5. April 2009 by admin.

After nearly 2 weeks away, it was time to take our first “tour.”  My brother and I paid our 15 euro and hopped
on the big pirate ship looking boat and headed out to visit the volcano island
just off the coast of Santorini.  The
volcano was nothing like I imagined – the whole island is a mass of broken
black shards of rock, strangely enough like the aftermath of a savage
fire.  It looks and feels like death, not
exactly heavy, just empty… spiritless. 
The only thing alive other than the hundreds of tourists crawling over
every part of the surface is the volcano itself.  The guide explained that the volcano exploded
every 75 years or so… Kind of scary, but atleast its another 15 or so years
away! At the top of the volcano we were shown a little hole with steam pouring
out of it, hot enough to cook an egg in, and too hot to hold your hand in for
very long.  It’s bizarre to think of that
much heat and pressure being held and created just beneath the surface.  Maybe that’s the cost of holding onto things…
we become too hot to touch with a very fragile surface, ready to give way at
any moment.

After the volcano we hopped back on the boat to be taken to
the hot springs, where the cool sapphire blue of the ocean becomes a hot rusty
brown.  We all dove/bombed/belly flopped
our way into the deep and swam across to the springs.  I love that moment of anticipation followed
by the rush of cold water against your skin… Not to mention the scrabble to
pull your bathing suit back up because the impact forced them to your knees as
you hope vainly that nobody was watching… 
But most interesting for me was the behavior the hot springs incited in
some of our fellow tourists, who had decided to paint each other in mud and
dance and cheer like early tribes people.   

Back on the dry Santorinian land, my brother and I looked up
from the port to the main town, up some 600 rather large stairs that zig zagged
their way up the cliff face and decided there and then in the 45 degree heat
that walking was a brilliant idea.  After
100 stairs and parades of passing donkeys I began to wonder about our
choice.  But something strange happens
when I’ve committed myself to a challenge it turns out,  the internal fire to succeed burned hotter
than the stones that were baking my feet. 
There was no other option but to soldier on…  And once at the top of the stairs, bent
double trying to catch my breath and with my head pounding louder than any
drum, looking back down all of those stairs, that ridiculous sense of pride and
achievement made it all worthwhile.  
That and the half a bottle of wine over dinner later on!

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5. April 2009 by admin.

 Today’s ferry is somewhat of a torture chamber: - the rocking is unrelenting, the heat is merciless, there are too few windows and I feel as though we are floating in a metal box, completely at the mercy of the sea.  And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, the entire cabin filled with smoke (a potent combination of diesel and cigarettes, oh how I miss Australia).  Nowhere is safe,  except the floor, down here on the floor the rocking seems almost bearable and there’s a metre of clean air before the smoke that is now collecting in clouds around the ceiling and light fixtures.  And there are bodies strewn every which way, it looks almost like a war zone, with bodies covering every section of the floor that is not an essential pathway, the only difference is these bodies are only comatose.  Its reassuring to know that we only have to endure four hours of this… 

Five hours later, with no sight of land, and I am wondering where exactly I got that figure from.  I hate it when I make things up.  I pull myself up off the floor and join a group of mostly Aussies and Kiwi’s who are playing a game of cards.  After a few rounds, it turns out that I have a knack for the game and am left with the quandary of whether it’s a bad social move to actually win every hand.  But that’s the funny thing about travelling, when the connection is time limited, all the usual anxieties and worries about looking good can be released, and for the first time in too long, I decided that I did not care what they thought of me, I did not care about doing the right thing.  So I just kept right on winning, and even more interestingly, they did not care either.  We just continued laughing and joking. 

mmm…. I wonder what else is possible if I just stopped caring so much about looking good. 

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26. March 2009 by admin.

Day Ten

“Beauty is that which springs from the inner need”  ~ Wassily Kandinsky

Images of myself being thrown backwards by the weight of my backpack and the rocking of the ferry dance before my eyes, I suddenly see myself flailing uselessly on my back like a bug on its back as the hoards trample me in their rush to get on board.   I take a moment to catch my breath, sitting down on the back of the ferry – where we are not supposed to be – and watch the foaming of the water as it is churned out by the ferry racing forwards.  The water sprays up into our faces as we race away from Mykonos.  I feel sad, not because our time there was so short, but rather its one adventure over. One possibility realized.  Our hopeful anticipation has been replaced now by memories – some fond, and others perhaps not so… 

_________________________________________________________________________

My heart warms and my eyes light up as I see trees, plants, a park, and natural life.  It feels as though there is a slower, more relaxed and slightly less hedonistic air in Paros.  The warmth spreads to my heart when we are greeted by an effusive and energetic man who shakes our hand, introduces himself as Mike and takes my backpack from me in seamless movements before I’ve even realized what is happening.  He wants only to please us, making our stay “all it can be” he says.  I’m unused to such friendliness in a country where so far blank stares and rough tones have been the norm.  I think I will like Paros.

