Never Trending

August 24th, 2010

Ferry from Ios to Athens

The long corridors and steely feel induce a Titanic sort of frenzy as I awaken in the middle of the night suffering from a sense of claustrophobia from within the confines of our cabin. Which appropriately imparts a sense of tragedy. It’s always nice to be in the middle of the ocean thinking about the sinking of the unsinkable ship, makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Yet despite the automatic response of tragedy and desperation, it is remarkably endearing once I have made my way from the sullen hallways to the ships deck. There is the obvious travesty that embodies referencing a midnight voyage across the sea in parallel to my current situation, but also a sort of romance. Now you think I’m sadistic, hopefully I can alter that.

It’s easy to fall in love with the peacefulness and solitude, sitting alone on the deck gazing out into the Mediterranean on a clear night as the lull of the ocean is the only sound that fills my ears. Even the rocking of this oversized vessel that usually induces illness can put to ease the most restless of minds. Regardless of the knowledge of at least one hundred other passengers it is easy to feel alone. Not in a desperate way, because there is nothing fearful about this loneliness. It’s a redefining of the term alone.

There becomes a tie between oneself and all that surrounds you. If the ship were to sink (still not trying to be sadistic) as a result of of some unforeseen circumstance I don’t think I would panic, but accept the dominance of the physical world and the fact that I have zero control over the greatest known force–this is mother natures world, we just live in it. There is a sense of security as we move across the sea. As if it were to be the will of the ocean should the unthinkable occur, and I would not curse it or pray forgiveness but accept and respect it’s decision. There is no unknown alone under the stars.

Thus, where as the Titanic rightfully renders angst, it also now seems to have revealed some hidden truth. Somewhere amidst the panic and disarray, I like to think there was an acceptance. The abandonment of self, a relinquishing of all thoughts and traits that make us human, the concept of being alone in the universe yet united with it, the point in which our bodies become energy and return us to where we belong.

I’d like to think that when you look at it from this poetic standpoint it alleviates the anxieties of the unknown. But then again I also think that dogs understand me and traffic lights conspire against me when I’m running late (which is always). Maybe the sea sickness had a direct affect on my hypothalamus, just as the notion of my rubber boat becoming a victim of the violent sea forced me into a calm. Or, perhaps I should lay off the dramamine and caffeine.

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September 1st, 2010

Ibiza

Catch 22’s, what a nuisance. Take growing up. Everything is exciting through a child’s eyes. For numerous reasons, the more obvious being that everything is a first. The first time you see the vastness of the sea, the first time white flakes fall from grey skies, a first trip to Disney World when the park feels large enough to be it’s own country, the first taste of frozen milk with sugar, the first time in an enormous piece of metal that can defy the rules of gravity and lifts you into the sky. I can still remember the excitement that would consume me when my father told me we were going somewhere that required a plane ride. I would sit with my nose pressed against the window (when it came to who got the window seat, my sister or I, I was usually triumphant due to a severe case of bratty-ness and willingness to make a scene if I didn’t get my way) and unload an arsenal of questions to my father: “How long is the ride? How do planes fly? What states are we passing over? How come the plane doesn’t get stuck in the clouds?” Now I can’t get on a plane without a xanex and extreme fear of exploding at take off.

A child’s firsts are the same concept as a drug, you will never be able to duplicate that initial high. Now add on the lack of responsibility. The possibility that something could malfunction and your plane will turn into a fiery ball of doom would never cross a child’s mind. A child never has to look at prices, because even if you do have budget restrictions you don’t know you could be having filet mignon instead of chicken fingers, and frankly, fried pieces of breaded chicken suffice just fine, they are delicious. You don’t have to find direction in new places, someone takes you there. You are satisfied with the simplistic, never thinking there could be something better. Where you are is the only thing in existence, and it’s enough. No desire for more, for better, for different. The range of emotions are basic. Happy, sad, cranky, excited, and each emotion comes in it’s purest form. It is impossible to over analyze, the word analyze is a mere sound the mouth makes, let alone understanding the concept. You are constantly and irrefutably living in the moment without ever even having to recognize you’re doing so. Everything comes at face value, the world literally “is what it is.”

