Greece: A Feast for the Senses

There are two kinds of people – Greeks, and everyone else who wish they was Greek.   – Gus Portokalos

My journey to Greece started approximately twelve years ago at a Greek-food festival. While attempting to dig into an enormous piece of baklava, flakes of filo dough rained down from my mouth as I closed it around the plastic fork. As one does, I looked up to see if fortune had smiled upon me and allowed this transgression to go unnoticed. Alas, it had not. I met eyes with the elderly Greek man seated across from me, just as a wide smile spread across his face. “It’s good, no?” he laughed. “Mmhmm!”I nodded, mouth stuffed with syrup, walnuts, and oh-so-flaky filo dough.

My love affair with Greek food continued, bringing me again and again to falafel stands, gyro joints, and to any event or restaurant promising stuffed grape leaves.

So when a friend asked if I’d like to accompany her to Greece – despite the fact that I had decided to stay in Germany and pinch my pennies – I said yes. When it comes to true love, no price is too great, no shore (or airport) too far.

Santorini wine after a long hike. Could life be any finer?

Twelve or more years in the making, I set my feet on sacred soil. When the waiter set two squat glasses on the table along with a half-liter of wine, and I took my first bite of grilled feta, I knew I had arrived in the cradle of culinary perfection.

Between creamy eggplant, the rich warmth of Santorini’s white wine, the nutty smoothness of a double Greek coffee (medium sweet), and eating an obscene number of olives, my taste buds found what they had hoped for and more.

Greek yogurt and Greek coffee. The breakfast of Olympians.

But Greece, I discovered, was an indulgence for all the senses. Despite some spring gusts of wind and rain, the smell of freshly sprung flowers filled the air around Athens’ ruins. The scent of garlic and spices wafted from open windows in the early afternoon in Santorini. Greek music streamed from car radios and cellphones. In a restaurant window, people joined hands and danced. The sun shone sparingly, but warmly, and the water washed coolly over my feet.

As much as a table full of mezethes was a feast for the stomach, the landscape was a feast for the eyes. Stony hills sprouted with flowers, olive trees reached their twisting branches skyward. Red beaches gave way to turquoise water, and colorful towns crept over the cliff-sides of a crescent shaped island. Dark clouds rolled across blue skies, casting their shadows upon ruins that have persevered through millennia.

My only complaint about Greece, is that the time was too short. Athens and Santorini gave us just a glimpse of what the country has to offer – just a sampling of the delicious food, the magnificent nature, the engaging culture, and the generous people. Yet, even in the short span of seven days, there are moments I will never forget.

We made some four-legged friends on our hike.

We had the good fortune of being invited into a Greek home for a meal. Every time I buy olive oil, I will remember the large jug that our hostess pulled from underneath the sink while explaining that it came from her father’s village by the sea.

When someone references ancient Greek mythology, I’ll remember that same generous woman driving us to the Temple of Poseidon and, as we stood upon the cliffs above the Aegean sea, retelling the ancient myths of how Athena and Poseidon fought for the affections of the soon-to-be Athenians. Or how King Aegeus threw himself into the sea from that very place after thinking his son, Theseus, had succumbed to the Minotaur.

The next time I happen upon a donkey, I’ll remember walking up the winding stairs from Fira’s old port in Santorini and being passed by a portly man astride a donkey – with three more in tow – as he pointed at me, repeated something I had no hope of deciphering, and finally handed me his hat and motioned towards the top of the cliff. I carried that dusty hat up the 500+stairs, and will never know the reason why. But I have faith that the donkey-man eventually retrieved it from where I placed it at the top of the path.

 

And when I search for spare coins or hidden bills in an otherwise empty wallet, I’ll think of the man at his ice cream stand who laughed when my friend and I both discovered we had no money on us and said, “It happens to the best families!”

Greece, like creamy yogurt covered in a sticky layer of the best honey you’ve ever tasted, was an indulgence. And it was one that I hope to have the fortune of indulging in again. In the meantime, you can find me wherever the stuffed grape leaves are.

 

 

A Holiday Interlude

It’s my favorite time of year, and I can resist the blog-itch no longer!

But before we dive deep into the vortex of candles, spiced wine, gingerbread, and all the carols our little lungs can sing, an interlude…

Some of you may have been wondering where I’ve been these past few months. To answer that question, we need to go back almost exactly half a year.

Paradise.

After concluding my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Indonesia (and a short stop in the paradise of Raja Ampat, Papua), I hopped over to Australia. Ever the adventurous woman, my mom met me in Sydney. We took in the vibrant metropolises of Sydney and Melbourne, brushed up on Australian history in Adelaide, toured the vineyards of the Barossa Valley, rode the rails into the rainforest, ate wattleseeds, ooh-ed and aww-ed over tiny penguins (and kangaroos and koalas), shivered in the mountains, saw whales from the top of a lighthouse, discovered glow worms (and millions of stars) in the forest by night, and dove the Great Barrier Reef. Just to name a few highlights.

Our hearts were warm, but our teeth were chattering.

