I have to admit, I rather like long bus rides in foreign countries, it is a good way to cover some ground and get a sense of the area you are traveling in vs. flying from one place to the other. This morning we are leaving Athens and embarking on a four hour bus ride up to Delphi. According to Greek mythology it is the navel of the world and Greeks would come from all across their empire to worship the sun god Apollo and have their fortunes told by the Delphi Oracle. It is said that a priestess there was in direct connection with the god and could relay messages between the mortals and Apollo. Many famous people went to her over the ages but her messages were so cryptic that a collection of priests stood outside her chambers and would then interpret her prophesy into more common language. As it turns out the priestess was really on a hallucinogenic drug given to her once every couple weeks and wasn’t really in connection with the god at all. Turns out Socrates may not have been the wisest man in Greece like she said.
I’m excited to be heading up to Delphi though because it is out of the city and into the mountains. Apparently it is high enough that you can ski on the mountains there, which is pretty cool. It’s been pretty hot and muggy in Athens and so some mountain air sounds pretty nice to me. Not to mention there isn’t a city around Delphi, it sounds like there is a small village, a few hotels, a ski resort and thats about it. Since my marathon last Saturday I haven’t urged my legs past a slow jog for more than a few hundred feet and I’m ready to get them moving a little bit.
Yesterday we escaped the city for a few brief hours and meandered our way down to the coast to visit the Temple of Poseidon on the Cape of Sounion. I can almost see why the Ancient Greeks worshiped their gods. The temple is built high above the Aegean Sea looking out towards the Cyclades Islands and was the last thing any Greek ship would see as they sailed away from their beloved homeland and the first to see when they returned. To put it simply it was majestic.
It is said that the sea is named after the ancient king Aegean who threw himself from the cliffs believing his son to be dead. The story goes that Athens used to pay a tribute to the half bull half man monster called the minotaur. Each year they had to give him the seven pretties girls and the seven handsomest boys from all the different tribes of Greece and he would eat them. That price seemed a little high to the Greeks and so the King sent his son to kill the beast, instructing him before he went to raise a white sail on his return voyage if he was successful in his venture. So the prince set off to kill the minotaur and along the way fell in love with the Princess of Crete. She was rumored to be one of the most beautiful women in the ancient world, so much so that the God Dionysus desired her for himself and stole the Princess from the Prince and married her himself. The poor Prince was so heart broken that even his defeat of the minotaur could not raise his spirits. He was so anguished over the loss of the Princess that he forgot to raise the white sails on his return voyage and his father, the king, upon seeing the returning ships threw himself from the cliffs into the sea believing his son to be dead.
It’s a pretty sad story if you ask me but adds some depth to the history of the place I was standing yesterday. After we left the temple we headed up into the hills of Attica to a Greek Orthodox Monastery up there which is built after the style of the ancient Byzantium Churches – stone walls and red terra cotta roofs, intricate mosaics and stained glass windows all lend to the holy atmosphere. This particular monastery is a nunnery that produces nearly all their own food and sells the extra produce to generate a small income. I learned that in the Greek Orthodox Church the role of the monasteries, monks and nuns is not so much one of service into the community like other orders but one devoted only to prayer – a noble way of life. The 30 sisters there are from all over the world too between them they represent 13 different countries, which I found pretty remarkable. The woman who showed us around or as Maria our guide would say, “gave us hospitality,” was from Ohio. She has been living at the monastery for 17 years but doesn’t look a day over 25. I guess eating a lot of organic, home grown fruits and vegetables and days full of prayer will do that for you. We all bought a little from their store and went on our way.
Back down on the coast an enormous, freshly caught, sea food dinner was served to us, the tables so laden with food I was sure they would collapse. I’ve never been a fan of sea food, but I always make an effort to try the food when I’m traveling. So I forked a little piece of octopus, calamari and muscles onto my plate and gave it a go. Remarkably, I was able to get past the texture (the chewy aspect of sea food normally activates my gag reflex) and enjoy the flavors of the beautifully prepared meal. I chewed, swallowed and enjoyed all three pieces on my plate… but that was enough. I just couldn’t get past the eyes on the prawns, the legs on the “fried baby shrimp” and the whole bodies (heads, eyes, guts and all) of little fish, they were too complete of an animal for me to invite them onto my plate much less down my throat. The little cat that sat next to my chair the whole night got quite the meal though.
I don’t really know how to wrap up this post other than to say that I am really loving being here and traveling again. I was so struck yesterday by the similarities between the Turkish coast where I was two years ago the the coast of Greece. If I had just changed the language and the signs at the side of the road I could have easily been fooled into believing I was in Turkey, the one thing that is missing is the call to prayer. Church bells ring occasionally here but there is no voice calling out over a crackly megaphone for the faithful to pray.
Love to you all.
Wandering Tattler 