Hidden Jewels

"If you aren't sure of who you are, you might as well work on who you want to be"

No Friday seems complete without a six hour bus ride; this time around on the agenda was a visit to the sites of Meteora and Metsovo. Of course, as with all stories, the twist in the plot can happen at any and at many moments. The first such surprise was a stop at the historic and popular site of Thermopylae. The site of the epic battle between the Spartans and the Persians, the site recreated in the movie 300, and the site where the fates of those involved changed so dramatically that they would be remembered for all eternity.

It was a ten feet wide path on the ground, with shrubs and weeds on either side.

Anti-climactic to say the least, the actual ground where the battle raged was a small hot spring surrounded by open land, and a few statues and effigies put in place to commemorate the honorable men who fought so valiantly. Plus there was the road-side gas station to add a little razzle and dazzle. To be fair, the story of what really happened during the three days when Greece’s destiny was being shaped was recounted marvelously by one of the accompanying professors. He went on – without a pause – to describe the circumstances of the battle, the evidence highlighting the actual events on the ground, the technical aspects of the fight, and the scene in the country afterwards. If only information learned in class stayed ingrained in the memory that well. A favorite was definitely an engraved epitaph on a dedicatory stone placed on the burial mound of the Spartans – on the hill where the last of them died. It romantically reads to the fortuitous wanderer:

“Stranger, announce to the Spartans, that here we lie, having fulfilled their orders”.

Of course, Leonidas – the Spartan King, and the seven hundred Thespians who so faithfully joined them both have their own monuments and entertaining inscriptions as well. The trinity of remembrance at the site is touching, and compensates for the not-so-overwhelmingly-spectacular scene of the front line.

This is SPARTA!

Onward we rode, until we abruptly stopped in front of a view that was nothing short of miraculous. Meteora is one of the largest and most important complexes of Eastern Orthodox monasteries in Greece. Each is lodged precariously atop natural sandstone pillar-like rock formations. It was beautiful not just for the view, but for the brilliantly constructed spaces of worship. There are six monasteries actively in operation, and we managed to visit four of them. The first one – St. Steven’s – was built in the 16^th century and was damaged by the Nazis who believed it harbored insurgents. It was taken over and reconstructed by nuns who now call it home.

Each monastery is built according to strict functional specifications: the central courtyard, the isolated living quarters at the edge, the storage basements, and most importantly, the Katholikon – the main area of prayer.

The Katholikon is the most intricately designed and well-kept part, and is divided into three principle sections, all facing East (one of the many features reminiscent of pagan Hellenism). The esonarthex (outer-most hall) is the entrance way with wooden pews for people to half-kneel or stand. The walls are covered with motifs and depictions of biblical scenes, martyrdom illustrations, and themes of the Orthodox Church. Much of the decoration is gilded with gold, especially portrayals of divine or holy figures.

The next day saw us pilgrimaging to three more monasteries. The grandest of them all beckoned from afar: The Great Meteoron was built in the 14^th century and was initially only accessible by ladders and nets that hoisted wary and terrified travelers up to the top. Only in the last century was this remedied with steps cut into the rock, although it would have been exhilarating to fly up three hundred meters or so with only a single net and rope ensuring your survival (and God’s will too, of course, as the priest remarked). In any case, we crossed the bridge into another realm; the sheer scale and impressive aura of this monastery leave many speechless. Not a bad place to spend the rest of your life in solitary devotion.

Courtyard for the monks to gather, work, and pray

Here, as in the others, the Katholikon’s outer hall leads into the more sacred esonarthex (inner chamber) where services are held. Icons are kissed, chests are crossed, and candles are lit, as one enters this most interesting lair. The floor is always in the shape of a Greek Cross – with both arms of equal length – and the dome sits directly above the middle, with Jesus in the middle and his Apostle’s and angels surrounding him. Everything inside is symbolic of the rituals, beliefs, and history of the religion. By far the most aesthetically fascinating feature is all the hand-carved wood that adorns the Eastern most wall that leads into the kathedra (episcopal throne). The fact that in antiquity people had to rely on the Church and corresponding artwork to glean information and knowledge speaks to the importance of sophisticated artistic rendering; it was like reading a story on the walls.

Surprisingly, there is quite a bit of competition among all the active monasteries, with each community eager to demonstrate why theirs is the most legitimate. Varlaam is the second largest and was built in the 16^th century. After passing through the outer chamber, into the inner narthex , what comes next is the kathedra (episcopal throne) where none but the Bishop or head of the religious service may enter. Veiled with a velvet barrier to discern the degree of divinity within, it is opened only during a service. After marveling yet again at the iconography and mystic of the Katholikon, we headed out to the courtyard where the Abbot – or the spiritual head of the monastery – consented to talk to us and have our professor translate so we could gain a deeper understanding of how he and the other monks lived.

