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.
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!)
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.
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.
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.
Yesterday, I took my first trip outside Athens, in the company of an unemployed historian.
Actually, Kostas is employed in three different jobs. He was performing one of when he drove a passenger van designed to carry a few more people but which--luckily for me--had to transport only me and him on the 2 1/2 drive to Delphi.
His employment situation is like that of too many young Greek (and American) university graduates. Even though he didn't incur debt for his education, Greek salaries are so low (at least in comparison with other European countries and the US) and taxes so high that he has to work nearly non-stop. That, in itself, is troubling. So is something else he told me: "In Delphi, I can't guide you." As he explained, he is not part of the guild of licensed tourguides.
Still, our conversation en route and on the way back to Athens was interesting. When you talk to him, you start to see that modern Greek life, even among the uneducated, is a reflection of the philosophies of espoused so long ago. "They all stressed balance," he explained. "The body, mind and spirit, all should be in balance," he said. "So should all areas of life--work, family and everything else." The fact that so much of the media stresses materialistic values and the body--or, at least, a particular image of it--is why the cause of so many of our problems.
While none of the philosophers focused on the body, "it all starts with the body," he explained. That made perfect sense when I saw this:
The stadium, for the Pythian games, is at the very top of the Delphi site. Below it is the theatre, which in turn is behind the Temple of Apollo, where consultations with the oracle took place. While the stadium is at a higher location, the Temple, the most sacred structure, is right at the center of Delphi, thus "balancing" different aspects of human life.
and under that, various stages, temples and treasuries. Near the base is the "navel" of the world. That stone was left exactly where archaeologists found it. I suppose leaving the stone there is also a kind of balance, too: After all, how do we define what is the "center" of our planet? The core? The point where zero degrees longitude (the location of which is pretty arbitrary, when you come right down to it) meets zero degrees latitude (the Equator)? Those archaeologists, I believe, were balancing what they knew as researchers and scientists with portraying what ancient people knew about the world in which they lived.
On our way back to Athens, we stopped in Arachova , which looks like an Alpine ski village. Actually, it is, except that it, of course, isn't in the Alps. I admitted to Kostas that until we saw , I never would have used "Greece" or "Greek" and "ski" in the same sentence. Then again, I am neither Greek (as far as I know, anyway) nor a skier, so I wouldn't have known how well-known the place is among skiers--and Greeks.
Now there's a balance: skiing, on the slopes around Mount Parnassus. On the other hand, I have to wonder how many folks are thinking "Nothing in excess!" as they're barreling down the slope.
Almost three years ago, the first phase--all 3.2 kilometers (2 miles)-- of the Second Avenue subway opened, nearly a century after it was first proposed. The second phase, roughly two-thirds of the distance, is expected to open some time during 2027-2029. After that, yet another extension is planned.
Whenever it's finished, it's still running ahead of the schedule on which the Temple of Olympian Zeus was built. To be fair, no one planned on taking more than seven centuries to finish it. Begun in the 6th Century BCE by Peristratos, it was abandoned for lack of funds. It finally got finished in 131 CE under the Roman Emperor Hadrian, who had a large statue of Zeus built in it, along with an equally large statue of itself.
If the Acropolis is the #1 "can't-and-shouldn't-miss-it" sight of Athens, the Temple, only a five-minute bike ride (if that) away is easily #2. For one thing, it's easily the largest and one of the most magnificent temples you'll ever encounter.
Just outside the Temple's grounds is another impressive structure: Hadrian's Arch, completed a year later both to commemorate the consecration of the Temple and demarcate the boundary between the ancient and Roman cities. The northwest frieze reads "This is Athens, the Ancient city of Theseus," while the southeast frieze says, "This is the city of Hadrian, and not of Theseus."
This Hadrian character had an ego. But he sure knew how to build a city. While he destroyed some other cities in Greece, he loved Athens and wanted it to be the artistic and intellectual center of the Roman Empire, as it was for its Greek counterpart. Evidence of his magnanimity and megalomania are found in another stop on my bike tour of Athens: Hadrian's Library. There's not much left of the actual library, which was set next to a courtyard bordered by 100 columns with a pool at its center! The library, in addition to the estimated 75,000 volumes it held (by far the largest collection of its time), also contained music and lecture rooms.
In between Hadrian's gate and library, I made another stop at the Roman Agora, right around the corner from the library. While the most impressive remains are near the entrance, the real "show-stopper" on this site is the so-called Tower of the Winds, which has served as an astrological observatory and Orthodox chapel. If you step inside on a hot day, as I did, you will understand why even with such summer heat, air conditioning was so rare until recently, here and in most of Europe: It seems like all of the winds are blowing through it!
Plus, I'll admit, I wouldn't mind having a skylight like that in my apartment!
Now, if I were an Athenian or in any way sensible, I probably would have stopped at least for something to drink, if not a full-on Greek lunch, somewhere between one of those destinations. But since I'm not Greek (and I will let you decide whether or not I'm sensible), I wanted to ride and see more. You might say I was getting addicted to cycling my way through history.
Oh, and I wanted to pack as much into my day before I had to return my rental to Athens by Bike. I would have kept it another day if I hadn't had other plans.
So another ten-minute bike ride through a narrow, cafe-lined lane, an only-slightly-wider path rimmed by flea-market stalls and a cobblestone walkway that led to the path I rode to the sea, I came to Kerameikos, which you might say is an early "potter's field" because it takes its name from the clay-workers who settled there, along the banks of clay-rich banks of the Eridanos, a stream that was covered over in ancient times and re-discovered during construction of the Athens Metro.
Kerameikos is practically a diorama of Athenian history. In it, you can see the Sacred Way, which pilgrims entered through the Sacred Gate for the annual Elusinian Procession, which commemorated the abduction of Persephone from her mother Demeter by Hades, the king of the underworld, and her rescue. A little further along is the Diplyon Gate, at that time the city's gate and the starting point for the parade. It's also where prostitutes gathered to offer themselves to travelers. Oh, and right by that gate, Pericles gave a speech extolling the virtues of Athenians and honoring those who died in the Peloponnesian Wars.
Oh, and right by that is a cemetery used by the Romans until the time of Justinian (6th Century BCE) and uncovered during street construction in the 1860's. And there's the path to Plato's Academy.
I thought my head was spinning from taking all of that in. But, in reality, between my biking and all of the sites I'd visited, I'd been out in direct sunlight for close to eight hours. Even with all of the sunscreen I slathered on myself, I was feeling the burn.
After returning the bike, I stopped for some yogurt with cherries and an iced coffee. Then, in walking by down the pedestrian mall that passes the Acropolis Museum and the base of the Acropolis hill, I saw an entrance to the park that includes the Hills and Pynx, which in turn connects to Filopappu Hill, named for a prominent Roman consul and administrator. It is on these hills that, according to Plutarch, Thesus and the Amazons did battle. The west side of Filopappu, as it turns out, is right across the street from the apartment where I'm staying.
Like most hilltops in Athens, it offers a nice view of the Acropolis. But, if you get tired of that (as if that's possible!), you can turn and see this:
I wanted to visit all of the sites I mentioned because the pass I bought for 30 Euros at the Acropolis included entrance to all of them (except Filopappu, which is free) and lasts for three days. (It's 20 Euros for the Acropolis alone.) That 30-Euro pass is, as the Athens cultural office explains, for "archaeological" sites, all of which are outdoors. There's another 15-Euro pass, also for three days, that includes the Acropolis Museum and the Archaelology Museum, as well as others. As each of those museums has a 10-Euro admission fee, this pass is also well worth the money.
Today, though, I travelled outside of Athens. More about that later.
