Out Of The West

I wasn’t entirely ready to say goodbye to Greece.  There’s a lustiness, a boldness of spirit there that I just couldn’t get enough of.  It made me feel empowered, and brave, and so very excited.  For everything.  Excited to breathe deeply of the dirty air, and to get lost, and to love well.  Excited to dance my ass off, and to pursue beauty, and to laugh often.  Put simply, Greece and her people have breathed into me an even more voracious appetite for life, a wild longing of sorts.  And I love it.

There are so many Greek qualities I want to remember, to hold onto, to take with me.  I want to be demonstrative in my affection for those I love.  I want to speak my mind openly, without fear of judgment or rejection.  I want to continue to value and seek learning in all its forms.  I want to continue to discover cities from the back of a motorcycle (thanks, Vasily).  I want to pursue creativity always, believing this to be as fundamental to our development as where we choose to live, or what we do for work.  I want to remember, even through the grit and pain of daily life, what a gift it is to really live.

So while I couldn’t help but feel sadness, it wasn’t without deep joy and gratitude that I made my final European farewell.  Gratitude to Greece for the wildness she brought out in me.  To Europe, for teaching me how to do this thang on my own.  Mostly though, gratitude to my people.  To the people at home who continue to tangibly love me well in their consistent support and encouragement.  And to the people I’ve met along the way, who help me to believe in laughing, and dancing, and getting lost.  Who have been, to me, proof of hope, and magic, and real, live beauty. 

It was the perfect gift, to send me with such a full heart into Kenya, where the blazing equatorial sun asserted itself even before we touched down in Nairobi.  I found my driver, and did my best to breathe deeply of the filthy air as we found our way to the car.  I plopped my exhausted, sweaty self into the backseat as James entered into what can only be described as straight up traffic madness.  Nonplussed, he adjusted the radio and promptly began belting along to the first song he found, “A Whole New World”.  I couldn’t help but chuckle.  A whole new world indeed, I thought to myself.  Bring it on.

To An Enchanted Island

When I left home, it was important to me that I reestablish my belief.  Belief in the goodness and kindness of people.  My belief in the possibility and hope of redemption.  Redemption available, as I'm daily reminded, through desperate grace alone.  My belief in vulnerability as a lifestyle, and maybe the only road to true transformation.  I needed to reaffirm my belief in the power and beauty of the divine feminine, of my own femininity, despite living in a world that daily works to devalue and denigrate us.  I wanted to believe in myself, in my competence and ability as a little woman alone in a big, big world.  Most importantly, I deeply needed to believe again in the audacious power of hope.

Upon arriving on Santorini, I was nearly knocked off my feet by the mystical weight of the air.  There was something sanctified, something ancient and very alive here.  This tiny island deep in the Aegean sea has a prehistoric history of habitation, and is speculated by some to be the origin of the lost city of Atlantis.  Even its myth of creation is derived from a divine love, in which Euphemus is said to have impregnated one of the nymph daughters of Triton.  In effort to create for her a safe haven from her father's wrath, Euphemus threw a clod of earth into the sea and created "the most beautiful", now known as Santorini.

Phenomenal (and hilarious) Pandora player

I quickly began to understand why so many Greeks had questioned my intention to do the island alone.  It is a place created and sustained by a special kind of creative force, a force of love.  I remained undeterred though, determined to see this dreamy place for myself.  I hadn't yet allowed my solo status to limit my adventure, so I certainly wasn't about to  stand in my own way of experiencing the loveliness, the lovely magic of this enchanted island.

Though the temperature was quickly descending,  the sunlight remained strong enough to give my freckles freckles, and light the paths I daily hiked.  I befriended a few of the island dogs, most of whom were abandoned by residents who moved off the island.  I discovered favorite places for my favorite foods, and favorite people who embraced me with what can only be described as perfectly Greek hospitality.  They welcomed me into their off-season daily lives, teaching me the Greek origins of all things, and including me in their evening festivities.  My originally planned 4 days slowly unfolded into 10 as I allowed Santorini to respond to some of my traveling prayers, in the gentlest of ways.

Thira

What better to remind me of redemption and transformation than a people who have not only lived, but thrived on the cliff face of a rock for more than 5,000 years?  The warmth and kindness extended to me, as well as the respect and even reverence with which I was treated, a reminder of the power and beauty inherent in being created a woman.  Wholly, uniquely, divinely woman.  Not at all the curse we're taught, but a compelling power, and a gift for which I'm becoming ever more grateful.  So though I did the island alone, I didn't do it lonely.  Santorini gifted me a heart full; full of promise, and full of hope.  And if that's not love, I don't know what is.

...To The Land Of The Gods

Deeply nestled into my friends' home the past several weeks, I required some serious oomph to get myself back on the road.  Once again I prepared myself for traveling solo, and living in hostels, and eating fewer than three square meals a day.  Living as a traveler is always an adventure, rarely very comfortable, and hardly ever cozy; I didn't take my Swiss respite for granted.  With a little wistfulness, I said my goodbyes and shoved some contraband cheese and a bit of anxiety into my backpack.  I was finally headed to the land of Homer, and Zeus, and my personal favorite, Tina Fey's mother: Greece.

I have been given by Athens a most chaotic welcome.  My olfactory senses are daily assaulted by the scents of too much cologne, and cat urine, and the burning diesel emitted from the mopeds careening through the city.  The street vendors spill off the narrow sidewalks into the streets, hawking food, and crafts, and junky junk.  Giant listless dogs sleep on every corner, seemingly unaware that the blazing heat of the Mediterranean summer has abated.  Street performers work the tourist traps, while savvy preteens play their plastic flutes for change they demand should you dare make eye contact.  I can't help but appreciate their confidence.

This is a gritty city with lots of edge.  East meets west, old meets new.  It is the city of the gods.  And while the presence of these infamous immortals can still be felt hovering over this ancient metropolis, they must now share power with their fiercely defiant, 21st century ancestors.  As history attests, the Greeks are not easily defeated.  They are not broken by the weight of their forsaken economy, but continue to boldly celebrate life.  They welcome strangers and are gracious hosts to tourists and refugees alike, but will not sacrifice their culture to outside influence.  They are a people who, instead of being silenced, blast their convictions and frustrations onto every available surface, creating some of the most powerful street art I've ever seen.



Athens has taught me some things, and reminded me of others.  It has reminded me just how much I love losing and finding myself in new cities.  Of how much I love befriending locals and trying mysterious street food.  I now remember how much I love to find a perfectly discreet seat in a bustling plaza from which to watch the world around me.   Entirely anonymous among the crowd, I try to observe as much as I can; parents feeding their toddlers souvlaki, lovers aware of only one another, and elderly civilians shaking the hands of the rookie police officers.

In only a matter of days, I have received no fewer than three marriage proposals.  I have been given a bracelet by a street vendor, accompanied by a special blessing that my presumed wish of bearing many children will come true.  I have received three phone numbers, invitations to both a backyard barbeque and a wedding, and heaps of advice about where to visit while I'm here.  I have become moderately obsessed with hunting their world-renowned street art, often in the least savory but most lively of neighborhoods.  I've made myself quite at home in what appears to be the skid row of Athens, and now know to return to my hostel before ten if I want to avoid the bewitching hour of the neighborhood ghosts.  Athens has invigorated me.  And I can't wait to see what's next.