at sixes and sevens

Still not here but no longer there, I can't quite bring myself to settle back into my mundane suburban existence. All twitchy disorientation, I have one foot in Costco and one in the Aegean as I pay bills, sort papers and delete emails (only 131 to go!) I have yet to fully unpack, and my traveling cosmetic bag still hangs on a hook on the bathroom door, as if anticipating a move on to fresh accommodation in the morning. There is laundry and grocery shopping still to be done, as well as closets and photographs to organize. Lots and lots of photographs.

I took exactly 1147 pictures on my trip, which awed even Turk, who had begun to complain that he could no longer recognize me without a camera in front of my face. And yet as it turns out, I did not take quite enough.

Downloading the contents of my tiny Canon Elph, I realize that not once did I capture that deep, diamond-studded blue of the Mediterranean Sea, so clear at the shoreline that I could have counted grains of sand from the air. Nor did I immortalize the glorious reds of the bougainvillea that adorned the whitewashed brilliance of Mykonos, or the peach-drenched burst of a Santorini sunset. Although we spent hours exploring it, the Athenian Acropolis was beyond my ability to embrace digitally, as was the incredible Palace at Knossos. The photographs pale in comparison to the real thing, as may be expected, and the true glories of the monuments there will forever be a thing of memory for me.

But the single most exceptional memory I will always have of Greece is the genuine expansiveness and humanity of her people. In all of our travels, Turk and I have never encountered such gracious, fun-loving and open-hearted people. From taxi drivers to waiters, gas station attendants and bank clerks; housewives, teenagers and old men alike; nearly every single human being we encountered exuded welcome and warmth. Particularly on the islands, everyone we stopped on the street to ask for directions or otherwise inquire was eager and willing to help a foreign stranger; if that person didn't speak English, as was sometimes the case, they'd take us by the hand and lead us to someone who could. Who would in turn go and find a map, draw us a picture and, if we were clearly very, very dense, as was sometimes the case, would hop on their vespas and show us the way. Then, with a smile and a wave and a puff of a tsigharo, be gone. Not once did anyone treat us with anything less than respect, patience and good humor, no matter how obtuse or annoying we must have been. Truly, it was an amazing thing for a couple of old cynics to behold, for this one certainly, and a lesson in an elevated state of being. I owe the people of Greece a debt of gratitude for this alone ~ an education on the ways of an enlightened humanity.

Efharisto.

Now I'm off to the bank. I gather there've been some sort of financial shenanigans going on. I wonder how my Wachovia stock is doing. Catch you later. Yiassou...