Sadly it turns out, I have not been particularly organized.  We are once again unsuccessful in our attempts to hire a scooter.  And then we missed the bus to the other town, and then missed the boat to the caves.  But what at first seems disappointing just creates space for a different opportunity.  Instead of the adventures we had planned we end up sitting on some large rocks at the water’s edge watching a ship dock and unload its cargo.  Afterwards we wander about town, and upon discovering a local market, we take a seat in amongst the rich golden sunflowers to watch the day’s events unfold.  The sweet smell of ripening melons mixes with the salty sea breeze.  Men sit around chatting and comparing produce.  And there is a relaxed and comfortable vibe impossible not to enjoy.  The day meanders on like this.  There is time for a siesta before dinner, and as the sun starts to set, we find a cute café in the piazza to enjoy an espresso, an ouzo and share a slice of galaktobouriko, delighting in the way the honey runs down our hands, transporting us to early childhood as we surrender to the moment and lick it all off.

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24. March 2009 by admin.

Day Eight

Pot Shots and Champagne; like Yin and Yang…

Today’s plan was to hire scooters and explore the island with our new friends Paul and Kate, who we met on the bus coming home from Mykonos Town last night.  The nightly gridlock, usually started by one impatient bus driver who is convinced his bus will fit neatly into the 5 meter gap that is meant to allow all buses to depart through, afforded us a great deal of time to get to know one another.  However after 2 hours of pounding the pavement in rapidly increasing heat, we began to wonder if there were any scooters left in Mykonos at all.  Our salvation came in a rather abrupt man whose rotund belly seemed to prevent him ever getting out of his chair. He pointed to a little cabriolet with an open roof and when he offered if for the same price as two scooters we did not even hesitate.  We headed to a nearby supermarket to pick up ingredients for our picnic lunch and then squeezed into the tiny car and set off for a tour of the island. 

Mykonos Island itself is not really very big, but its beach choice is extensive, so we settled for exploring for a beach hopping experience.  At the first beach we put together our sandwiches, using makeshift cutlery – having forgotten to actually purchase any.  After devouring our sandwiches we dived into the delicious cool of the sparkling sapphire blue ocean.  Refreshed and relaxed we jumped back into the car and continued the tour.  But not yet ready for another swim we found ourselves heading off the main roads and travelling down through an old mining area.  The road continued to wind sharply upwards and before long the sides dropped away into what felt like – at least to my anxious eys, sharp cliff-faces overlooking rocky outcrops and swirling frothy oceans.  “I don’t know Paul…” Kate and I would say.  Our knuckles are white as he continues unconcernedly ploughing on.  I surrender, what else can I do, but when we see a road sign with no less than 5 exclamation marks I cant help but worry.  Surely that cant be good!!!!!  The next sign says Danger! And Kate and I both decide it is time to head back.  Heading back, however we seem to have taken a wrong turn and now the bizarre “pops” like a car backfiring that we were hearing earlier have turned into quite loud pops.  Puzzling over the source of these noises we discover as we round the next bend, a couple of pick up utes, a group of burly men all holding rifles, and hundreds of empty shells strewn like confetti across the ground.  They whistle and smile (or leer –its hard to know which) and wave us over.  Paul puts his foot down and the tyres struggle to get grip as we take off, refusing to become their target practice.

We take the next left and head directly for the beach, we dive into the icy blue and allow the dirt, grit and anxiety to wash away.  Then we head back into town to pick up a couple of bottles of Henkell Trocken, some dinner and find another beach to watch the sun sink into the ocean.  Laughter flows as easily as the champagne and everything in that moment is perfect.

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22. March 2009 by admin.

Day 7

Unexpectedly stunning, the white multi story houses built almost on top of one another, with their whitewashed walls and their doors, window sills and rooves all painted a deep blue, tourquoise or crimson take your breath away.  Walking down the narrow cobblestone paths the vibrant magenta and subtle apricot hues of the bougainvilliea cascading down each of the neat stairways add rushes of colour that contrast and enhance the simplicity of the white walls.