He described their attitudes towards foreigners: on the one hand, tourists who simply come to “see and look around” are frustrating to them and they have no desire to interact with people who do not understand what they represent. On the other hand, individuals that come to discover some aspect of their own spirituality, or those who come to appreciate and learn about the ways of Orthodox Christian monks are always welcome, and they willingly accept them into their community, even if only temporarily.

Ascend this you shall, and glory you shall have

As with the other three monasteries, the last one, Roussanou, is built similarly, although smaller in size. There are only three and a half nuns who live there. Three full time sisters, with one coming in-and-out as her health permits; they run the entire place, maintain working hours for visitors, and pray constantly. “We never stop being in constant mindfulness of Him” said the one vestal who sat outside the exonarthex painting and inscribing stones with peoples’ names as souvenirs. Even if the trip did not result in anyone deciding to give up everything and become an ascetic or monk, it was eye-opening in many respects. To contemplate how and why these souls decided to take the path they did, to acknowledge that they were entitled to their beliefs about the world, and to imagine trying to adapt to their situation to fully comprehend the meaning behind their lives – it was refreshing to experience a different side of Greece, away from the crazy traffic, the excessive presence of stray animals, the hustle and bustle of tourists in Syntagma, midnight runs to the bakery for the next morning's bread, and much more.

The night was spent in Kalambaka, the closest town to the monasteries. With one huge street to explore, dinner at a leisurely taverna consisted of the usual fare. The success of the night however, was wandering the streets by the two fountains and chancing upon an old-school café-bar in which we decided to pass some more of the night away. Wonders of wonders, I opened the menu to discover it was a chocolate café-bar. It couldn't have gotten any better (which it did, shortly afterwards) – I extravagantly ordered xocolatl: the Mayan dark chocolate drink laced with ginger, chili pepper, and hazelnut. The owner of the bar graciously (more amusedly than generously I think) added a side of caramel ice-cream to go with it. It was simply divine, and hit the spot. I would not stop raving about it for the rest of the night, until I found something else to rave about. The hotel we stayed at had a free massage chair to use at our disposal. I called it “pure heaven” – the priest who was with us cracked up for a good ten minutes.

Multiple sessions in that chair made for a very happy group. We packed up our things and bade farewell to the little town and the majestic monasteries that adorned the view as we drove out. The weekend wasn't even close to over, as we arrived soon after in the picturesque town of Metsovo.

Wish it never had to end

Birthplace of many prominent Greek benefactors to the nation, Metsovo has a population of just under 4,000 people. It is famous for its wines, cheeses, meats, and ski resorts. After much experimentation and investigation, the first three are decidedly true. We hoped off the bus and into what seemed like a town in a different country. Easily paralleled with Scotland, France, or even northern Italy for that matter, the town has a life of its own with a unique landscape of the Pindos mountains (the largest mountain range in Greece). Deep red terracotta roof tiles, white-washed houses that seemed to delve below the ground and under roads, and evergreen pine trees truly encompassed the spirit of Fall in Greece.

Apollon Hotel was our residence for the night, and seemed to have come right out of a glamorous winter bed-and-breakfast catalogue. The wood and log-cabin like interior was the perfect cozy setting that we were looking for after the long bus journey. Known especially for their wood carving and handicraft skills, the town offered many antiques and trinkets to collect. I brushed up on my superior bargaining skills and acquired baubles to expand my ever-growing mass of gifts for everyone back home. We headed to a taverna to satisfy our appetites; it had a fire pit in the middle of it to keep us warm from the chilly mountain air. Needless to say, we fully approved of the distinguished honor people ascribe to the wide selection of meat, cheese and wine they boast of. It was all delicious, and extremely reasonably priced.

We retired to the verandah of the hotel for the night– sharing stories, chocolate, pictures, and cigars. It was quality bonding at its best as we got to know some others in the group better and fondly remarked at how wonderful our experiences so far have been. Unfortunately, with no massage chair to keep me up, we said goodnight, reluctant to leave the next afternoon.

Before the adventure was over however, we were treated to impromptu attendance at the local Sunday Church service. Having never been to an Orthodox service before, it was enlightening. The service was unlike any other Christian mass, with different levels of formal customs and informal gathering. There was a lot of singing, a lot of movement, and a lot of children. They were everywhere, and they were adorable.

We learned in class that Greek Orthodoxy is not so much a religion as it is an ethnic identifier. Life revolves around the beliefs and superstitions imposed centuries ago by the dominant religion. Symbols like warding off “the eye” (the evil one), kissing anything remotely revered or venerated (like they kiss the icons in Church), calling upon Mary to resolve all problems (instead of simply the Virgin Mary, she is primarily associated as the Mother Mary), are all obvious indicators of how faith and culture have historically been intertwined. Even subtle signs like extravagant displays of hospitality, desires of men to act “manly”, protective and be able to provide,  the traditional long skirts worn by older women, and the almost “mandatory” siesta (the one complained about least) can all be traced back to some religious aspect or another. Where the majority (97%) of the population identifies with the Eastern Orthodox Church, it is analogous with Hinduism in India or Christianity in America: where, to a large extent, the religion comes to represent the culture, and/or vice-versa.

