Final post: How to acquire a Greek grandmother and her Greek pie dough ('pita') recipe

I'm back in the States, and have been for over thirty-six hours now. Aside from suffering exhaustion, jetlag, and a weird adjustment to corn syrup and MSG (both of which I got completely unaccustomed to while in Greece), the trip was fantastic. We spent our final few days in Pefkohori, after leaving Litochoro. I can't even count the number of awesome places, restaurants, people, and foods I've seen, having been here. It'd be too large a list.

Being back in the States (staying for a few days at Adam's parents' house) has been strange. I had gotten so used to largely broken English and saying things in Greek (not much; just the little I did learn), that it's surreal to be back where everyone can understand me. The last few days in Pefkohori, we were too busy for me to take any pictures, since that's where our final assignment was due, but trust me: it's gorgeous. Where we stayed, we were right on the beach at Adrianna Suites and Apartments, which are also rather nice. The apartment itself came with a hotplate, dishes, silverware, and a fridge, so my roommates and I had a racket going with a kick-in of five Euros a meal. It certainly cut off most of the price of food, and we still had leftovers.

But as far as Pefkohori goes, Adrianna, the woman who owns the Apartments and Suites we were occupying, was fantastic. Even after some of my classmates decided that loudly running around like drunken five-year-olds at three in the morning our first night there, she gave us tyropita and saw us off at three in the morning the day we left.

Aside from giving our group tyropita, she gave my roommates and I a box-worth of tyropita to take with us on our flights, and a recipe for the -pita part of tyropita (cheese pie; tyros is cheese, roughly transliterated) which involves no standard measurements. It was a beautiful eleven-o'-clock PM moment, before my groggy-eyed teacher came to the suites to make sure none of my classmates had decided to relive the first night in Pefkohori. Once she got there, we were instructed to take ourselves to bed, as this was, apparently, not the appropriate time for making pita. I intend to email her for the rest of the recipe, since she knows English, and I am fairly certain she'd be willing to give me the recipe in the end.

In any case, once I got through customs and to Birmingham Int'l, I had traveled 20 hours from Greece to the US. All in all, though, I feel the best night of the trip was learning Greek and a recipe from a woman who barely understood English on our last night in the country. Really, it was a fitting end. Thera, Oia, Athens, Sounion, Corinth, Nafplio, Mycenae, Epidauros, Olympia, Naupactus, Delphi, Thermopylae, Meteora, Litochoro, Dion, Vergina, Pefkohori, and then, finally, home, to my cat, and my job, and my normal life.

It's been a good month.

Surprise Cherries! Oh boy!

Climbing Metéora:

I am in a video game.

I’m riding a bus through one of those places so majestic and fantastic, it must be fake. Rocks the size of colossi or dragons spring from the middle of tree-covered mountains. I have never been so afraid of stalling out in my life. It would be a quick-time event to try and throw myself out of the fire escape hatch into the tumbling scrub brush and forest below, then I’d spend the rest of the game limping through some lost civilization, an offshoot of the Mayans, before waking up in a hospital, being told it was all a dream.

In the sequel, I would go back, and find out that the doctors had lied. I would be forced to find the civilization, which, between this game and the previous one, had been destroyed. I would seek my revenge against the logging companies or something, like a twisted Ferngully gone ape-shit.

* * * * *

An hour later, Metéora behind us, the Greek countryside rolls past as large, rocky hills (or small mountains?); foothills of the Parnassus, I think. We’re arriving in Litochoro in an hour, or something like that. We climbed up the rocks at Metéora to see a beautiful view; it would be a spiritual experience for almost anyone. Fairy-tale woods where Snow White’s heart was cut out, and emerging from them onto a dragon spine in the middle of the sun’s heat versus a cool breeze chilling the sweat on your forehead and the back of your neck, which prickles in response to the cold. A one-foot-wide ledge and some beauty in terror later; I kept thinking something like a rock-slide would happen. But just beauty, I could see why someone would come out here for monastic solitude; there is a peace in these rocks and their caves and footholds.

This land is so varied; like people, it wears many faces. Mountains, valleys, vast farms, unworkable moors, harbors and waterlogged rivers, and places so dry, you shrivel like a snail in salt. Graffiti is thrown onto every unpainted or neglected surface, most of it poorly made, some of it really beautiful. Greece needs more graffiti artists with quality – there aren’t enough.