Make room for the catch. It’s actually pretty simple; you don’t remember. At six years old life is at the starting gate, the ref has yet to pull the trigger symbolizing the race against the clock has begun. All of that purity will be lost. You don’t think to store all of the info, to capture the moment. When you’re 30 and someone asks you if you’ve ever been to Disney World, and you say you have, you’ll also tell them you don’t really remember, you were six. Thus the perk of adulthood. Even if your memory fails, you find ways to document experiences you don’t want to evade you. You appreciate things differently-you actually appreciate. Money is no longer an abstract that you hear adults constantly talking about, it is now tangible, and consequential. So when you decide to take a month and a half trip to Europe, it registers differently. You’ve made sacrifices to be here, you are conscious of every minute and every dollar, and you ensure you spend both wisely. But you are no longer equipped with an untainted perception. Turning off your brain and all of your thoughts is a struggle, living in the moment becomes an act that requires restraint, you need a ladder to reach the off switch. Once upon a time there was no switch. Sometimes you even have to remind yourself to enjoy your experiences, as absurd as that sounds. To stop worrying about all of the mundane responsibilities you face on a daily basis, your in Spain for the love of chocolate, stop thinking and absorb! Living happy and carefree are no longer natural, you have to work on it. I’m sure some are fortunate enough to never lose that carefree essence of childhood, if they grew up in a bubble. Or maybe their switch is easily accessible (practice yoga and you’ve got yourself a ‘Clap On,’ no need to flip switches). Even then, it still could never duplicate the same high a child gets after their first bite of ice cream.

Which is why I decided to dedicate at least 20 minutes a day to writing while traveling through Europe. It forces me to flip the switch, to focus on the here and now, to be apart of my dream rather then let it happen all around me. It may not be my first trip to Disney, but it awakens the child that is happy to just sit in the sand and let the waves wash over me.

August 16th, 2010

Santorini

We arrived at Tony’s Villa in Santorini after a 7 hour ferry from Piraeus port in Athens. Our first of many ferry rides to come over the next four weeks, and a 7 hour embarkment in which I discovered that despite my love for boats and the open seas I am not immune to the rocking of large vessels amidst waves, commonly referred to as motion sickness. This still does not deter from the pleasure I derive in the aesthetics of starry skies in the middle of the Mediterranean.

The booking of Tony’s was based on decent reviews and a pool, which it turned out was boarded up. No pool was a deal breaker, and the condition of the hotel did not compensate for the pools unexpected nonexistence. Which is why I was woken up at 8am after a mere 3 hours of sleep on a mattress that was as comfortable as reclining on a wooden plank. “We’re leaving. Hurry, I found a place down the road, the best.”

Delirious from lack of sleep and still a bit woozy from the ferry I asked no questions and zipped my oversized duffel back up and followed Nicole into the early morning…in my pajamas. We dragged our luggage about half a mile down a dirt road, all the while with the notion that we were leaving this seemingly deplorable hotel for “the best.”

Nicole claimed to have found what would be the savior of our stay in Santorini, a new hotel equipped with a pool and decent room accommodations. We took her word for it and waited outside the reception area, Natassia and I still trying to grasp exactly what was going on, putting full faith that Nicole would not steer us wrong and had dragged us from Tony’s for a much-needed upgrade. The grounds of the new hotel appeared to be a relatively good sign in the right direction and as we waited for our room key we figured it was the right move. Until we were led to our new room. I dragged my luggage to the foot of a set of stairs leading into a basement. Blankly I stared down the flight of steps, thinking maybe I was hallucinating as I watched the lady walk down beckoning for us to follow. First and foremost, I was in no state to maneuver my 50lb duffel bag down 15 concrete steps. Second of all, it’s a basement. Tony’s might have been lacking a pool, but at least I could open the windows and stare out onto a veranda, and in case of a fire or emergency, there were two escape routes. Unless I could chew through stucco walls, if there was a fire, we were dead.

When in Greece, optimism is a necessity. Maybe the room won’t be so bad. Maybe opening the door will be like stepping into Narnia, through the basic and dull appearance of a wardrobe will lie beauty and mysticism.

No such luck. In this case, judging a book by its cover would not lead to false assumptions. It was a dank, dark, dreary dungeon. A room which sucked out all forms of light and any reminder that you were on a Greek island. Stucco walls, one large wooden wardrobe and two steps leading to the bathroom. But hey, it’s got a pool. The lady smiled and told us to enjoy and let herself out, leaving the three of us alone in bewilderment. Natassia and I looked over at Nicole who looked apologetic and hopeful at the same time. “It’s not so bad, right?’

“I thought you said we were going to ‘the best?'” Natassia asked, still looking as though she could not come to terms with what was going on, that our new room was now a basement in the maid quarters.

“It is, look,” Nicole responded as she handed us over a business card. There it was, in big red bold lettering, “The BEST!!!” (No really, the three exclamation points were part of the name, I don’t just have a terrible grasp of grammar).