Once again, we were fortunate enough to be invited for coffee, tea and sweets by the Abbot who talked to us about his faith, the community, his perception about life, and how as the young generation, we “should seize every opportunity we have to make our world a better place forever”. It was very kind of him, and we also had the chance to interact with a few locals who told us tales about the village, the history of the Church we visited, and urged us to “eat more fried cheese”.Before heading back, we made one last stop at the Folk Art Museum which is actually the former home of one of the richest families in Greece. The mansion was huge, and stands testament to the traditional Greek ideal home with the hearth in the middle, one huge sleeping room, a separate men’s parlous, and riches after riches decorating the walls and shelves. It was plush, even by modern standards, and was very educational in terms of learning more about traditional life within the private sphere of the household – a very very very rich household.

Ideas for interior decoration?

It was the perfect end to a perfect weekend. Allowing us to be pensive and introspective, we explored a part of Greece that not many people decide to. Always striving to find the hidden jewels in life, Meteora and Metsovo are definitely two of the brightest ones. Now more than ever, with the semester being halfway through, it is hard not to think about everything that has happened over the past few years and how everything has played out. No matter how things turn out, people always desire to make sense of the world around them, yearn to make any situation into the most favorable one, and hope to make happiness a part of their lives. Its just like the Abbot after the Church service stated:

“Certain events happened in my life, without me knowing, that led me to where I am today. I did not see it, but [maybe] it was all part of [a] plan. I am happy [to be here speaking with you] now”

The Highs of Life

"Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path, and leave a trail"

Mission climb-the-highest-mountain in Greece is officially checked off the list of things to do. Mount Olympus is rightfully the home of the twelve Olympian Gods of the ancient world, with the highest peak being Zeus’ throne, called Mytikas. We decided to pay him a visit, it was one we will never forget.

As with all our fun-filled CYA trips, we started bright and early on Friday morning. No ferry ride this time, but we were compensated with a six-hour bus ride instead. The intention to finish some homework soon turned into a five-hour ‘nap’, with no regrets. Stopping along the way, we gobbled down a delicious tavern lunch of protein and carbohydrates to gear up for the hike up. To start the trek, we had to start from the village of Litochoro (pronounced Lee-tho-huro; this desire to start spelling things out first in Greek before English might prove to be a problem upon return): the village of the Gods.

"Do I look at the ground or do I look up?!"

As to be expected of a mountain, the hike was extremely uphill. Just when you thought there could be no more steps steeper than the ones you just dominated, there comes another set, just as impending as the ones before. It took every strain of effort to continue the three hour climb. Our goal was to reach a refuge shelter that was located 2/3 of the way up.

We were lucky to have two interesting guides accompany us along the climb. Cristas, “and his friend Yannis” were the source of much amusement and lightheartedness throughout the trip. With jokes about how much further we had till we reached the end, to pretending we were lost, to constantly reminding us about the single room we would share in the shelter, they were a riot. Apart from the fact that it was nearly impossible to take them seriously, they did come to the rescue over the weekend, producing “magic medicine” (a.k.a. magnesium) to make the knees stop aching, and Band-Aids galore after what I think was a graceful slide down a slope of gravel.

Yes we’re adults, but not once did that stop the twenty of us from coming up with silly ways to pass the time during the climb – I discovered my lack of technical knowledge of anything to do with entertainment. Needless to say there was no need to anyway: the view was breathtaking. It was a world away from Athens, and basically a world away from everything. It was delightful to hear the water from a spring while wandering through the forest and stare intrepidly at the avalanches near the bottom, and to gaze across the clouds and past the village to see the sea once we were higher up. The rush of standing along the cliff-side along the top is unparalleled, and the more of the view we absorbed, the more we yearned to take in.

That same day, we finally (really, there was a point it seemed unlikely we would make it up there) reached the shelter at 8.30pm. What time did they stop serving food? 9.00pm. What time was lights-out? 10.00pm. We were a group of tired, hungry, and slightly delirious college students. It was a miracle we managed to squeeze into the lobby, which doubled as the place to order food, take off our shoes to switch into required sandals, and relax into the atmosphere. It was cozy, with two fireplaces that we quickly claimed as ours, long tables to sit at with other adventurous souls from around the world, and one huge room we all had to sleep in. The best part of the night however, was stepping outside into the chilly mountain air to see the stars.

The shelter that (almost) never was

The sky was so dark it was almost frightening, but the stars were as clear as crystal. Each shone proudly, yet none outdid the other. It was perfect harmony, and it was the magical highlight of the trip. Shooting stars were all over the place, and the more you focused, the more stars there were that revealed themselves, seemingly only to you. It was one of those powerful moments that fill you with an enchanting sense of serenity.