Delphi was… well, it was tiny. And expensive. And full of tourists (don’t get me wrong: tourism’s alright... But do we all have to hit the same towns at the same time?) Half of the stores here in Greece are labeled “eco-friendly” and half of them don’t even try. Because they just are. A/C? Open windows. Heat? Firewood. Most of the homes even have one or two solar panels outside. And then we come here and dirty their beaches, feed their strays, and buy their gimmicky t-shirts and souvenirs in every city.

* * * * *

So I got my days wrong. But I did hike [part-]way up Mt. Olympus. Katie and I wandered along every little trail that made us curious, including a trail that we found out (about ten feet down) was not a trail… Mount Olympus was gorgeous… After arriving in Lotochoro last night around 7 PM local time (11 AM central standard), we went to dinner and relaxed and turned in our homework.

But dinner… we went to a place that insisted on giving us three different desserts (ice cream pop, cherries, and cake, made by the sister of the owner), all of which were a surprise, but very good. I didn’t catch the name of the place, but they wear pink polos as a uniform. Anyway, good food, great people, very nice. The condos we’re staying in are gorgeous, and I have a room overlooking the rose garden. Everyone was confused why we were so happy to have a room on the same floor as the garden… I’m not really sure why. I’ve washed all my clothes, so they should last me the next (and final) five days of the trip. It’s weird to think how quickly it’s gone by. In a week, I’ll be back in the States, adjusting to my old time.

Anyway, Litochoro. Tonight, dinner was at a place called Papy’s, which was good. They don’t have any vegetarian dishes… I got souvlaki and a beer for 4 euros total, and that was good enough for me. It may have been less than that, but we’re not sure. Climbing up Olympus was fun, though. From where we were, we kept hearing/seeing (alternately) the river running between the mountains, and horseflies, butterflies, columbine-like flowers clinging to the rocks and slope, lichens…

We had to get there. So we kept climbing (we started at 9:30 AM) until around noon, when we ate at a bench on the path, and then turned around, found a path (or… well, what we thought was a path) down, and started slipping and controlled-sliding down the side of the mountain. We weren’t even really that sure that we’d get to a place where we could jump in, but we figured we had to try, because the water was so clear and looked so cool, compared to the hot sun beating down on us.

I was so close to the edge in some of the places. This was a rock we climbed to (and yeah, that's an almost sheer drop; note the river winding through):

So ten minutes after first starting down, we see what looks like a clear path to some rocks in the shade on the edge of the water. We get there, realize we want to jump in, and don’t want to fully saturate our jeans and t-shirts. So we went without. Which… well, probably was a mistake. The water was freezing. I mean, melted snow from the top of the mountain, freezing. It was so cold. And, surprisingly, there were water striders, and tadpoles the size of dimes with tails (as well as one fully-grown frog that was chilling on a rock and we hadn’t noticed), a few fish, and some teenage Greek boys who decided to come over and hit on us...

Hormones are the same in every country.

The oldest of them was sixteen, and probably knew English the best out of the group (or was the leader, or babysitting the younger ones), though his English was as broken as all the Greek I know. He ended up showing us a quicker way out (and in, really) of the area where we were, which led straight back to the way we’d come before going on the upper trail.

It was all a little surreal.

It was all really fun, though.

Also, spider nest:

Those Greeks really knew what to do in a zombie apocalypse.

This is why I'm LOVING the Mediterranean and surrounding waters.

Today was the last day in Nafplio.

It feels as though it’s been months since I have seen the states, but really, I wouldn’t mind living here, learning the language, and making my way through Greece. Or, really, all Europe, for that matter. It’s not that I think a gypsy lifestyle would be idyllic; more that I think I could make it here, if I worked a lot of dead end waitressing jobs and lived in low-income housing until I wrote or painted or created a masterpiece.

Today was the last day in Nafplio, and the first in which we visited the beach. It was a stone beach (unlike the black sand on Santorini), and the water was so clear that you could see where the shelf dropped off into sea. Adriatic, I think. I’m not certain. I could smell the salty water, and there were few enough people that we could lounge without even having to try and find the best place to enjoy the beauty of it (and it was probably not even the length of a football field).

The stones looked like they were made of marble (which wouldn’t surprise me) and we had to do a little bit of adventuring the figure out the right way to go, anyway. We ended up sidling along a wall on the way back (on the way there, we took a longer way), like in the video games, and found a snail graveyard full of gorgeous shells (none of which I grabbed because I was more afraid of them breaking.)

