Jun
20
2010
I will always remember Ikaria fondly as the island that gave me back some of my mojo.
My first week here, I received two marriage proposals: one from a man 12 years my senior, and one from a man 12 years my junior.
Senior cooled off pretty quickly after his unreciprocated declaration of love; but Junior had the flexibility of youth, knew that his sea was full of fresh fish, and took me up on my offer of friendship. He turned out to be a great friend and island guide, who didn’t mind schlepping 30 lbs. of photo equipment for me when we went rock climbing to a waterfall and swimming hole in the Halaris River canyon.
I assume it was a long, lonely winter on Ikaria, but I still considered their offers…even though they proposed after having known me for less than a day, and our physical contact stopped at a handshake.
Who am I to question love?
And, admittedly, I would love to have Greek and EU citizenship, in addition to the citizenships I already possess.
Aren’t the blue waters of the Icarian Sea reason enough to marry?
In the past, women married for land, property, family obligations, and title. Is a passport any different? Granted, these sorts of rational calculations have been seriously frowned upon since marrying for love became all the rage, but love unions have at best a 50-50 chance of success.
Think about it.
I decided to hang out in Ikaria for a few more days to see if a man my own age would propose.
© 2010, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Photos and text are copyright protected.
Jun
18
2010
When Daedalus, the creator of King Minos’ labyrinth on Crete, sought to escape from Minos and his cretan prison, he fashioned a pair of wings made of wax for himself and his son, Icarus.
Before setting off across the Aegean, Daedalus warned his son not to soar to close to the sun or his wings would be scorched, but there was no stopping Icarus once he began to fly.
Icarus was lost in the beautiful moment, and, in the eternal tradition of rebellious youth everywhere, he ignored his father’s warning, flew too close to the sun and crashed into the sea, creating the island of Ikaria. This was man’s first attempt at flight, and serves forever as a warning to those who think themselves invincible.
Daedalus’ loss is our good luck.
Ikaria is everything a Greek island dream should be: naturally beautiful with secret azure swimming coves and hidden waterfalls, yet still unmarred by rampant tourism. I’ve visited over 20 Greek islands over the years, and I’ve never encountered the friendliness of the Icarians anywhere else.
Maybe it has something to do with the diaspora? Most visitors to Ikaria are local islanders who immigrated to America, Australia, Canada and the UK, and who come home every summer…because they just can’t stay away.
Ikaria is also the birthplace of Dionysos, god of wine and revelry. I’ve come here seeking to kill two birds with one stone. First, I’m going to bathe in Ikaria’s mineral hot springs — known since antiquity and said to be the most radioactive waters in Europe — then, having been cured of the neurological disorder that has prevented me from drinking any wine for the past three years (migraines), I will take a big gulp of Ikaria’s local red, made from grapes crushed by the feet of the Icarians themselves, and so strong, it’s color is more black than red.
I was told to limit my time in the hot spring to 15 minutes, but, since the thermal waters ran into the Ikarian Sea, and it felt so good to be in a sea so warm, I soaked for more than two hours.
I was a prune when I emerged from the water, but all my little dermatological nuisances were cured with one soak. I dunked my head into the water for good measure, hoping the radioactive powers would work magic on my brain and all it’s troublesome capillaries.
I checked myself later to see if I glowed in the dark.
© 2010, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Photos and text are copyright protected.
Jun
8
2010
I swore never to show up in Athens again without a reservation.
I swore not to pack so much.
I swore not to eat a cheese pie every day.
I’ve heard that a lot of people will skip Athens entirely and head straight to the islands, especially if they’ve visited Athens before. Maybe it’s due in part to my bad memory, but I always find it difficult not to spend at least three days in Athens. The Acropolis still takes my breath away, and the sense of living history makes me want to linger.
When I walk through the agora, it’s with Socrates; in Keramikos, Pericles is still giving his famous eulogy for fallen soldiers; and Aeropagus Hill holds the echo of Paul’s “Sermon to an Unknown God”.
This time around, I visited the good works of a Roman emperor named Hadrian, who loved Athens at least as much as he loved Rome. Hadrian’s legacy includes a beautiful library, a Tower of the Winds, a Roman market, and the completion of the largest temple in Greece –the Temple of the Olympian Zeus — that took 700 years to finish.
Athens just wouldn’t be the same without Hadrian.
© 2010, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Photos and text are copyright protected.
Jun
6
2010
My first night in Athens, I walk the pedestrian promenade to keep myself from falling asleep too early.
Children play ball on the marble walkway, as they have for millennia, their voices ringing out in laughter from the shrubbery of the southern slope of the Acropolis.
A tightrope walker manages the distance between two trees, ten feet apart.
Elegant couples make their way down the Grand Promenade to a concert at the Odeon of Herodes Atticus.
Flashes of light and a flurry of photographers follow the prime minister of Greece as he calmly makes his way through the ancient entrance gate. He has a kind face. It must be difficult to be a politician with such a kind face.
Designer blondes in tight white skirts and four inch heels stop for ice cream before the concert. Click, click, click… their heels on the marble steps.