Early to bed, and early to rise (kind of), we geared up over a hearty breakfast by the fireplace. We still had another two hours to reach our goal. We were unable to hit the very top, because that requires climbing gear and technical experience. We settled for the base of Zeus’ throne. Already above the clouds, we went higher and higher, passed by a few donkeys who were probably smirking at our valiant efforts, and crossed the part of the trail that required three meters of distance between each other to account for and dodge stones chucked down from the wild goats who reside above. With fewer stops than the day before and the sun warming the cool air and edging us on, we made our way to the peak.

We approached the end in high spirits, full of immense gratification. We could see so far beyond, and were surrounded by so many different landscapes and other mountain tops. At this point, we could also look across to another peak: one with another refuge – at the same altitude of 2,100 meters. We even saw people making their way towards it, as well as some who were ascending to the top of Mytikas. Right next to it, there was a tiny Church – it is said that underneath the Church was a pagan temple from Ancient times, and when it was destroyed the Church was built atop it. I’m not sure Zeus was too happy about that.

Zeus' lair; not a bad place to call home

It felt so rewarding to be so wholly immersed in nature and have completed the strenuous endeavor. We spend quite a while up there, and I took off to a higher point above the rest of the group, and –to add to the entire cliché – meditated in front of an alcove on the cliff. When it was time to say goodbye and make our way back to the shelter, we took our final pictures and tried to imprint the view permanently in our memories. The journey down didn’t take long, and the change in terrain was a nice reprieve for our tender leg muscles. We literally flew down the mountain, and after a quick stop at the refuge to pick up our bags and eat lunch, we descended down Mount Olympus, to return home to Athens.

The realization of just much we covered hit us on the descent down. We appreciated how much we actually climbed the day before, and wondered at how we navigated it in semi-darkness. It was a relatively quiet hike down, as we all reflected on various personal aspects. It was a great weekend get-a-way. Even though we hadn't showered the entire time (or for that matter, did we have running water for the whole trip), even though we paid too much for comfort food at the lodge, and even though we anticipated the soreness and body pains for many days to come – we had an absolutely exhilarating time. We bonded over fruit and nut snacks, over sleeping in the same room, over sharing a water bottle to brush our teeth, and over taking turns to turn around slowly in front of the fire. I told the stars I would be back one day, to make it to the very top, and that they should please continue shining ever-so-brightly, and I decided I was inspired to stay somewhat in better shape so that it wouldn't be as painful the next time around.

It still will be though; mai doulevees (are you kidding me)?

With the weekends being packed with intense travelling and creating moments that will live in my heart forever; the weekdays feel very different. With five full classes, tutoring twice a week, and cooking dinner every night, there isn't much time for much else. Throw in a demonstration every now and then, and it is impossible to tell I’m not local (putting aside some other very significant giveaways; but really, who really notices those anyways?).

Given the political and economic atmosphere this is prevalent now, the nation is gripped by a multitude of attitudes and feelings. Conservatives, liberals, communists, socialists, and everyone else – they all have something to say. Their voices crave to be heard, and the people just want to be taken as worthy of acknowledgement. All protests usually take place in the heart of the city: Syntagma Square. It is the scene most prominently featured in the news, the area all the tourist buses stop first, the park with the best street acts, and it has the kiosks with the best postcards. It also happens to be a seven minute walk from our neighborhood.

On one sunny day last week was one such protest. It was the day Angela Merkel, the German Chancellor was to visit the Greek Parliament for “some talks”. The Greeks are not too happy with Germany’s involvement in their economic affairs, and as with other things that they are not happy with, they naturally called to demonstrate against it. The whole city follows unofficial procedures and know-how on these days, with public transport being disrupted and stores closing down. Everyone who is anyone shows up, whether for solidarity and support or to witness the spectacle and observe.

Angela Merkel's welcome party

After lunch we walked across the National Gardens to the Parliament building, passing by civil police officers (armed with their handsome faces and semi-automatics) who were stationed at intervals leading up to the Square. We hit the mass of people almost immediately and meandered about. The whole thing was like a show: there were people selling food and souvlakis, tourists taking pictures and gaping open-mouthed, college and high-school students hanging out and missing classes, locals shopping and wandering in the commercial district beyond, and a sprinkling of media crews here and there, poised and ready for anything.Mostly, there was just a lot of people.
All part of some party or another, they milled about and chanted slogans against “the reforms” and discrediting the “austerity measures”. We happened upon a group that seemed to be signifying Merkel’s visit as the “reoccupation of Greece by Germany”, mocking the German takeover of Greece in the 1940s. They did so by donning the garb of Hitler, wearing the Nazi swastika, and burning the Nazi flag atop a barricade beside the Parliament. Yes, it was overhyped, overdramatized, and overplayed. What was really blown out of proportion though, was the response of the frenzied media who took this to a whole new level of journalistic license, describing them in ways that is an unfair depiction of these peoples’ actions. They hurt nobody, and demanded no obligatory support. They were simply citizens voicing their views and hoping to have people take notice of them.