After which we passed Antica Gelateria di Roma (a fantastic gelateria in Nafplio; I highly recommend it if you ever go) and grabbed what may be my last gelato of the trip (though, considering, I did have it three days in a row); and around 10:30 we left for Olympia.

Which is… well, it’s like every other place in Greece, except with more seclusion. It’s beautiful, with flowers everywhere and flower petals dying in the streets, motorcyclists and tourists and camera shops and tall, slim evergreens. Tile roofs and stucco walls, restaurants that sell Traditional Greek Food! and No Service Charge (which is a lie, because the bread they bring to your table isn’t free). It’s beautiful, and it’s fun, and, today, at least, it’s empty. I walked through streets and could feel the silence in the stores. One of the shop owners followed us into his own store as we perused the different restaurants (eventually stopping in Zeus, which was the cheapest, and had Serbia-Ghana on the TV); that’s how empty it is.

Serbia lost. 1-0, Ghana.

I really want to watch Up again…

Alright.
So.
My last post was a little sparse, prior to the photographs, and even then, the photographs were just a dump of pictures from the past few days. So here I sit in Nafplio, having just reached our hotel, not yet gone to dinner, but having already gone and put my stuff in my room. Probably too many participles in that sentence... Anyway, it's gorgeous here, our hotel is on the coast; I'll get pictures on here later. (Here is a link about it: http://www.allgreecetravel.com/peloponnese/agamemnon_hotel_nafplion.asp)

Today, on the ride from Athens to Nafplio, we stopped in Corinth, and visited the old Greek/Roman agora/forum, then visited Acrocorinth (where there is a medieval castle built around the old acropolis), which was entertaining. You can see the whole isthmus from some of the heights around there, and I did get pictures to make into a panorama, so I'll put that up later as well.

We went to Sounion from Athens last night, and watched a gorgeous sunset from the place where Aegeus is said to have jumped into the sea, giving the Aegean its name. Look it up; it has to do with Theseus betraying his father (I.M.O.) and dumping the woman who saved his ass on Naxos. Just saying.

Anyway, Sounion was gorgeous:

Yeah. Seriously. So pretty. I need to check my saturation on one of those images, because I can barely see anything on my computer screen right now if it isn't black and white, but I'll be working on that tonight, and then remedying the situation.

The breeze here off the sea is great, and it smells of salt water.

Oh!

Details on Santorini that I never gave:

Okay, so I ended up involved in a donkey race, because I rode a donkey up the caldera from the harbor (Santorini is made up of a few islands, because of a 17th century B.C. volcano) and another of the girls on the trip was on a donkey that we're pretty sure was my donkey's brother, which led to a nine-donkey race up the mountain, which I won; it was highly entertaining, because all the donkeys really knew the way already, and, as Dr. Summers said, "They have to find ways of entertaining themselves!"

As far as the hot springs, I don't have any pictures because we had to swim probably a few hundred feet from the boat to reach them, but I was the first off the boat, leaping into the Mediterranean feet-first. As I pushed my head above water, someone asked me how it was; about the temperature of a nice pool in summer, really; "Salty!" I replied before swimming to the muddy waters of the springs, which were about the temperature of a warm bath. The mud was so nice; I want some for my garden. You can tell it was full of all sorts of healthy nutrients for plants and people alike. Actually, while we were there, there were some goats on the cliffs above the springs, looking down at us, and one which we were encouraging to dive headfirst into the spring. I'd have applauded the little guy.

The volcano was... well, it was a volcano. It was inactive at the moment, so it was mostly just fertile rocks with some flowers nudged in between. Otherwise, it was pretty dull. But cool.

Now it's time for dinner.

I'll get back with you later.

Picture dump:

Oia

Oia

You can see old Athens from here!

I want one of these owls...

lolwut?

Yesterday (6/6) was… hectic. The day before yesterday (5/6) was, too, to a certain extent. Really, this trip is a little hectic, in general. Saturday, we started our day by visiting ancient Thera, then going to the beach, followed by going to Oia, at the opposite side of the island, and having dinner before catching the bus back to Thera at 9:20 p. The sunset was beautiful, and the dinner was good (Polski Lokal; tiny little place. I had fried cheese ravioli, which had a name I can’t remember.)