You can walk for hours winding through the twists and turns of the laneways and never be quite sure whether you’ve been there before.  Quaint little shops sell all manner of things to entice tourists to part with their Euro.  We stopped in at a restaurant - empty except for us… nobody eats here as early as 7pm.  By midnight every table is full and the somnabulistic staff suddenly perk up like a quick hit of espresso.  But for now the place is ours and we watch as the chef dangles precariously from the roof and it takes us a few minutes to discern what it is he is actually doing.  Long tentacles stretch out over the guttering, he is hanging the octopus it seems.  The church bells toll enticing believers to pray and the noise sets a flock of sparrows of in flight.  Hundreds of them fly overhead.  At the back of the church is a little alcove where two older gentlemen sit to watch the passing parade.  They sip Ouzo and gesticulate wildly as they talk about… well who knows what, perhaps about the way things used to be.  We sip our wine, content to marinade in the ambience of the evening as we enjoy the fish we’ve ordered.  It is cooked to perfection, fresh, light and delicate it falls steaming from the bones.

At 1am the gentlemen are still there, theres been a changing of the guard - one man has gone home for the night but another has taken his place.

There is a life and vibrancy to this place that seems to come out only once the harsh sunligh has gone to bed.

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9. March 2009 by admin.

Day Six

Mykonos is certainly not what i thought it was going to be.  Arid, rocky countryside whose starkness is broken only by the ocassional white concrete box they call homes.  Yet this seemingly bleak landscape - which I’m struggling to connect with is surrounded by crystal clear beaches with water of such a rich deep blue you never want to get out.

Day One here and I’m sure I’m sunburned.  The heat is relentless and the sun unforgiving.  Both my nose and the landscape are testament to that. Definately not what i expected.  The atmosphere at Paradise Beach is all ego, sex and debauchery… beautiful possibilities and crushing blows.  Its doing my head in.  There are people here with such beautiful bodies that the starkness of my white skin acts like a beacon for every single flaw.  I should have run more, or eaten less, or…. my self esteem is plummeting as i discover the depths to which my body image issues run.  I’m crap, I’m not worthy… and just as i prepare to dive off the self worth cliff, i realise that I am what I am… philosophical genius i know.  But the fundamental philosophy of this island appears to be “enjoy yourself at as many levels as possible” and so i settle back into my lounge chair, pick up my book and enjoy the freshly cut watermelon as I soak up the sunshine.

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9. March 2009 by admin.

Day Four

Even at 7am the heat is beginning to bake us, and we know that by midday it will be searing.  We’ve had our first big dram for today.  We need to get to Mykonos but have not reserved a ticket for the ferry, it turns out you need to make a reservation 3 days before you intend to travel, rather than the day before.  Impetuosity is not celebrated here.  So here we are, 7am and already we are at the port.  Surely with two ferries there won’t be a problem getting a seat…

It turns out there are no tickets available…anywhere… Panic is setting in, beginning with a small buzz in the stomach and a slight constriction in the throat… Finally, a kindly woman who left her smile at home this morning as she was rushing out the door to get to work on time, explains that there are two seats available on the 5pm ferry in business class.  Without hesitation we purchase the tickets.  Our budget is shot and but we have tickets.  We sit in the shade and watch the morning ferries depart without us, inventing reasons for why it is better this way…

“Think of the leg room…” says my brother who is 6″4

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Our day begins to improve with my brother’s rather inspired idea to dump our luggage in the lockers back at the train station.  The locker presents a challenge akin to the rubics cube.  They are quite large lockers and could fit both our bags if only we can get the angle right.  After much huffing and puffing and pouring sweat (David’s) and numerous unhelpful suggestions (mine) we resign ourselves to paying for an extra locker (only 3 euro… but its the principle).  Our continued attempts however have attracted the attention of a nearby cleaner, who up until then was using our attempts as an excuse to rest his weary body.  He releases the broom on which he had been reposing, cracks his arthritic knuckles and picks up our bags with surprising agility. He’s little and wiry and surprisingly strong.  But very soon he too is throwing his hands up in the air, admitting defeat.

We meander our way through the rest of the morning, winding through street after street towering apartments in desperate need of repair and cars as far as the eye can see.  Each balcony displays the colorful clothes of their occupants - like bright flowers catching the morning sun.

We stumble upon a market selling everything from underwear, to shoes, to kitchen utensils, to burned cd’s.  Each of the stall holders yell over the top of each other as they hawk their wares.  Its all in greek, like a symphony without a conducter, and as it reaches a magnificently painful crescendo we retire to a quiet shady patch of grass to enjoy our very first souvlaki.  A local delicacy whose secret seems to be in the sauce - a tantalising combination of mustanrd and tomato sauce with chips thrown into the mix.  Its the perfect cure to our overstimulated senses.