It was a trip of a life time, and a truly extraordinary experience to share as mother and daughter.

But it certainly wasn’t the end of the summer’s adventures!

After two weeks back in Gainesville, my parents and I joined my aunt, uncle, cousin, and cousin’s wife in Alaska. ALASKA. Talk about dreams coming true.

Moose Family!

I grew up tracking the Iditarod every year, and becoming a dog musher was my childhood aspiration. Anchorage, Denali, and Juneau delivered on sled dogs, glaciers, moose, bears, caribou, foxes, beaver dams, and some darn delicious king crab. We traveled by plane, car, boat, and then train, arriving in Whitehorse, Canada.

Another trip of a life time, and another irreplaceable memory of time with family.

The family that travels together…

Then I was in Spokane for a few days with more cousins, back to Florida for three days, and finally we set out on the last installation of the marathon summer: driving up the east coast to our old stomping grounds in New York and back. Along the way we visited friends and family, which (after more than two years) was some honest-to-goodness chicken soup for the soul.

Good times with good friends – we’ve come a long way from middle school!

All this to say that I am now in Germany – surprise! I arrived in mid-September, and have been working as an English Teaching Assistant via the Fulbright Commission. That’s a fancy way to say that I help English teachers out in their classrooms in exchange for paid living expenses and a great excuse to spend a year in Germany.

Now that you’re all up to date on the happenings of the past six months, we can move on to the important stuff: German Christmas.

But before sending a post your way that is full of holiday cheer and all things beautiful, let me address one more question.

Why?

Why travel? Why spend more than two years in Indonesia only to pop over to Germany? Why so many trips in one summer?

First, I need to point out that I understand my ability to travel is a great privilege. I have benefited from the taxes that many of you pay in order to live and volunteer abroad. I have also received help from my family and friends along the way. These are both gifts for which I am immensely grateful, and I hope that the work I have done and will continue to do to encourage better education and international cooperation will act as my gift in return.

In the end, it’s quite simple. I travel because it connects me to people and the world we all share. At the risk of getting a little cliché, I believe that peace with one another, peace with our world, and peace within ourselves starts with stepping out our doors, meeting our neighbors near and far, and respecting and delighting in the natural world.

Ok, I admit it…probably about 50% of my interest in travel is related to food. You caught me! (But seriously, there are international delights to discover right in your own community, like this Ethiopian food I tried in Spokane. Spoiler: it was amazing.

Understanding different perspectives, both human and ecological, help all of us live together with greater harmony and dignity.

These principles apply to all people and environments which lie outside our daily spheres. They can be located across the world, but also across the street.

In a time when many seem willing to withdraw from global conversations about poverty, war, and our environmental impacts, I hope that the spirit of travel will continue to work inside each one of us so that we may connect with the individuals, cultures, creatures, and ecosystems that all deserve a voice in shaping our world.

Alaska

Dive In

Big shout-out and thanks to Gili T’s Blue Marlin Dive for making this post (and all my future under-water adventures) possible! Check out their wordpress blog here.

After watching a rather frightening movie about cave diving, I resolved that diving – of any kind – was something I had no interest in trying. Around the same time, I developed a fear of drowning while sitting on the bottom of a university pool and waiting to be “rescued” during life-guard training. While sitting there in the hazy blue, not knowing when someone would come for me as the seconds ticked and my need for air grew more and more desperate, panic tumbled over me.

The grainy glory days. I’m the one in the swimmies.

I had always loved swimming – so much so that my mom used to call me a “water rat” when I refused to get out of the public pool. I had no problem doing the “rescuing” as a life-guard trainee because I was confident in the water and I was in-control of the situation. But putting myself at the mercy of a rescuer, surrounded by a suddenly hostile environment and not knowing what was going to come next was well outside of my comfort zone.

Fast forward to my trip to Flores last June. After a truly magical two days of waking up to dolphins, swimming with mantas, and splashing around in a kaleidoscope of fish, my good friend Erin told me that she was getting her dive license in January. The prospect of diving brought back cinematic scenes of out-of-air divers drifting away into inky blue caves and frankly, scared the pants off me. And that, precisely, is why I agreed to do it.

Trying to get my under-the-sea legs…channeling my inner-frog perhaps?                         (Photo cred: Erin B.) 

If living in Indonesia has taught me anything, it is the collective human need to overcome our fears. Fear drives distrust, insecurity, bullying, hatred, and traps us in the little boxes we know as our “comfort zones.” Unwilling to dive into the unknown, we fanaticize about all the worst-case-scenarios that come with exiting our fortified boxes. Some days it is so much easier to stay curled up in my bed, my mosquito net shrouding me in the safety of a good book and a long nap. Goodness knows my life would have been “easier” had I just stayed home. But would it have been better? I think not.

I have come to believe that it is a requirement of all members of the human race to stretch into the unknown. Although this need sometimes runs counter to our centuries-old survival instincts, it is this very urge of nature – to risk – that makes us who we are as a species. It sent us to the moon, discovered a cure for polio, and fought for the rights of women and minorities to vote. And lest we think this ability to risk is a privilege afforded to only the most adventurous of souls among us, let me suggest that sometimes the most daring and difficult risks we take are those closest at hand – offering to help a neighbor in need, telling someone we love them, opening ourselves to the people around us.