After that, waking up in the morning at 7, to leave for the volcano at 10, for which I didn’t know we had a schedule to be down by, so we just moseyed our way down the hill before realizing, then got down there fifteen minutes late. But we kind of ended up not going too far up the volcano; mostly because I felt like being lazy, but followed by this we ended up at a hot spring. Of course, we had 25 minutes, and we had to swim through chilly Mediterranean waters (about 19 C) to get to the hot spring (about 26 C) and swim back through to get to the boat.

Then we rode a donkey.

Then I walked around town to get dinner and some contact lens solution. I walked around alot. My calves are burning with pain.

Now I’m too tired to write anything worthwhile. I’ll make up for this with pictures. Later. (I wrote this post last night. I've now made minor edits. I'm still going to make up for this with pictures later. Not now.

"Are you going to shower? If you don't, then I won't have to!"

After the first day in Santorini, I have remembered something which I had discovered after my first few trips to big cities and Europe: lunch is optional. Always optional. Aside from getting lost and running into temporary roommate Catherine on the way back from the museum, and exploring a little church and cemetery and backyard barnyard (inventory: a horse, a foal, a donkey, and one dog, probably part Irish spaniel, part Border Collie, from its looks), I spent my morning in quietude. Then, of course, we were lost together, and got ourselves ice cream. “At least we have ice cream while we’re lost,” she told me. “Adventuring,” I corrected. It’s all a matter of looking at things the right way.

It turns out we were headed in the right direction, anyway, and ended up following a couple of classmates back to the hotel. Class, of course, began as a lecture, and ended with a quiz based entirely on the lecture, followed by a trip to the Santorini museum, which had artifacts from all over the island. Cycladic-style artwork, Minoan-style frescoes, and Linear A were arranged in a highly structured fashion. That’s something I suspect the Greeks are quite fond of: structure. Strict rules and guidelines, which one must follow to a T. I remember a woman I sat next to on the plane from Athens to Thira, who, although the plane was landed and stationary, would not remove her seat belt until the “Fasten Seat Belt” light was off. Based on this, I would guess that the Grecian police (of whom I have seen none) probably do not have much work. I’ve seen some graffiti, but as far as theft and murder go, I’ve neither heard nor seen any of it happening.

I have lots of lovely pictures to share, most of which are on Flickr, and some on Facebook. I met the lovely Cats of Santorini, the feral felines which roam the streets, sitting under your chair at a restaurant, trying to beg scraps off of you or, rarely, acquire some attention. At one point, I had four surrounding my chair, even though I was giving no food. I guess I was more fascinating, or seemed like an easier target than the other tables, or maybe the people around me did. Obviously, they knew I wasn’t a big fan of meat dishes, because afterward, I threw them a few of the leftover ground beef from my mousaka to them. Ravenously, they attacked any and all scraps thrown their way, gobbling them quickly, to prevent other cats a chance. On the way back from the hotel, both temporary roommates and I walked together, Catherine and I accidentally showing Isabella the church we had explored earlier, as well as the added number of animals: 5 more horses and 1 more donkey. “I feel I’ve passed this dog before,” we giggled, the chill breeze beginning to come off of the sea.

After making it back to the hotel, we met another girl who didn’t seem to fit in with the people she ended up dubbing “the cool people” and “the middle people;” also a classics (and Poli-Sci—what?) major, she was here for all the learning, and seemed, like us, to want to try to get work done, and not play drinking games all night.

Having begun my museum assignment summation in the artifact journal section of my notebook, I realize that there will probably not be a museum every day. If there were, we would have approximately 120 artifacts to write into a four page paper; I’m not certain anyone could do that, really!

I am excited, though; it shouldn’t be too hard to find artifacts based on religion, since…

I believe I’m hearing an angry Greek couple fight…? It’s so loud I can hear it through my shuttered windows, though I don’t guess that’s much protection. It’s almost a relief not to know what they’re saying to each other. I’ve been in and around fights; and at the volume they were using, no one is being rational. No one cares if they’re being rational. At that point, they just want to yell until their throats are sore and their eyes burn with too many angry tears.

As I was saying (since they’ve called a cease-fire, I suppose), it shouldn’t be too hard to find artifacts based on religion, since more people are obsessed with faith-based knowledge than with science-based knowledge. Since rural people have always been the last convinced from one religion (usually into another), I’m certain there will be many votive offerings and burial sacrifices to analyze and even to photograph and sketch. As it is, I’m pretty sure I could just turn in the sketches I’m doing as the artifact journal and that would be alright by the doctors.

