I am on my way back to New York. I wish I weren't. In my next post, I'll talk about the last two days of my trip, which I spent in Athens. And I will share more about what I've experienced on and off my bike during the past two weeks in Greece!
07 August 2019
06 August 2019
A Mishap And A Mining Museum
After all of those wonderful experiences I had on Friday (which I described in my previous two posts), the night ended, not in tragedy, but in a way not befitting of the goddesses.
After returning to the hotel, I dozed off for a bit. When I woke, I was hungry. It was past ten, and my mind told me not to eat at such a late hour. But I ignored my mind and walked down to the waterfront. I bought a soulvaki from Yanko's, where everything is fresh and cheap, and a small salad with olives goat milk cheese from Gregory's, a place next door, and took them down to a park by the water.
After reveling in the tastes of that moment, and the other sensations I experienced during the day, I started my walk back to the hotel. The apartment in which I stayed the previous night was now occupied by a couple on their honeymoon so, as Irini said, I was moved to another room. While not as spacious, I hardly felt cramped: It's bigger than apartments in which I've lived, and had a balcony of its own.
But the doorstep stood a few inches above the ground, with a "step" carved of stone in between. I wasn't looking for it: I entered as if the doorstep were level with the ground.
I let out a howl not usually heard in Milos.
My left foot struck that "step" and pushed my big toenail back 45 degrees, pulling away the skin. One of the hotel staff members ran up to me and, seeing the blood spurting from my toe, called Irini, the owner, who drove me--up the winding road I pedaled earlier in the day--to the tiny hospital in Plaka.
There a medic splintered and bandaged my toe. He didn't remove the nail; instead, he told me to go to a doctor in Athens, where I was headed Saturday, the following evening. And he prescribed an antibiotic.
Irini stayed with me the whole time and, the next morning, went down to the port, where my prescription was filled in a pharmacy. When I went to the courtyard for breakfast, she gave me the pills.
I have to admit, I was tempted to change my plans and stay in Milos. But I had a boat ticket to Athens (Piraeus), where I am as I write this, for Saturday night and another ticket back to New York for Tuesday morning.
So I went to a place I never imagined I'd go: a mining museum. (Last year, I went to the Landmine Museum in Cambodia. I never thought I'd go to a place like that, either.) Turns out, Milos and other Cycladic islands are rich sources of minerals. Why do you think such beautiful pottery and jewelry were made there? Even today, a few minerals are extracted for use in everything from paper to cement. The exhibits also include films in which old miners were interviewed.
What I found really interesting--and encouraging--is that the museum makes a real attempt to show that women did at least their share of the work. Many worked as sorters and packers, but some actually worked the mines. I have a hard time, though, imagining how one would carry so much equipment and bear the heat of those mines in an outfit like this:
Oh, Irini took me to the museum and back to the hotel for lunch--and to the ferry. With hospitality like that, I'm going back to a place where an orange guy tells the world there's no room left in his country?
After returning to the hotel, I dozed off for a bit. When I woke, I was hungry. It was past ten, and my mind told me not to eat at such a late hour. But I ignored my mind and walked down to the waterfront. I bought a soulvaki from Yanko's, where everything is fresh and cheap, and a small salad with olives goat milk cheese from Gregory's, a place next door, and took them down to a park by the water.
After reveling in the tastes of that moment, and the other sensations I experienced during the day, I started my walk back to the hotel. The apartment in which I stayed the previous night was now occupied by a couple on their honeymoon so, as Irini said, I was moved to another room. While not as spacious, I hardly felt cramped: It's bigger than apartments in which I've lived, and had a balcony of its own.
But the doorstep stood a few inches above the ground, with a "step" carved of stone in between. I wasn't looking for it: I entered as if the doorstep were level with the ground.
I let out a howl not usually heard in Milos.
My left foot struck that "step" and pushed my big toenail back 45 degrees, pulling away the skin. One of the hotel staff members ran up to me and, seeing the blood spurting from my toe, called Irini, the owner, who drove me--up the winding road I pedaled earlier in the day--to the tiny hospital in Plaka.
There a medic splintered and bandaged my toe. He didn't remove the nail; instead, he told me to go to a doctor in Athens, where I was headed Saturday, the following evening. And he prescribed an antibiotic.
Irini stayed with me the whole time and, the next morning, went down to the port, where my prescription was filled in a pharmacy. When I went to the courtyard for breakfast, she gave me the pills.
I have to admit, I was tempted to change my plans and stay in Milos. But I had a boat ticket to Athens (Piraeus), where I am as I write this, for Saturday night and another ticket back to New York for Tuesday morning.
So I went to a place I never imagined I'd go: a mining museum. (Last year, I went to the Landmine Museum in Cambodia. I never thought I'd go to a place like that, either.) Turns out, Milos and other Cycladic islands are rich sources of minerals. Why do you think such beautiful pottery and jewelry were made there? Even today, a few minerals are extracted for use in everything from paper to cement. The exhibits also include films in which old miners were interviewed.
What I found really interesting--and encouraging--is that the museum makes a real attempt to show that women did at least their share of the work. Many worked as sorters and packers, but some actually worked the mines. I have a hard time, though, imagining how one would carry so much equipment and bear the heat of those mines in an outfit like this:
Oh, Irini took me to the museum and back to the hotel for lunch--and to the ferry. With hospitality like that, I'm going back to a place where an orange guy tells the world there's no room left in his country?
04 August 2019
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.
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.
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