports-top. Is there a connection? I'd hate to think so.) It was delicious, and I asked for its name: Mastiha Chiou. (I don't even know if that's a proper, or a common, name. I'll find out.)

     After that, since I was right next to the Psirri district, and because of those craven desires that crop up every time I get happy, I decided to shop. (!) The Psirri (which sounds a little too much like the bad smells that one encounters too often there) is a rambling bunch of tiny streets that constitute a huge, meandering flea-market, but there are also some nice antique and lighting stores mixed in. You look into a narrow doorway and spy tables and shelves just crammed full of junk and some neat stuff—like antique stores in Orange, but with stuff jumbled together insanely, to the point of piles falling over and spilling onto the floor. FUN! Just as in Orange or Redlands, there's a vast amount of absolute junk, but also cool objects that one can find. I got some neat stuff there—mostly gifts, but also, embarrassingly, two great pieces of jewelry for myself. (When I picked up the necklace, the young fellow emphasized to me that it was "SI-FA," with a long "I." I puzzled over that one for awhile and realized at last that he was saying "silver." The stone was a great-looking tawny-orange: what is it? I'll find out. The bracelet is supposedly 80 years old--lapis, circular, and wonderful; the necklace is "only" 40 years old, according to the older guy. I was quite willing to walk away, which was (of course) the key to my happiness at that shop: suddenly the older guy announced, through the courier of the younger one, that he would sell me both for 20 euros—"final price." Hell, yes! I thought it was a great deal. We parted on very friendly terms of that commercial, crass, ever so evanescent, but pleasant kind. Mutual delirium at a shopping transaction: again I admit: terrible. But fun.

     I took the metro home to write a bit, and soon I will join Xinyan and Jiabo at the Hilton (their hotel, lucky things) for dinner. I am craving another Greek beer in a big way. 

     So it's a good day today!—and that's a relief. I began it thinking I might have to swear off travelling; that would have felt confusing and bad. I just have to remember that sticking with the historical (followed closely by shopping) and shunning anything remotely resembling "cruises" are critical rules, for me.

     It really helped me to read your sympathetic emails this morning, fellas. It helped a LOT. Thank you.

X, O!
Kathie

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE:
Fri, Aug 9, 2013 12:50 pm 

     Hi, buddies, Yes; I have to add a follow-up message again. This one seems kind of important: That first Roman baby's rattle was in the shape of a rooster, of course [she had used the word "cock"].
     I adopted museum language in my post, and it read somewhat shockingly later on. !

xo Kathie

KATHIE — Re: Delphi, mountains, and the rudest man in the world

Sat, Aug 10, 2013 10:14 am

Hi, fellas,

     This tour was a good one, though extremely taxing, physically.  These Greeks with their tourists in tow think nothing of having us climb a few thousand feet, up steep grades, in the absolute white-hot middle of the day. We were climbing up the mount to the main temple at Delphi right around noon. It was 38 degrees Centigrade, which translates to  just over 100 degrees F.  Good lord!—and the climb was ridiculously arduous, if one went all the way up to a high stadium perched way above the main temple (where the women who served, in succession, as "the oracle" would sit, and where the priests would translate the women's gibberish into ambiguous pronouncements). I did it, but even at the time it didn't seem wise. How do people not drop dead all around us at these rugged sites?—I just don't know. 

     This woman who led us was excellent. Aside from telling us everything twice, in flawless French and then flawless English (and reversing the order occasionally so as not to play favorites), she told us amazing things. For example, all Greeks must go to school through the 9th grade only. But they all learn two languages, plus Classical Greek!  And then there was this fantastic assertion: the Greeks never fought any wars over their religion, which leads some to believe that they realized, in their hearts and unlike those in theocentric religions, that their human-like gods were, in fact, figments of their imaginations.  That took my break away.  I'm not sure if she realized the implication there, about God-centered religions; but it was really an amazing thing to say—and very plausible, to me.

     The drive up to Delphi took a little under three hours; and once we finally left the ugly sprawl of Athens behind, the mountains were beautiful. It looks a LOT like southern California (Laguna, for example), except that there are more granite outcrops, there are pine forests for part of the way, and the rise in elevation is far more dramatic (though I think she said it's only 3-4 thousand feet). There was a huge, long plain filled with farms that once was a large lake. More than once in history, that lake had been drained to open up the fertile land for agriculture—once thousands of years ago, and once more recently.  It was really a beautiful drive. 