At this point the three of us break into hysterics, nothing like a little irony to start your morning off. Natassia began a room inspection, which more or less consisted of the bathroom, the room was a ‘what you see is what you get’ to the fullest. She walked in, walked out, shut the door behind her and stood on the step looking at the two of us utterly confused. Instantly I began to smirk, I knew whatever was behind that door was going to be the icing on the cake. Without even asking I got up and opened the door, expecting to find just about anything, from a teeny tiny shower to a little Nome taking a piss in the sink (sleep deprivation can really do a number on the imagination). Okay, no Nome, no real surprise there, but also no teeny tiny shower. Actually, no shower at all. Just a narrow long room with a toilet in the left corner and sink in the right corner. I stared at the toilet, then turned and stared at the sink. I must have been standing there for several moments because next thing I knew Nicole was standing behind me, horrified, asking where the hell the shower was. I looked down at the floor and noticed a drain at the exact half way point between the sink and toilet. My gaze slowly drifted toward the sink as I envisioned myself trying to contort my body so that I could get all of the necessary body parts under the faucet. And that’s when I spotted the shower hose hanging off the back of the sink. I didn’t know how to explain it with words, so instead I thought we could do a little charade action. I walked into the room of bathing, picked up the hose, stood directly above the drain, held the hose over my head, and demonstrated how we would be spending the next 5 days showering. When both girls look appalled, I showed them the light at the end of the ‘there really is NO shower’ tunnel. I sat on the toilet, hose in hand, and showed how convenient it could be if you really needed to make number two and wanted to kill two birds with one stone. You could literally shit, shower and shave.

I was delighted, telling Nicole I was not upset at our transition from Tony’s to “The BEST!!!” Not because I enjoy dank basements, actually, I hate basement rooms, I have an obsession with windows, I would live in an all glass house facing the ocean in a perfect world. I also was never really curious about variations of showering in other countries, I find America’s stall version to suffice just fine. What made the situation for me were the memories I knew I would take away as a result of our hasty relocating. You will always remember the concept of a phenomenal getaway, with their complimentary strawberries and champagne and room service, but you tend to lose a sense of precise recollection, namely because there is nothing to talk about. Let me explain. I will always fondly remember the essence of the beauty of the Greek islands, but once I’ve reminisced with significant others of the beauty I encountered during my stay, perhaps using a few adjectives as an attempt to convey what someone else can only imagine, I will know that I have done my best to share what I have seen, but will  feel no need to talk on end about it. It was my own personal experience, something I will be able to revisit in my mind, which as a result is unique, it is mine and mine alone. Maybe one day someone will mention the Red Beach and I will say “Oh I’ve been there, it’s magnificent!” And briefly the corners of my mouth will turn up as I momentarily reminisce. Yet when you’ve showered in a room with one foot up on the toilet to shave and spent your nights talking to your roommates about potential evacuation routes in case of a fire that blocks the door (the only real exit), you will forever be able to relive the moments, there are stories to tell, something to talk about, to laugh about. A memory that can be shared, something others were a part of and you can make people a part of despite a physical lack of presence, thus it can never be lost. And any memory that lasts a lifetime were moments well spent.

August 23rd, 2010

Ferry from Greece to Italy

Once you have traveled, you know. You become privy to a world that only exists for many in coffee table books or movies.  Perhaps like me you are a movie fanatic. Movies allow me to visit places I’ve never seen, to experience things I never have, or, have, but empathize from a different perspective or from the safety of my couch. They are an escape. The problem with movies is they are make believe; art as an imitation of life. They are poorly crafted if they fail to register with any of the plethora of human emotions, yet they contrive boundaries of the real and practical. And the outcome lies solely in the hands of the creator. Even if you are disappointed with a turn of events, you can find consolation in knowing that there is nothing you can do to alter the outcome. You are but a spectator.

I guess it would be fair to say that many aspects of traveling are similar to playing the leading role in a film. At times it seems as though I am defying the boundaries of my reality, like walking through the streets of a fantasy, a concoction of a vivid mind. Here I am, in Athens. Here I am, in Santorini. It’s as if at any moment the director will scream cut and raise the blue screen revealing a steely studio set. But that has yet to occur, and that is all I have to remind me that this is real.  I often find myself struggling to capture it all, soak in every morsel of my surroundings. Every sound, the smells on the breeze, the way the sea turns orange at sunset and the feelings that arise every time I see something new and astounding. But memory is a product of the human mind, therefore flawed. I know the images will slowly lose their potency and eventually fade away as life progresses.  Unlike a movie where you can rewind and visit whenever you fancy, traveling comes with no promises or guarantees that you will ever be there again, and even if you are, no two experiences are ever the same. Life changes you, and even though it will be the same Greece or Italy if you return, you will always be seeing it through different eyes. Each experience is yours and yours alone, they are built upon whatever place your life is in at that moment, and ultimately  to make of it what you want. The outcome is in your hands. The security and safety of your couch are displaced, and when you travel to places you’ve dreamed about, you know. This is your movie, your life, you are not the bystander or spectator. No one can alter your ending or make it into anything more than you do for yourself.  As a result, sometimes you find yourself struggling to make it everything you want it to be.  To hold on to every thought and feeling that has been invoked– the first time you sailed out onto the Mediterranean, your first walk down the streets of Pompeii, even your first shot at the bar in Ios. Eventually your memory will fail and all that will be left are glimpses in your mind and the nostalgia of a time when…the most you can hope for is to learn and grow from your experiences, to let your travels become a part of who you evolve to be…to remove your movie from the surreal and bring it into the realm of reality.