Later we find ourselves at the marina daydreaming about the million dollar boats we intend to own one day (aparigraha….)  We sit back, sipping freddo espresso’s and fantasise about the meals our chef will cook us, content in simply becoming part of the scenery.  Further meandering brings us out at the local beach an dwe revive our tired feet in the cool blue of the ocean an dlisten to the classical music playing on an older gentlemen’s old wireless.

When we finally get onto the ferry, we settle back into our business class seats, stretching our legs out in front of us luxuriously.  Perhaps our day hasn’t been quite the disaster after all.

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7. March 2009 by admin.

DayThree

The pungeant smell of smoke intermingled with perspiration, petrol and the salty aroma of different meats cooking combined with the heat to create a unique smell, not entirely unpleasant.

As we walk in the early morning, already beginning to bake, we discover our residence is the Greek equivalent of Grey Street. $2 peeps are in abundance and there are possibly one too many tightly clad strung out girls somewhere under the mount vesuvious of make up they each have caked onto their skin.  I do have to respect one girl who was wearing a pair of white pants that looked as though they had been sprayed on, and revealed the toned ass and thighs most of us only dream of.  I dont think i would look like that even after years of intense powerflow practice.

Santosa, contentment with oneself leaves us free to admire others without sinking into envy… ooh look, a powerflow class!

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28. February 2009 by admin.

Day Two… Are we there yet?

And we’re still travelling!  I’m beginning to wonder what i was thinking.  My feet managed to swell so much last night that my ankles have officially disappeared altogether.  Even the few rounds of sun salutations I attempted at the airport - much to the staff’s delight (or curiosity) have done little to relieve the pressure.  I’ve spent hours lying in Viparita Karani (an impressive feat in a rather cramped aeroplane) with flight attendants fussing over me, bringing ice, and cold compresses.  I’ve heard mixed reviews about the staff on Lufthansa, but so far they have been nothing short of angelic.

One last plane and then we will finally be in Greece.  The land of the gods, where civilised culture began, or so my Greek uncle repeatedly informs me!  I take for granted the ease with which everything at home happens, so far everything has felt incredibly tiresom.  All i want is a warm shower, a cold bath for my feet and a bed (horizontal preferably) to collapse into.  I can almost feel the soft downy pillow under my head as I write this.  Ahh the power of visualisation to make even a difficult situation pleasant.

Just in front of me a young child screams out in desperation… And i am brought rather harshly out of my fantasy… I think i know how he feels.

______________________________

Finally we arrive at Athens airport and I nearly kiss the woman who kindly unfolds a map and directs us not only to the train station but to the hostel where we have booked our first nights accomodation.  There’s nothing like the kindness of strangers to re instil your faith.

Disembarking from the train we are greeted by a wall of heat and air so thick I need to cough.  Old, weather beaten cars are rushing around and I nearly kill myself as i step out into oncoming traffic. The roads are a little different here than in Melbourne!  As we walk, lumbering under the weight of the bags we packed with all the extras we will never need, we pass down lane ways lined with cars, wrecks of motorbikes, and buildings thatlook as dilapidated as I feel.  One foot in front of the other, we pass buildings with washing streaming off the balconies and shop fronts packed full of wares.  Organised chaos.  We finally arrive at our hostel, pay our abruptly militant hostess and climb into the coffin sized elevator clutching the key to our room.  At this point I dont even care what the room looks like as long as there is a bed and a shower, it will be perfect.  As we open the door to our room I am overjoyed, there may not be enough room to do a full round of surya namaskar, but there is a bed and a shower, and its clean and its ours.  After soaking my elephantine feet I gratefully collapse into bed for the longest Savasana ever.

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28. February 2009 by admin.

Day 1 continued…

This breeze is absolutely delicious, slowly it absorbs the heat from my body and gently tickles my elephantine feet.  I feel like the litre of water i drank earlier is now resting in my feet.  It hurts to move them, to stand, and the knowledge that we still have to make our way back to the airport to get onto another plane fills me with trepidation.

The whole day has been a disaster - my brother with whom i am travelling is moody.  I’m not well and have the largest feet in the history of mankind.  The humidity is sapping all of our energy and the only reprieve  we had was when it rained and we sought refugeon the 14th floor of the public library.  We sat there watching the rain pour down on a city i decided then and there that i hated and wished that I was at home in bed (complete attachment!)  I said I wanted adventure but easing in gently might have been nice!

Since arriving in Singapore I think I’ve broken every rule of social etiquette - i nearly nodded off whilst someone was speaking to me, I actually fell asleep on the floor whilst resting in the library - until I was moved along and whilst everyone was posing for photos in form of the fountain at the Merlion, I was gratefully slipping my feet into the velvety coolness of the water…

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