     The site itself was fantastic. I longed to be there in the evening, alone or with a handful of friends to share it with. There were many, many structures there, and (again) chunks of ruins were lying all over the place.  But you could see the footprint, floor, and columns of the main temple; and it was beautiful. Just thinking about people making the trek up that mountain, with trouble or uncertainty on their minds, was humbling. Thinking about BUILDING those temples way up there--also extremely humbling (although they surely used slaves). It's a place that rightfully seems sacred and special.  There was about a 20-second period when, alone on a switchback, and quite miraculously, I found myself alone—not able to hear or see any other human. What I did hear was a crow softly calling up there as he rode the breezes, and those remarkable cicadas, buzzing away at top pitch. I loved that moment, of course. 

     I can't help including a note about THE RUDEST MAN IN THE WORLD, though I almost hate to give him the attention of writing about him. Of course, he was an American, with two teenaged girls. (They actually seemed nice; how'd that happen?!) He was grumpy from the first, complaining about our sitting in the bus for 20 minutes at one point (one just has to get used to that stuff on group tours--even I realized that).  He was extremely tall and wearing a hat, but nevertheless crowded right up in front of the (short, of course) tour-guide, always, blocking everyone else's view.  Later, in the museum, I fantasized about physically assaulting the guy, for again he would get right in front of her and (more importantly) in front of the fantastic exhibits there, blocking the view for all of us short or average-height people.  I cultivated a pretty fervent hatred for this jerk, I have to say. Then, on the bus-ride back, he sort of bullied me out of my preferred spot because he thought he had to be right behind his daughters (poor things)—even though there were open seats right across from them.  Man, I wanted that guy out of my sight, forever!  

     To balance things out, I talked to two good people. The first was a really kind Japanese man from Hiroshima, there with his (well-behaved, of course) family. I sort of blundered by telling him right away, when he struck up a conversation, that I'd just seen an excellent documentary about the U.S. dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and how I couldn't believe my country had done such an evil thing.  (It really was terrific—one of the few times I've found something watchable and in English on TV this past week.)  But he was great (a philosopher who works on Wittgenstein).  Much later, as we toiled away trying to climb above the temple, he offered to take my picture.  NICE.  At least I'll have one photo of myself up there.  I also talked with an Indian woman who clearly cared deeply about animals and was especially interested that I work in animal ethics. We worried together about whether there would be good vegetarian options in our (prepaid) lunch.  We needn't have: we had spinach pie, a cool cabbage salad, and stuffed tomatoes (with rice and I don't know what-all else) that were wonderful—rice inside, and just delicious.  Then there was fruit—all of it perfectly fresh and terrifically tasty, as is almost all of the food here that I've ventured to try.

     My agenda for tonight is to drink some Greek beers.

Later—love you!
Kathie

KATHIE:

Sat, Aug 10, 2013 11:22 am

Photo: Roy

[In response to my email, explaining that Teddy is playing with my feet:]

     I cannot WAIT to see that Teddy-boy again, and cuddle him.  I'm wondering if he might be confused at first—maybe not quite be able to place me.  But even if that's so, I will remind him that I'm his Mom (or his Aunt Taffy—gad, that's funny), and will make him cuddle me until I'm satisfied (which might take a long while).  LOVE that boy.

     Yeah; a woman would take the place of the previous woman, when one died; they would speak gibberish and the priests would decide what they'd said--and then, the poor soul who wanted prophesies or advice would be faced with some really ambiguous bunch of words.  Now, who the hell were these women, and how did they decide that they should be the pithias (the one who delivered the messages from Apollo, I think it was)?  And what if more than one woman wanted to take that position???  Very curious, indeed. I gotta do some studying about these things.

     Can't wait to get home, even though I am, against all odds, glad that I came!

X,O,
Kathie

KATHIE:

Sat, Aug 10, 2013 11:24 am

And here comes the postscript:

     I forgot to tell you that this guide, Eva, even though her language skills were superb, pronounced "Sphinx" as "Sphanx." I loved it.  That Sphinx (in the museum but from the temple up there somewhere) was unbelievably cool.  I took many photos. Beautiful—just so beautiful. 

     Good-night!  Can't wait to come home!