An orthodox priest sings his haunting sermon down from the hills.
A man playing the lute greets me with compliments in Macedonian.
A young Roma woman sits near the entrance to the plaka, shaking a tambourine and singing an old slavic folk song. “Jovana, Jovana…” My heart tightens, and suddenly I want to go to Yugoslavia. But then I remember that there is no Yugoslavia. I tell myself that I’ll visit it’s ghost soon, but not alone; to go alone would mean certain heartbreak.
That night it rains, big sheets of rain that turn the marble walkway into a slip n’ slide.
The next morning, I make my way to breakfast. Still half asleep and bleary eyed, I sit down to a rainbow over the Acropolis.
This is how Athens keeps me hooked.
© 2010, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Photos and text are copyright protected.
Jun
2
2010
Unfortunately, my parents had to cancel their trip to Bosnia, so I’ve cancelled my own trip through the Balkans as well. I was really excited about escorting them and it just doesn’t seem right to go alone. I really hope they’ll be able to go at another time, because they need one more trip to the homeland.
Anyway, Greece lies ahead. Next stop, Athina.
© 2010, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Photos and text are copyright protected.
May
21
2010
I was running around getting ready for my trip and working on a blog redesign, when I ran across something that really sparked my interest, but is completely off-topic for this blog. It’s this press interview of Lance Armstrong denying Floyd Landis’ accusations of doping.
I don’t have a horse in this race, and I’ve never really understood why cyclists aren’t allowed to use the same performance enhancers that anyone else could buy straight from their local health and nutrition store, but I was mesmerized by Armstrong’s interview. Even as he is denying the accusations, his body is betraying him in the most painful way.
Most of us are bad liars, which is a good thing. Good liars usually fall somewhere on the sociopathic personality disorder spectrum, and you should run, run quickly away from them. However, most of us are also bad at spotting liars, or at least we prefer to keep our illusion of the world intact. Being able to spot a liar is a useful skill to have, and one that can be honed with a little training and practice. Being able to lie well is probably just as useful.
I would recommend Mr. Armstrong implement the following changes:
1. When defending yourself against assaults on your good reputation and character, DO NOT speak in a low key voice best reserved for a priest in a confessional. When innocent people are accused of crimes they didn’t commit, they become indignant. They rail against the injustices they’ve had to endure. You can hear the innocence in their voice. Work hard on this.
2. DO NOT keep your eyes downcast, your face down, your head darting this way and that. This does not inspire confidence. The innocent stand firm in their conviction and are known to lock eyes with all who question them. Some liars do this too, but they’re rare.
3. DO NOT shrug your shoulders up and down as you speak (at 22 sec., 34 – 40 sec, and 1:08). This is in direct contradiction to what you’re saying. Stop it.
4. DO NOT clench your lips together to keep yourself from telling the truth (1:41, 1:48, 2:02). Dude!
5. DO NOT make counter-accusations to deflect blame; it’s juvenile and smacks of desperation. Focus on defending yourself, the innocent.
6. DO NOT say that you have nothing to hide and nothing to run from, and then tightly cross your arms in front of your chest like a man who has everything to hide (1:34). Most people think liars are best spotted by eye movement, but the body reveals more than the eyes.
7. In the name of all that is holy, DO NOT clasp your hands together in prayer and then put them through a motion reminiscent of Pontius Pilate symbolically washing away his sins. (2:03) Are you kidding me?
If you’d like to hone your innate skills in spotting a lie, some good books to read are Telling Lies by Paul Ekman; Never be Lied to Again by David J. Lieberman, and The Truth About Lying by Stan B. Walters.
© 2010, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Photos and text are copyright protected.
Apr
23
2010
I’ve been staying busy with classes at the Smithsonian and wandering around DC with my camera.
My summer trip plans so far have me leaving the first week of June and escorting my parents to Bosnia, where I was born. I’m really excited about this part of the trip because I have so many relatives there that I haven’t seen in many years — it makes me excited and nervous at the same time. It’s like loving someone from afar.
I’m especially happy to be escorting my parents, who haven’t been back since before the war. This will most likely be their last trip to Bosnia, and it’s my first trip back with both my mother and father.
After visiting with relatives in Bosnia, I’ll make my way to the Adriatic coast, and plan on stopping on the island of Korcula (birthplace of Marco Polo) in Croatia, before going on to Montenegro.
Then comes the tricky part.
Surprisingly, there really isn’t a direct means of getting to Greece from the Adriatic coast — no boats from Croatia or Montenegro. I would actually have to take a ferry from Croatia to Italy — going in the wrong direction — and then take another ferry from Italy to Greece. Or I could take a bus from Montenegro to Macedonia, throw in a side trip to Lake Ohrid, and then take an excruciatingly slow train from Macedonia to Thessaloniki. I know the train is excruciating because its how I got to Greece many years back, and I swear it traveled around 30 mph.
I could travel to Albania from Montenegro and then take a bus into Greece, but I’ve been told this is not the best option, so I’ve nixed it.
I’m hoping to have a travel epiphany while on the beach in Montenegro.
© 2010, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Photos and text are copyright protected.