However, at this moment, it is 11:35 P, and I should be getting some sleep. We all have an early day tomorrow. And I’ll probably have to buy some disposable razors. And some soap (since I found out the soap I thought I’d bought was actually lotion. I comfort myself with the fact that many Greeks and Romans used little more than olive oil and a hot spring.)

June 2, early evening-June 4, morning

This is not the first time I have done this.

My legs are cold from air siphoned around me; sterility in my two-foot box seat. This is not the first time I have seen the Atlantic from more than a mile above. This is not the first time I have covered the entire eastern seaboard in a meager few hours, all while waiting for a meal and finishing a few novels. I am surrounded by metal and heat-shrinked plastic and leather, probably fake. This is not the first time I have flown overseas.

It is the first time I have flown overseas with a less-than-tangible connection to the country. I will not meet family on the other side; all semblance of chaperoning is downplayed. They are there, but they are not watching as babysitters. They are watching as guards; security against fuck-ups and against lost passports and binges which end in hangovers to miss class for. On the screen, the movie they play is focused on some conflict in Africa; the lead role is played by Morgan Freeman. I think it is The Constant Gardener or Hotel Rwanda*. One of the African-conflict-caused-by-the-Western-world movies that came out around that time. The valium-coated comedy is not present in this movie; this is not meant as a reassurance to the passengers. This is a movie supplied by the people trying to satisfy the growing support of movies with depressing morality. *I found out later from some of the people who had watched it that the movie was Invictus and that Morgan Freeman was playing Nelson Mandela.

The night view outside my room, off of the balcony.

The riots in Greece are called to mind. Maybe it’s because I am going to Greece, and maybe it’s because I’m seeing exploding cars. I hope while I am there to get good photographs of the riots. Not for any particular reason other than to expand my portfolio. Maybe I’ll take sketches of some of the angriest people who are standing still. Maybe I’ll take sketches of the street actors and gypsies. If I do either, it will be to my benefit. I have needed to sketch for months now; I’ve gotten out of practice. My sketches and drawings have become more stylized line drawings. No color; none is needed. The stark white on black is enough to say what I need it to say. On the day of the final, I drew Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring on the whiteboard; it was an almost accurate sketch; one or two details missing.

* * * * *

You can see the curvature of the world from here. Clouds that look like islands; currents; islands that look like clouds; a mile-up, a fog tries to envelope the plane from the east, where we’re travelling. I look to my book, silence in the cacophony of roaring wind muffled by plastic and popped ears. A rainbow tint in the atmosphere.

The clouds imitate the surface at probably half the distance down; probably further than that. Waves churn and roil and smooth into vast expanses of either rough, foamy breakers or smooth glistening speed bumps, a vast succession of thousands of speed bumps, miles and miles wide. Dinner: a shrink-wrapped, microwave, vegetarian pasta without any dessert. I feel as though some meal-planning stranger decided to punish the vegetarians who didn’t want chicken if only because it meant they had to provide a choice of meals. That may be true; or the stewardess may have forgotten. In either case, it would have been as shrink-wrapped and nutrient-balanced as the rest.

The wing of the plane is covered by a shadow from the tail fin and dorsal of this lumbering beast of the air; we only seem to go slowly at 600 mph. Chasing tomorrow, it could take a day to reach our destination, it seems; I know it’s untrue. Eleven hours is thirteen shy; but it seems as though this trip may take forever. I might not sleep for the twenty-six hours I am travelling (all times total, before this flight and after) and I’ll have lost a day somewhere over the Atlantic. I wish I could see the Pacific from this height. Its cold romance is as comforting as a squid wrapped around my neck, but its beauty is just as mysterious.

Now, a view of the actual sea, not its lithograph image as it is printed on the clouds; a stippled opening around a vast blue mouth threatening to swallow the world as I see it whole. I smell the chicken dinners a few feet away, the congealed ranch wafting around, a penetrating, not quite sour smell. The turbulence is too much for the stewardesses, they say, slipping from “flight attendant.” No one notices. We’re too busy looking out windows or at screens and books to think a correction in order. We don’t really care if someone’s feelings are hurt over spilled milk. It wasn’t ours.