Old ladies dressed in their Sunday best, and young toddlers in strollers; the media never portrays these peaceful demonstrators. Rather, they focus on those few radicals who storm the streets every once in a while throwing nondescript objects into the crowd. They focus on the lines of police wearing protective gear and shields (which they use so that they don’t get hit with things like tomatoes, eggs, and plastic bottles). They focus on the things that aren't the focus of these demonstrations. The focus is the hearts of these people; their hearts which are invested in this beautiful country which they call home.
They simply don’t appreciate the idea of other European Union countries dictating how Greece should function, nor do they look favorably upon the prospect of having to pay for the mistakes of the Government. People follow the happenings from all over the globe, the seeming “violence and unrest” in Greece; really, they should be following the “despondency and distress” that arise from the myriad of voices and perspectives that make this diverse country as special as it is. The tear gas from the police at the end of every demonstration has now become part and parcel of the whole performance, acting as a finale to signal the end of the proceedings. It is not the lethal poison that people assume, it is not intentionally thrown towards people, and it usually occurs after the crowds have already dispersed. Sometimes it is even the police who will dress up as rioters and “provoke” the police so as to conclude the day’s proceedings.

Scared? Not in the slightest

This is all not to say that it is not a big deal. These demonstrations are one of the most significant aspects of living in Athens, a real insight into the way of life here. Things can get out of hand, people do get hurt, and most often no perceivable resolution comes as a result of them. What is important is to legitimately represent that: in order to understand a demonstration, one must participate in a demonstration, and not simply read about it a few hours later in a different hemisphere and judge what transpires.

For now, I will settle with going to yet another protest tomorrow to see and be seen as an interesting way to end this week of academic studiousness, after which is the weekend’s trip to Meteora and Metsovo to see world famous monasteries and the battleground Thermopylae. Just another week in the life of an Athenian – the life of this Indian-born, America-bred Athenian.

Beauty is in the Eyes of the Beholder

"If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there"

Call it what you will: according to tradition it is Kallisti (“most beautiful”), in antiquity its name was Thira, and ancient times knew it as Strongili (“rounded”).

I will settle for calling it Paradise.

Modern Greeks (as well as the rest of the world) revere the famed Island of Santorini for its tumultuous geological history, for the views along the cliffs around the edge of the coastline, for the unique early civilizations that thrived once upon a time, and for the hearty cuisine that makes the mouth and heart melt.

Several of us took the trip out to this enchanting island, a trip which started with an eight hour long boat ride there. For most of Friday morning we relaxed on the deck, grappled with mild sea sickness, and tried to accomplish a little work before arriving at our destination. Late afternoon saw us debarking to the small port of Athinios where we haggled with local bus drivers, but finally figured out which one would take us to our hotel. Up the cliff and around the bend was the tourist-populated town of Fira. Our hotel, King Thiras Hotel, required a hike up a small hill, overlooking the Old Center of the Island; it was quite quaint with the conventional white-washed walls and blue wooden frames that adorn the country-side of most Islands in Greece. The couple who owns and runs the hotel were ever so helpful, driving us to and from the bus stop, booking our tour trips, giving us information about archaeological site and museum hours of operation, and serving us Greek yogurt for breakfast every morning. I was lucky to listen to the owner’s stories about his time in the navy 50 years ago when he travelled around the world “at least three times”, and he also bought brown bread for breakfast just for me thereafter.

Oia is the most famous village in Santorini; its picturesque alleys, stylish restaurants, and multi-lingual shop owners have visitors eating out of the palms of their hands. The element that trumps them all though, is the sunset. People flock from all over the world to visit this impressive cliff-side view of one of nature’s best shows. Standing atop a castle-like fortification, while snagging the perfect picture and feeling at one with the sun, sea, earth, and wind all around you, was priceless. The night was made complete with a perfect dinner at a high-end restaurant that jutted out on a cliff above the water. While wandering around the town a little while longer, we stopped to talk to some locals and practiced our Greek, which is slowly but surely getting better (or so we like to think), and spontaneously indulged in mint and chocolate gelato.

Postcard ready, with hardly any effort

It was an early night for us, to pace ourselves for the next couple of nights ahead. After a late breakfast the next morning we decided to explore the little town around our hotel. There were countless shops, museums, restaurants, and best of all, free samples of caramel and sesame-covered peanuts. After gazing our fill at little antique stores, we found our way down the two kilometer of steps that meandered down the cliff to the water. Accompanying us were hundreds of donkeys for tourists to ride on; species indigenous to the island. We were brave, but not that brave. We settled for simply patting them along the way. Once at the port, we loaded ourselves onto an early 20^th century pirate ship look-a-like. With the sail and mast guiding our way, we arrived a short while later at the active volcanoes we were so eager to explore.

