No, I'm not in Paris again.
After climbing to the castle (see yesterday's post), I descended back into Plaka's Archaeology Museum. There, among pottery and other objects found on Milos and other islands, is this replica of Venus de Milo. In the Plaka museum, it's called Aphrodite de Milos.
When I left the museum, I rode along another winding road to the place where a farmer, while digging for stones, came upon Aphrodite/Venus. So how did she end up in the Louvre? Well, as it turns out, some French naval officers were doing some digging of their own in a nearby area and took notice and, after some negotiations, bought the statue and bundled it onto a ship to France. It was presented as a gift to Louis XVIIII, who in turn gave it to the Louvre.
How she ended up armless in France is another, much longer story, which I won't get into here.
Anyway, I continued along the road to a Roman theatre in Trypiti
and catacombs, which I didn't photograph because it was too difficult and, well, some of those people just might not like being photographed.
From there, I pedaled up another widing road to a Klima and onto another rocky winding road to Areti, where an elderly couple leaving their house saw me and applauded. "Bravo!"
Of course, after all of that climbing came the descents to the sea, back to the port at Adamas, where I turned south and rode along the coast to Papikinou and the hot springs of Zefira. By then, it was late in the day, and I wanted to swim before the end of the day. After all, I'd brought my bathing suit with me and it would have been a shame not to use it, right?
So I stopped and descended the stairs to a pebble-sand beach with the clearest water I've seen in a bathing area. Ahead of me the blue (yes, it really is!) Agean spread between volcanic islands. I started to duck behind this rock and was about to change into my swimsuit when I noticed a young boy and girl wading from the water. Both were as naked as the day they were born. So were their mother and father.
Just past them, I saw the sign: Nudist Beach.
They say that whatever happens in 'Vegas stays in 'Vegas. Well, I figured the same holds true for Milos. I probably would not see that family, or any of the other people--clothed or unclothed--again. So I decided my bathing suit would have to wait for another day.
In that water, I became an acrobat and a ballerina. I moved with the waves; my arms, my legs, even the rest of the body, became waves. Maybe that is what our bodies really are, rather than the hard, straight lines we are taught to strive for in a commodified society. Even the slender men and women in Greek sculptures were not composed of sinews and pistons; they move, fluidly, through time and light.
When I stopped and stood, for a few moments, with those blue waves lapping up to my neck, I felt something silky and gelatinous, at the same time, against my legs. I looked down through the clear water and saw little coral-colored fish with black stripes on their tails nibbling at me. Were they feeding on some mineral my body exuded? Or were they merely curious?
Whatever (if anything) they were thinking, those fish didn't care that I was naked. Neither did the other people, naked or otherwise, on that beach. A guy in a swimsuit and googles made for racing pumped past me and didn't give me a second glance. Everyone, it seemed, was there just to swim or wade as they pleased.
After that swim, a few more things made sense to me. To the ancient philosophers, life was about balance a balance, and the body was central. And that is the reason, I realized, why there doesn't seem to be any body-shaming here: Each of us is born with our own shape, size and other characteristics, and all we can do is make them into the best they can be. Venus/Aprhodite, however she is depicted, is simply the best version of herself. What the capitalist/materialist media in America and other places teach us, instead, is to strive for other people's reality.
I stayed in that water, swimming, dancing, or simply waving my arms and legs, until the sun started to descend between two hills. Then I started pedaling along the road back to Adamas, and my hotel.
The sunsets on Santorini were beautiful. But this one was, by far, the most rewarding I've ever experienced.
Did I become Aprhrodite, just for a moment? Could it be that when you experience beauty, when you feel beauty, you become your own beauty?
Now I'll confess that after I got back to the hotel and had dinner, I did something entirely un-graceful. More about that in my next post.
After climbing to the castle (see yesterday's post), I descended back into Plaka's Archaeology Museum. There, among pottery and other objects found on Milos and other islands, is this replica of Venus de Milo. In the Plaka museum, it's called Aphrodite de Milos.
When I left the museum, I rode along another winding road to the place where a farmer, while digging for stones, came upon Aphrodite/Venus. So how did she end up in the Louvre? Well, as it turns out, some French naval officers were doing some digging of their own in a nearby area and took notice and, after some negotiations, bought the statue and bundled it onto a ship to France. It was presented as a gift to Louis XVIIII, who in turn gave it to the Louvre.
How she ended up armless in France is another, much longer story, which I won't get into here.
Anyway, I continued along the road to a Roman theatre in Trypiti
and catacombs, which I didn't photograph because it was too difficult and, well, some of those people just might not like being photographed.
From there, I pedaled up another widing road to a Klima and onto another rocky winding road to Areti, where an elderly couple leaving their house saw me and applauded. "Bravo!"
Of course, after all of that climbing came the descents to the sea, back to the port at Adamas, where I turned south and rode along the coast to Papikinou and the hot springs of Zefira. By then, it was late in the day, and I wanted to swim before the end of the day. After all, I'd brought my bathing suit with me and it would have been a shame not to use it, right?
So I stopped and descended the stairs to a pebble-sand beach with the clearest water I've seen in a bathing area. Ahead of me the blue (yes, it really is!) Agean spread between volcanic islands. I started to duck behind this rock and was about to change into my swimsuit when I noticed a young boy and girl wading from the water. Both were as naked as the day they were born. So were their mother and father.
Just past them, I saw the sign: Nudist Beach.
They say that whatever happens in 'Vegas stays in 'Vegas. Well, I figured the same holds true for Milos. I probably would not see that family, or any of the other people--clothed or unclothed--again. So I decided my bathing suit would have to wait for another day.
In that water, I became an acrobat and a ballerina. I moved with the waves; my arms, my legs, even the rest of the body, became waves. Maybe that is what our bodies really are, rather than the hard, straight lines we are taught to strive for in a commodified society. Even the slender men and women in Greek sculptures were not composed of sinews and pistons; they move, fluidly, through time and light.
When I stopped and stood, for a few moments, with those blue waves lapping up to my neck, I felt something silky and gelatinous, at the same time, against my legs. I looked down through the clear water and saw little coral-colored fish with black stripes on their tails nibbling at me. Were they feeding on some mineral my body exuded? Or were they merely curious?
Whatever (if anything) they were thinking, those fish didn't care that I was naked. Neither did the other people, naked or otherwise, on that beach. A guy in a swimsuit and googles made for racing pumped past me and didn't give me a second glance. Everyone, it seemed, was there just to swim or wade as they pleased.
After that swim, a few more things made sense to me. To the ancient philosophers, life was about balance a balance, and the body was central. And that is the reason, I realized, why there doesn't seem to be any body-shaming here: Each of us is born with our own shape, size and other characteristics, and all we can do is make them into the best they can be. Venus/Aprhodite, however she is depicted, is simply the best version of herself. What the capitalist/materialist media in America and other places teach us, instead, is to strive for other people's reality.
I stayed in that water, swimming, dancing, or simply waving my arms and legs, until the sun started to descend between two hills. Then I started pedaling along the road back to Adamas, and my hotel.
The sunsets on Santorini were beautiful. But this one was, by far, the most rewarding I've ever experienced.
Did I become Aprhrodite, just for a moment? Could it be that when you experience beauty, when you feel beauty, you become your own beauty?
Now I'll confess that after I got back to the hotel and had dinner, I did something entirely un-graceful. More about that in my next post.