Love you fellers,
 Kathie

KATHIE – Sun, Aug 11, 2013 9:03 am

Re: last day: sculpture, shipwrecks, ice cream, Aristotle

Hi, my faithful readers,

     I wanted to be sure to stay out of the sun today, and I also wanted quiet. I hit on the perfect solution: the National Archeological Museum. (Yes; once again I got the idea from Rick Steves, though I had to make my way through it without his narration.) It's wonderful. I spent a lot of time with the funerary dedications in the form of sculptures or carved reliefs—so beautiful, and often quite moving. I think that today is the first time that a piece of art has actually made me cry. It was a tribute to a young mom who had died, and showed in relief a female holding a child reaching out pitiably for his mother (the deceased, though she was depicted living--just at a little distance). It completely captured the poignant pain of someone being gone. I was just blown away, time and again, by the loveliness and emotion of these sculptures.  Most of them were from around the 5th century B.C.

     Then I visited their current exhibition, of objects rescued from the ocean floor and a long-ago shipwreck off the coast of Crete. Nothing beats a shipwreck for mystery and fun—that is, once many centuries (in this case, 19 of them) have passed so that one is removed somewhat from the human pain it must have caused, of course.  This one included everyday objects such as little game balls (like marbles), intact glass bowls (!), and statues that were half eaten away and partly perfectly preserved. The preserved parts were the areas that had sunk deep into the sea-floor, which somehow seemed paradoxical to me, but makes perfect sense in terms of physical forces eating away at those lovely sculptures and statues. 

     It was a wonderful tour, and when I was tired and the museum closed, I sat at a nearby cafe and had—what?!—a double dose of incredible ice cream.  (It seems especially good here.)  I've clearly lost all standards and become entirely decadent; what is the matter with me?  But oh, it was good!  

     Then: I sought out and, sort of, found the spot where Aristotle's school, the Lycaeum, used to stand. It is in a park in the midst of condominiums on a busy thoroughfare; and there is not a marker, not a sign, not a clue of any kind that it is in fact the site of the Lyceum.  Apparently someone reputable determined that it is.) It's idiotic that the Athenians don't play that up, I think; even non-philosophers, surely, might find that a little exciting?

     I was thinking about relativity in physics; it seems that once I learned (or tried to learn) that in one sense, we do not exist at exactly the same time as people very far away from us. (I may have this completely wrong.)  I wondered: can I really occupy the same space as Aristotle did 2400 years ago?  Maybe it's obvious that I can't—and in one ordinary sense, I think that he would have been what is now many meters under the ground, given the nature of the excavations I've visited all week. But apart from that: was I in the same space as he was?  It would be exciting, somehow, if true; but I find myself unsure of whether it is true. It's pretty hard, too, to consider it the "same space," given that it is now so busy and overlooked by those condos. Pretty tough to picture philosophy being done there--kind of impossible.

     I'm excited about going home tomorrow, more than I can say. But I am glad, now that I've had some good adventures to make up for the really bad ones, that I have come to know Athens a little.

     Now: I want beer and one more great Greek dinner!

Much love,
Kathie

Photo: Kathie (or a stranger she gave her camera to)

KATHIE – Sun, Aug 11, 2013 11:19 am

Re: postscript to "sculpture, shipwrecks, ice cream, Aristotle"

     I went back to "Saloon," my local restaurant in the trees, for my final dinner in town. It's hard to imagine anything more peaceful than sitting there listening to the cicadas and a Greek conversation among hard-working restaurateurs, plus yelling kids and barking dogs way off in the distance. (I was eating terribly early, for this city: around 7:30 p.m.; so I had it all to myself.) I recorded some of it, and am really hoping that it will give you a little sense of things.)  

     I can't wait to see you two!

xo,
Much love,
Kathie

Photo: Kathie

KATHIE – Sun, Aug 11, 2013 11:24 am

     So cool, as I remarked to Jan earlier tonight, that we're on-line at the same time (or is it?!?!).  I'm off to bed with sweet dreams of being home and cuddling Teddy swirling in my mind.  Can't wait to see you all!

x,o,
Kathie

KATHIE – Sun, Aug 11, 2013 9:16 pm 

     Well, I'm off to have one more breakfast here in the Crowne Plaza, and then I'll be off in a taxi to Eleutherias ("freedom") Airport. I'm so, so glad to be returning to you fellas, Teddy, my bears, my families, HOME.

Love you madly! Kathie

Photo: Kathie (well, a kindly Japanese man to whom she handed the camera)