We learned about three craters, and walked around the edge of the only one still active. The colour of the ash determines the age of the lava and the volcano; therefore the darker the ash, the fresher the lava deposits. The largest crater that was still active had small ‘ovens’ around it, in which placing your hands will almost roast them to bits. The temperature is significantly higher (which, considering the already hot day, was remarkable, and a little uncomfortable) and you can definitely smell the sulphur and smoke being emitted from the mouth of the crater. The stories about the eruption of the volcano that we learned in class coincided with the tour guide’s information: over many centuries the continuous eruptions and activities of the volcano significantly changed the shape and layout of the island. It went from being a circular block of land almost forever ago to now being a huge caldera, giving one an absolutely spectacular view of the other end of the island from either end. The violent explosions were massive, with ash coverings measuring up to 150 feet high.

After the walking tour we were taken in the same boat to the other side of the small area of land into the hot springs. The temperature was absolutely perfect, not too warm, but just warm enough. We dived right in, directly from the boad. Slides and ladders from the boat were unleashed, as we swam around and had a drink by the floating bar. Flawless way to end a visit to an active volcano? Me thinks yes. That, and the lovely breeze flying through our hair on the way back.

We are energetic, youthful souls. I always take the stairs without hesitation. I will hike up almost anything (if there is sufficient shade), and I will rough it up from time to time.

But yes, we took the cable cars back up the hill. It was worth it – for the time saved, for the hot flushes that were spared, and for the view as we zoomed back up to heaven. My falafel radar kicked in almost immediately and I found an adorable little Mediterranean take-out place with the most delicious falafel I’ve had in a while. Also with handsome and funny servers, who expertly yielded to my request for “pola lahanika, parakalo’ (lots of vegetables, please) and assumed I would like the extra hot spicy sauce they have because I am “from the India, where you eat too many spicy things”. Assumption much appreciated, so much so that I returned to lunch there the next afternoon too.

Beautiful craftsmanship - blue as blue can be

That same afternoon, we weren't quite through yet. We caught a bus to Akrotiri, which is an ancient archaeological site. It is said to have extensive Minoan (from Crete) influence architecturally, artistically, and culturally. It did not disappoint; the site was completely indoors and had modern walkways through the rooms and ruins of the city. There were building three stories high – built back around 1400BC. Too many pots to count, and so many protrusions from the walls that I stopped taking pictures very quickly – it was mesmerizing and probably one of my two favourite sites I've visited so far. I have become quite fond of walking through these things while fancying myself part of whatever nobility existed back then. I would have enjoyed being a princess and living in the large ‘palaces’ (correction, the people who know better know to call them ‘Large Administrative Centers’, says my wonderfully witty archaeological professor).

That was my room. In my previous life. As a princess in Akrotiri

We then walked all of ten minutes to get to the Red Beach, watch people cliff jump (I am still stunned that this happens in real life), and walked back to the main center of Akrotiri to find an old Venetian tower. This old Venetian tower held the secret to a wonderful night. We visited an alumnus of CYA who studied here 20 years ago. She gave up her life in the States and moved to Athens, worked for a bit, met her husband, and they gave it all up again and moved to Santorini. They both love history and music – so what better way to combine their passion than to resurrect to glory this ancient tower once occupied by the Byzantines, the Romans, the Greeks, and now them? Oh, and just to make things interesting, they dedicated their efforts in bringing back the importance of the Greek bagpipe. Called the Sambuca, it has parts from a goat, a sheep, and a cow. It sounded marvelous and very enchanting.

Sitting there and marveling at her husband’s musical ability on the instrument wasn't sufficient though. He gave us each a percussion instrument and soon we were making some pretty decent music. We learned so much about music, history, and life. They had such a zest for life, and were inspiring in the way they described (albeit a cliché) how happiness should dictate your decisions in life. The night continued after the performance at her favourite taverna in town. Round after round of appetizers, we did our newly honed Greek appetites proud. We graciously accepted grapes to take home (mostly because I powered through them so fast I think the owner thought I was fruit-deprived all my life) and hailed the bus down as it drove by, from our seats at the table. The long bus ride home offered new views of the island, and I persevered with enthusiasm until I crashed upon my bed at King Thiras Hotel as soon as I stepped foot inside.

Our last day was simultaneously and upbeat yet low-key one. We visited the archaeological and history museums and spent a long time supplementing our visit to the ancient site the day before. It was enjoyable to examine the jewelry, potters, and tools the excavations produced. The last exhibit was a decent sized, completely golden bull with its consecrated horns. Anthropologists are still unsure about the ritual activities and events leading up to the volcanoes of the people of ancient Akrotiri, but nevertheless they produced many diverse artifacts. The last stop was the Santozeum, a private collection of frescoes painstakingly pieced back together by many international teams, and lots of complicated technology. Frescoes are a technique of mural painting on fresh limestone. It is very complicated, and disastrous to get wrong. The Minoans fashioned plenty however, with scenes of nature, general people in daily life, war scenes, conquests and exploits, ritual and cult activity, and some purely decorative masterpieces. The museum was located right at the edge of the cliff, providing a serene experience. After gaining as much insight as I thought possible, we made our way back.

Found among the ask remains, perfectly intact, possibly ritualistic?

