How I Became Aprhodite By Sunset

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.

Hills By The Sea--And Kastro

Whenever I travel, I tell people I'm going for culture, nature, food or some combination thereof.  They believe me, and there's no reason why they shouldn't.  I also tell everyone--again, truthfully--that at the end of a day, I'm usually ready to sleep.  So, when it comes to accommodations, I care only that they're clean and quiet.

But it sure is nice to wake up and sashay onto a balcony offering views like these:

and to take a dip before going to sleep:

or to have a choice of whether to sleep on the upper or lower level:

I had not made arrangements for my accommodations before coming to Milos, knowing full well that it's the high season.  But high season on this island isn't quite the same as high season on Santorini.  So, I figured that I'd find something, somewhere.

There are a number of hotels, modern and cozy, around the waterfront of Adamas, the island's port, and within a few blocks.  After a bit of walking, I saw a rustic-looking sign for Thalassitra Village hotel, which stands at the end of a path and contains spacious rooms as well as apartments.

The owner, Irini, is practically a force of nature.  She's lived on the island all of her life, has seen other places and wants to live nowhere else. (I can't blame her.)  The place was full, she said, except for one apartment for one night.  She understood that, traveling alone, it was far more than I ever would need.  I agreed to let her show it anyway.  

I have to admit, I was thinking, "Just this once."  Perhaps she sensed it. She told me the price, knowing full well that I would never spend that much.  But, since it was available for that one night, Thursday, and a couple on their honeymoon was coming in for a longer stay, she was willing to give for half of the normal price.  And, if there was a vacancy for the following night, for a standard room--which she found later in the evening--she'd give me a discount on that, too.

Up to that point, I really hadn't spent much, so I thought, "Why not?"

What would I tell my younger self who stayed in hostels for a few dollars a night, or camped? I still haven't answered that.  Maybe I won't.  Maybe I don't need to.

Really, it--and the room in which I stayed the following night--felt more like spas than any hotel, hostel, pension in which I've stayed, let alone anyplace in which I've camped or slept on couches.  Why, there were even those white robes found in all of those pricey spas!

Now I'm going to tell you something that would truly appall the 21-year-old guy named Nick I once was. (Actually, he wouldn't have been as appalled as he would have claimed to be!):  I felt no guilt.  So, the way I spent the day--after seeing that view from the balcony--could have been a "penance," but it didn't feel that way.

I rented a bike:  another Ideal, which seems to be the "national" brand of this country.  This one, though, wasn't nearly as well-maintained as the one I rented from Athens by Bike.  In fact, after a bit of riding, I had to return and ask the mechanic to fix the front brake.

Still, I managed to ride it up the road to Plaka and Tripli, with five turns that looked like this:

Then, when I got to Plaka, a charming hilltop village full of those blue and white houses you see all over these islands, I came to this:

Of course, for a second, I saw "Castro."  I mean, I was riding on a steep hill by the sea and I've seen, well, at least a few gay people.  Of course, those are about the only comparisons one can make between Plaka and San Francisco.

"Kastro" means "castle".  After a while, the path gave way to uneven stone stairs and a rocky path.  I parked the bike and walked the rest of the way up.

The castle houses an Orthodox church.  It seems to be open only for services, so I don't know whether there are artistic treasures inside, or even these views:

The ride and hike were just the start of my Friday in Milos.  I'll tell you more in my next post.

(By the way:  This post is #3000.  Thanks for reading!)

Off The Island, Onto Another

I stayed on Santorini long enough to see the sunset I showed yesterday.  The island, with its volcanic rock faces dropping directly into the sea, is beautiful.  But it's also full of tourists.  And expensive.

When I got to Oia--the place you see in all of those Instagram photos of Santorini sunsets--it was like being in an older and more beautiful version of Times Square on New Year's Eve.  It's was so crowded that with people taking selfies that you can't do much more than take a selfie--which, as you've probably noticed in this blog, is something I don't do.