* * * * *

Shutting down to preserve battery life; essential to continuing to write in the hours that follow. My computer claims it’s 6:25 PM. That means that it must be 2:25 AM in Greece. 8 hours ahead. How will I learn to contact people at the right times? Early morning to reach them late night? Mid-afternoon or late night to reach them early morning? I’ll need to write down safe calling times to remind myself that people sleep sometimes.

* * * * *

It’s as though everyone here is hyperactive; everything has to be done so fast my eyes are only seeing motion blurs. Then again, I’ve been awake for almost twenty-seven hours. Hopefully a “spanakotyropita” (transliterated from the Greek) will keep me awake for the next few hours until my flight at 7:30 PM. Once I’ve boarded that flight, I can sleep until Thira, Santorini, and then head to the hotel, clean myself up, and sleep some more. By that time, I’ll be going on 30 hours of travel, I think, including the hour drive from Tuscaloosa to Birmingham.

I’m scared to try the meat; mostly because I haven’t really eaten any terrestrial meat since I had goat (which was okay; not as good as what I’ve had before) a few weeks ago, and up to then, over a year. Delirium sets in more with each minute awake. I can’t focus on reading, which means I can’t get research done, and I was trying to read a novel on an uncomfortable table and was nodding off. When I do this, I wake up whenever someone sits down. It makes me nervous. Paranoid, for lack of a better word. I haven’t really left Athens’ airport because I’m too worried about being back in time for my flight. I could have maybe left at 1 pm local time and gotten back before the flight… but not knowing the bus routes and being barely able to hear people over the exhaustion and noise of a thousand bustling travelers, I didn’t want to chance it.

I know I’m on the same flight with Tatiana and her kids; but I don’t know from what gate the flight leaves the airport, and I don’t want to end up going through security checkpoints to discover I need to turn back and try the other side. And it’s not on the board yet (admittedly, it’s 3:19 pm local time, four hours before the flight), so I can’t even guess where it is. My computer says that it is 7:23 AM in Alabama right now. My family should have received my e-mail, then, as well as Adam. I hope they didn’t write long-winded responses.

I wish I understood (modern) Greek. Herodotus is useless to me in this moment. I need a translator. Or a phrasebook. Or knowledge of the language.

I need sleep.

I’m running on empty.

* * * * *

Opening thoughts on Santorini:

It’s beautiful here, certainly. I feel as though a piece of Spanish moorland has been carved from the Iberian peninsula and dropped into the ocean. The whole island, as I’ve seen, is scrub-brush and stucco on sand dunes liable to move at any moment and lichens on staggering rocks. This island is covered by treacherous fertility: fields cover volcanic debris and in the tranquility I hear a single dog bark in the distance. In my hotel room, my roommates and I have opened the the doors to the balcony and the window in the living room to a chill summer breeze drawn from the ocean to dry our hair and cradle us into welcome sleep.

That’s not to say we intend to sleep just yet. It’s more ritual, this preparation for sleep; it helps us make this set of rooms into our temporary home. If only all hotels are this nice, then I will be well satisfied with these low mattresses and barking mutts and wild ocean breezes. And the volcano.

Houses teeter on its slopes, I noticed as we came into the island, and shops and hotels all cluster to be as close to the top as they can be. The people who live here have probably had family in those houses for generations, as with this villa turned inn. A small book on the table says there are bus tours to the Southern half of the island from 10:45 to 17:00. I may be taking one.

* * * * *

I fell asleep to the sounds of crickets and settling.

I awoke to the sound of birdsong.

The first morning of Santorini: proof that this place is as beautiful as it looked when we came in around twelve hours ago. I am recharged and no longer jet-lagged. Exhaustion is the best form of adaptation to a new time. I may begin to go running; I brought the clothes for it. And this island seems as good a place as any to run. I told myself that as I packed and being here reaffirms it. I’ll need some form of exercise. Start waking myself up early just to walk out to the road and jog a mile or something.

Breakfast begins in seven minutes, and though I am not very hungry, I will probably grab something to eat and something to hold for lunch; I’d rather have a snack than a meal. I will need to find internet soon to contact my family, but they know that I’m safe in Greece, which is enough for now. Maybe I’ll buy a phone card. Maybe I won’t.

I believe I just heard a donkey bray. The donkeys of Santorini, I suppose; there appears to be an obsession with them here, even going so far as to make molded plaster models of donkeys which artists then decorate. It seems like the Athens, GA, bulldogs, or the Tulsa, OK, penguins. There’s a reason; I’m certain I will discover it like so many other things.