Armed with our bags and falafel for a quick lunch, we waited for our ship back that almost never came. Not that it would have been a bad thing to be stranded there; that should count as a legitimate excuse for an absence, right? Once finally aboard, we settled in to study what little we could, play many rounds of intensely heated Mafia and fast-paced Skip-Bo. I find it incredible that I’m still learning more about America even here, 5000 miles away from campus. I’m learning even more about Greece though, every single day; I met a group of elderly couples on the boat who talked to me about studying abroad from America, living in India, and adjusting in Athens. The interruption from studying was welcome, as they shared their snacks and described how they all used to teach at Universities before, but now are just travelling around all the Aegean Islands, marveling at all they missed out on in life thus far.

Indeed you do have the property I'm look for. I'll take it!

All in all, the trip was a tremendous success, and I have pledged to go back one day, if not very soon. There is something about the Island – the locals who love life and live it to the fullest, the water than beckons you to delve recklessly into its depths, the view that freezes your memory in time, and the warmth with which Santorini fills your heart – definitely not an Island to be taken lightly. Though, it probably doesn’t want to be taken too seriously either. Just when you think there is no more space in your heart to fall in love, that is the perfect time to visit and to fall in love with the Island that is Santorini.

An Unforgettable World Away

"All journeys have a secret destination of which the traveler is unaware"   

My schedule threw me off a little before our field trip. On Friday we had our Monday/Wednesday classes and on Monday we had our Tuesday/Thursday classes. It was amusing to say the least when it took me all of seven minutes to remember where I had to be next. It didn’t bother me too much though, because that was the day we would leave for the Island of Crete, one of the most important Island regions off the South West coast of mainland Attica. That evening all 75 of us filled two buses as we headed to the port. This is the closest I have ever been to experiencing a cruise ship, so I’ll admit I did get a little overexcited.

        How could you not though? The carpet was plush and a regal shade of navy blue, the crew was all dressed in sharp black and white suits, and Kenny G was being played the entire embarkation. Our ‘room’ was a set of two bunk beds where we would spend the next nine hours, presumably sleeping to recharge for the hectic week ahead. Of course we slept the whole way through, after a loud and competitive game of cards and a stroll around the decks. I promise I was the only one not tempted to re-enact the Titanic pose at the bow of the ship.

        After a quick breakfast on board at 6am, we were transported from the port of Heraklion, where we docked, to our first archaeological site. This trip was meant to provide us with the actual setting of the ancient Minoan and Early Bronze Age civilizations in the Aegean. We would stand in the sites that were photographed in our textbooks, and visit the museums to examine artifacts we discussed in class. The first site, the palace of Knossos was extensive; it contained a throne room, lots of ‘lustral basins’ (nobody actually knows for what purpose they were used), large storage rooms and a view to rival a penthouse in New York (which I hope to have one day).

        The entire week revolved around visiting other palaces scattered across the Island. We drove a lot, and climbed through ruins a lot, learned more than a lot, and hopefully retained most of it. All of the sites had classic Minoan characteristics of gypsum walls, diverse structuring of the walls and ‘benches’, and a fairly advanced water flow system. The pottery and art was initially simply functional, but as time went on and trade and wealth boosted the economy of the settlements, the transition to a more detail-oriented and elaborate set of patterns is clearly noticeable among the artifacts.

The palace at Knossos - the biggest and grandest of them all

        In school, I learned about the Mohenjodaro and Indus Valley civilizations. In college I learned about the Mesopotamia civilizations. Elsewhere I have learned about the transitions from village farming to settlements. This is the first time I may actually remember enough to teach someone else. To walk the paths the ancient Greeks walked, to wander their corridors and see the sights the way they did saw them; it leaves a lasting impression. I particularly enjoyed my professor’s emphasis about the difficulty of accurately identifying trends and conclusions about ancient life just based on ruins. Often, scholars and researchers are under immense pressure to produce material and results, thus leaving no room for speculation and alternative explanations.

        It was amusing to walk around the sites with tourists from all over the world; learning bits of information not written on plaques in the ground, discovering hidden sections of the site where the crowd could not follow, and mentally correcting the tour guides who had a few of their ‘facts’ wrong. During one visit, I had an umbrella open to shield myself from the sun. My professor made a comment about not knowing we had a tour guide amongst us. I laughed nervously, thoroughly confused as to what he was referring to. Only today did I learn from my friend that I had a few tourists following me for a couple of minutes, thinking I was a tour guide, what with my umbrella (and my natural air of seeming to know everything) – I decided to laugh it off, mostly because of how ridiculous I must have looked. In retrospect it was embarrassing but pretty funny. I wish I had known, and I would have turned around and given them a few stories about the palace.