And thus I found myself strapped to an air tank and plunging into the very thing I feared. I remember one training dive in particular. I had had a bit of trouble with water coming into my regulator (the mouth piece that allows you to breath and therefore stay alive) on the dive prior. It turned out to be no problem, but being the green, literally wet behind the ears diver that I was, it had spooked me. I was keyed up before we even plopped off the boat and into the water, and once we started our decent on this next dive, I looked around and saw…nothing. Just blue haze.

Panic gripped at my chest. As we drifted down, I felt as if I was falling into nothing: the unknown. It’s a weird feeling that everything in my brain – hard-wired for my species’ survival – was trying with all its might to resist. Where do you think you’re going?! Who knows what’s down there? What if your air tank explodes? What if you pass out? What if you discover a new sea monster, and then it eats you?! …but you know what’s up there on the surface? Air. LIFE GIVING AIR. For a few tortured seconds my brain was torn apart in a battle between instinct and will. I HATED not knowing where I was going, not feeling like I was in control.

(Photo cred: Me by way of Erin’s GoPro)

But then I looked at the people around me. I knew that this was the big moment for me – the moment when I would decide to trust my instructors, my buddy, the haze that surrounded me, myself. And you know what? I did. And as I gave myself over to the feeling of falling into the unknown, slowly, shapes and shades emerged – a new environment that I never would have had the privilege of seeing and experiencing, cuttlefish, sharks, sea turtles, and nudibranchs that I never would have known were down there had I allowed my fear to take control.

I was enlightened, empowered, and humbled by the ocean – the unknown becoming known all around me. I have become mesmerized by the underwater world and, while still definitely a newbie, have logged 20 dives (more coming in June!). My fear has been transformed to curiosity, confidence, and an insatiable desire to discover more.

I mean, seriously. Did you know these little nudis were down there?  (Photo cred: Mindmaker at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10522727)

It seems to me that, more often than not, allowing ourselves to step boldly (or drift along a current) into the unknown never disappoints. Yes, it’s scary. But it is also necessary. Our ability to reach out to one another and experience what is foreign and sometimes uncomfortable, is perhaps more essential now than ever to our species’ survival.

I’ll leave you now with this brief challenge: What scares you? What is calling to you at the same time that it scares your pants off? Is it, perhaps, time for you to face that fear?

Good luck, Godspeed, and happy diving.

The Things We Know

After a “brief” hiatus, I’m back with some musings on the two years past, the four months to come, and the difficulty of saying goodbye. Get ready to delve deep. But for those inclined to lighter fare, keep a look-out for upcoming posts on what I’ve been checking off of my Indonesian Bucket List. Temples, volcanoes, sea turtles, and fire dances to come!

We all know a number of things, and many of those things are based on our personal experience. For example, I know that you should always double check dates when you order plane tickets online, that lavender will deter all manner of creatures from moving into your wardrobe (read: cats and spiders), and that you should never try to fit your car into a small parking space by hitting the gas and hoping for the best.

I also know that I hate saying goodbyes. As much as I love adventures and exciting new things, I dread closing chapters of my life – whether they be years or weekends spent with people I care for in places I’ve come to call home.

Four short months from today, I will be closing another chapter. I will be packing my bags and sleeping one last time in my village surrounded by rice paddies in the middle of Java. In so many ways I am ready to go. I’m ready to be reunited with my family, catch up with my friends, eat kale, and sip overpriced lattes. In so many ways it will be so good to go home.

But in many other, equally as important ways it will be heart-wrenching to barrel through the rice paddies one last time – to lift off into the air above these islands strewn across the Pacific and head back towards…who knows what?!

For all the “unknowns” I was afraid of on my flight coming here, there will be so many more “knows” that I will mourn the loss of as I drift back towards the homeland. There are people, places, sounds, sensations, and flavors that have transformed over these past two years from their strange-newness into a familiar-accompaniment of life in Indonesia.

We are what we know, for better or worse. I know the awkwardness of being stared at every time I walk out my front door. I know the shock of being screamed at in the street for no good reason (and the tarnished empowerment of sometimes screaming back). But I also know the sounds of glee that come from a flock of five year olds as they rush to “salim” me with their suspiciously damp and crusty hands every morning on my way to school. I know that every cup of sugary tea and every piece of double-fried tempeh becomes more delicious the longer I’m here. I know the beat of the busker’s drums as he and his pals jam out to dangdut in a crowded bus aisle. I know the smell of trash-burning, dust-swirling, and rice-boiling. I know the laughter of a nude-bathing grandma who calls out my name every day when I walk home from school. I know how the rain clouds roll in at 3pm as the banana leaves make rushing sounds in the gathering breeze.

All these things have become parts of me, fragments of the mosaic that makes up each one of our lives. These are the things that will haunt and comfort me when I think of Indonesia for years to come. And to these things that I know, I will never need to say goodbye.