It's odd that another New York analogy comes to mind: the road that winds (and I mean winds) its way down to the port of Athinios in a similar way to the Route 495 spur to the Lincoln tunnel.  The difference is that the road to Athinios is about a tenth as wide (or so it seems) and its turns are sharper:  hairpins in a couple of places.  To complicate matters even further, the port itself sits on an improbably small shelf of land in front of a rock face.  So, only one vehicle can reach it at a time and people spend more time waiting in that line of traffic than they did in getting from wherever on the island they came.

One more thing about Santorini:  I saw mules.  Some, it seems, are for tourists while a few others were being used by families who have been living there for generations.  In a day and a half, however, I saw one bicycle.

Anyway, it is worth it to visit Santorini, however briefly, for its natural beauty and, of course, its sunsets.  And, away from the tourist traps, the food is actually quite good, often made from local produce.  Still, I was happy to go to Milos, which the world knows because of Venus de Milo(s).  I took a "Sea Jet", which really is more like riding in the cabin of a plane than a boat, except that you get to see the blue (Yes, it really is!) Aegean and some islands instead of endless clouds.  And the port of Adamas isn't just a port:   There are other things to see and do, which I'll talk about in my next post.  The best part, though, is that it spreads across the shoreline and is not nearly as claustrophobic as Athinios.

From Last Year's Sunrise To This Year's Sunset

Last year, it was about a sunrise.  This year, sunsets.

I'm trying not to read too much into that.  I am being quite literal:  Last year, one important reason I went to Cambodia was to see the sun rise over the Angkor Wat.  This year, I wanted to see the sun set at least once in one of the Cyclaides Islands, though it didn't loom quite as large among my reasons for coming to Greece.

But a sunset I wanted, and a sunset I got.

Yesterday, I got to Santorini later than I expected and my hotel was further from Oia, that village you see all over Instagram, than I thought.  

Then again, the Hotel Santa Irina is right by what some believe to be the nicest beach on the island.  Better yet (or worse, if I am going to wear the bathing suit I brought), there's a great bakery, also called the Santa Irina, on the premises.  

The hotel's receptionist--Georgia, a sweet woman about my age--suggested another nearby village for a sunset.  "The one in Pirgos is unique," she said.  A few local people echoed her belief.

I must say, it certainly is unlike any other I've seen.  And yes, it's beautiful.  

All right, I'm going to "come out" about something else. (Believe it or not,  even after you've revealed yourself as transgender and begun to live as who you are, there are still all sorts of other ways in which you can "come out.")  It's something you may have already figured:  I am a romantic.   There, I've said it.

Purification And Peripatetic Learning

Today I had an entirely insignificant achievement that had nothing at all to do with cycling, writing, teaching or any of the  other more-or-less respectable things I do.  Still, I feel a little bit of pride.

What is that momentous deed?  I went to Aristotle's Lyceum.  That means I visited all of the archaelogical sites covered by the 30 Euro inclusive pass.  

The Lyceum site, as it turns out, was on the way to the next part of my trip.  At least, it's along the Metro line I took.  According to Lonely Planet (the source of all of my scholarly information!), the site was excavated only in 2011.  So, for 2346 years, it lay buried beneath what is now a police station and down the street from the War Museum.

I have long known that, until fairly recently, most major cities are located on the banks of some significant body of water.  I have also noticed that many school catalogues show a body of water on their covers even if there isn't one within 100 kilometers of the campus.  

As it turns out, the Lyceum was built by a river that has long since been filled in or rerouted.  A chief reason is that, in keeping with the philosophy that the mind and body are one, the school had a gymnasium.  The river supplied water for the baths which not only cleaned sweaty bodies, but also served as a purifying ritual.  

Hmm...I always want to wash up after a bike ride.  But I usually feel that the ride itself was in some way purifying, or at least cleansing, of my mind and spirit.  

I imagine that it didn't take vigorous exercise for Aristotle's students to work up a sweat on a hot day.  They probably were glistening after the walks they took, during which they talked about ideas of one kind or another with the master.  Because of these walks, the Lyceum was also known as the Peripatetic (after perapos) School.

After visiting the Lyceum, I got back on the Metro for my next destination.  Here's a clue to it:

Yes, it has water around it.  I'll tell you more soon.