        The town we stayed in was Heraklion; it was a little commercial, but worth it. Every night we wandered around the endless stretch of stores and little stalls. People were selling things from olive oil infused with walnuts, pepper, or cinnamon, to imitation Prada handbags – we saw it all. We sat down to dinner both nights at tavernas that were different from, but on some level the same as, each other. My favourite one had a different coloured chair at each table, a brightly lit ceiling, and cool Jazz music in the background. Three of us enjoying an early dinner soon (an hour later) turned into a party of about 12. We spent four hours talking about the highlights of our days, the highlights of our lives, and the delicious-ness of the meal. I really did expect the owner to give us a free meal. We settled for free rakhi instead: a strong smelling alcohol special to this Island. Afterwards, I was peer-pressured into trying dark an enormous scoop of gelato, and then I in turn peer-pressured everyone else to walk down the 2 mile pier till the end and back again. It was a gorgeous night, the stars have never been so clear, and the company never quite as endearing. It was a night to remember (not just because of the gelato and the colourful furniture). The next day we stopped for lunch at the beach town of Matala: it had the highest concentration of hippies I have ever seen. Actual, real, hippies.

        The small beach garnered much notoriety in the 60s because of the ‘caves’ along the cliff-side that people took advantage of to smoke in and have their ‘hippie’ moments. Dreadlocks and British accents aside, dots of caves along the coastline and marveling at three shades of the sea were a great way to spend some free time.

Junkie caves along the cliff and waters

        On the penultimate day, we visited a monastery in Arkadi before the end of the day. It was historically a site of great important during the Greek civil war of 1946-1949. The gun powder room was blown up by its own inhabitants to spare them having to surrender to the enemy, and has been unoccupied ever since. My favourite part remains the room in which I saw original 16^th-18^th century hand-written versions of the four Gospels of the Bible. Also, on the wall was a lock of a woman’s hair found on the ground after the complex was abandoned during the ‘holocaust’. It was as peaceful as one would expect, with pastel shades of pink, delicate flowers that worked wonderfully in my hair, and an altar room engendering thoughtful reflections about life oh-so-long-ago.

Shall we stop and meditate?

        The final day of the trip was mostly non-academic, which we were fine with. The Samaria gorge is a 16 kilometer hike through some of the most gorgeous scenery on can hope to witness anywhere on the Greek Islands. We settled down for an early nightcap in the town of Chania (pronounced Han-ya) where we stocked up on nuts, sunscreen, and enthusiasm for the next day. At 5.30am we ate a large meal (it is disrespectful to call such a meal breakfast, owing to the absurd hour), before settling in for the bus ride to the gorge.

        Throughout the whole trip, breakfast was an event I thrived on.It was almost an unhealthy anticipation. I delighted every morning in an unreasonably large helping of classic, thick Greek yogurt with a huge dollop of honey in it. To that, I add an even bigger dollop of Nutella.  Mmmmmm, it was so yummy. Rich and sweet and creamy, but not too heavy. Well, no, it was heavy, but that never stopped me from eating three bowls full of it anyway.

        With my daily fix of such a bowl full of happiness, I was ready to trek all day. Which we very nearly did. The gorge is a National Park in Crete – created by a small river running between the White mountains – starting at a height of 1,250m and ending on the shores of the Libyan Sea. The unoccupied and almost completely isolated village of Samaría lies exactly halfway through, and is home to the Cretan goat: the Kri Kri. They only exist here, and they are the cutest, most fondle-able goats anywhere, and very familiar with human faces. They ate right out of everyone else’s palm but mine.

Only halfway through. But enough said

        The gorge offers one of the most unforgettable views ever. At the ‘Iron Gates’  of the gorge, the path was only four meters wide, and we walked through the walls that stretched up 300 meters (1,000 feet). This ‘path’ for the most part was just huge rocks and a stream that you had to skillfully maneuver amongst. While you were at it, it was imperative not to talk too loudly, lest a hoard of rocks and stones come tumbling down on you. Luckily they missed us, though very nearly. Rocks are nice when they remain rock-like and don’t budge.

        Four long yet rewarding hours later, we emerged at the other side leading up to the beach. Before getting in the water, customary to tradition in Greece, we spent two hours in a taverna eating, talking, eating, and eating some more. And sleeping a little too (but that was just me). The feeling after completing the hike was an vivid sense of purpose and achievement. It was unlike any other feeling, but one that I could get used to. The variety of the path, the duration of the walk, and the views around every turn were exhilarating. Especially the Cairns that adorned the entire way: historically they have always been associated with an air of mystique and charm. Scottish soldiers would collectively make a pile of stones before leaving off on their journeys, to hopefully return one day and take their stone down. What remained was a heart-rending tribute to those lost forever, but who would be remembered through the generations.

        Now of course it is a way for people to leave their anonymous yet meaningful mark. Of course I made my own pile. To ensure my return? Maybe. To share my happiness and content in the moment? Definitely.

        Crete was an a whirlwind: of learning things beyond what I ever dreamed of learning at ancient sites, of tasting new things and falling in love with most of them, and of awe-inspiring sights never to be forgotten. Most of all, it was a whirlwind of falling in love with the people of the Island, the rich history that engulfed and shaped the culture that exists today, and feeling a renewed appreciation of the interdependent harmony of work and play.

Cairns to last an eternity